The man that doth an Elephant pursue
Whose capture gains a mighty price,
Amidst the chace, heeds not the barking crew,
Or lesser game of rats and mice.
On ocean's waste who chace the royal flag
Stop not to take the privateer;
Who mean to seize the steed, neglect the nag;
No squirrel-hunter kills a deer.
Reptile! your venom ever spits in vain—
To honour's coat no drop adheres:—
To court!—return to Britain's tyrant reign,
White-wash her king, and scowr her peers.
Some scheming knaves, that strut in courtly guise,
May vile abuse, through you, impart—
But they that on no Treasury lean, despise
Your venal pen—your canker'd heart.
HERMIT'S VALLEY[92]
With eastern[93] winds and flowing sail
To these sequestered haunts we came,
Where verdant trees and chrystal streams
Adorn the sloping, winding vale;
Where, from the breezy grove we claim,
Our heaven on earth—poetic dreams.
These simple scenes have pleasures more
Than all the busy town can show—
More pleasure here Philanthus took,
And more he prized this lonely shore,
His pen, his pencil, and his book,
Than all the groves Madeira bore:
Here still is seen a hermit's cell,
Who, fond the haunts of men to fly,
Enjoyed his heaven beneath this shade:
In mouldering caves so blest to dwell,
He sought not from the flowers that die,
A verdure, that would never fade.
To crowded courts and would-be kings,
Where fawning knaves are most caressed,
Who would, though oft' invited, go—
When here so many charming things
By Nature to perfection dressed,
To please the man of fancy, grow?
The native of this happy spot
No cares of vain ambition haunt:
Pleased with the partner of his nest,
Life flows—and when the dream is out,
The earth, which once supplied each want,
Receives him—fainting—to her breast.
TO MY BOOK[94]
Unhappy Volume!—doom'd by fate
To meet with unrelenting hate
From those who can their venom spit,
Yet condescend to steal your wit:
While Shylock with malicious spirit,
Allows you not a grain of merit,
While he an idle pomp assumes,
Let him return his borrowed plumes,
And you will find the insect creeping,
With not a feather worth the keeping.
THE REPUBLICAN GENIUS OF EUROPE[95]
Emperors and kings! in vain you strive
Your torments to conceal—
The age is come that shakes your thrones,
Tramples in dust despotic crowns,
And bids the sceptre fail.
In western worlds the flame began:
From thence to France it flew—
Through Europe, now, it takes its way,
Beams an insufferable day,
And lays all tyrants low.
Genius of France! pursue the chace
Till Reason's laws restore
Man to be Man, in every clime;—
That Being, active, great, sublime
Debas'd in dust no more.
In dreadful pomp he takes his way
O'er ruin'd crowns, demolish'd thrones—
Pale tyrants shrink before his blaze—
Round him terrific lightnings play—
With eyes of fire, he looks them through,
Crushes the vile despotic crew,
And Pride in ruin lays.
THE RIVAL SUITORS FOR AMERICA[96]
Like some fair girl in beauty's bloom,
To court her, see what suitors come!
An heiress, she, to large estate,
What rivals for her favours wait!
All haste to clasp her in their arms,
Each sees in her a thousand charms—
The Gems that on her bosom glow
Attract where love was cold—'till now.
Freed from a cruel parent's care,
This maid so wealthy and so fair
Of each that for possession sues
Can hardly tell which beau to choose.
Proud of his vast extended reign,
(His fancied empire o'er the main)
The Briton came, with haughty stride,
Preferr'd his suit—but was denied.
She thought his style, by much, too rude,
By ruffians she would not be woo'd;
From Man she wish'd to choose a mate,
But not in such a savage state.
A Dane, a Dutchman, and a Swede
All hop'd to enjoy the charming maid:
The Russian, bred in frost and snow,
Made love to her that said—no, no.
The Spaniard grave, with cloak and sword,
Some favour from the nymph implor'd—
Vain were his tears and coaxing art—
She could not bear a jealous heart.
The Turk himself, to engage her love,
From Asia's coasts began to move;
While faded lay his Tartar crown
He sigh'd to make this girl his own.
In vain they paid the fond address—
No Pope, no Sultan would she bless—
No monarch, tho' allur'd with art,
Could gain her wealth, or touch her heart.
The Frenchman comes—salutes the fair—
She likes his gallant, marshal air!—
With eager eye, around her waist
He clasp'd his arms, and her embrac'd:
Smit with his lofty, generous mien,
She admires the Gaul, as soon as seen,
Grants him her Commerce—yields her charms,
And takes a hero to her arms!
MR. JAY'S TREATY[97]
Disclosed by Stephens Thomson Mason
When the Senate assembled had shut up their door,
And had left us no clew their designs to explore,
The people were anxious, and whispered their care,
But their voice was too weak for the dignified ear.
Ye are down, down, down, keep ye down.
At length the Sanhedrim were ready to rise,
And the crowd were distending their ears and their eyes;
But the rabble had nothing to hear or to view,
Says the twenty, the secret's too sacred for you,
Ye are down, down, down, keep ye down.
But Stephens T. Mason, a man we revere,
With his name bid the infamous treaty appear,
'Twas the act of a freeman, who join'd with the Ten,
To save us from tyranny, rank us with men,
Altho' down, down, and like to be down.
He gave his assistance, enlighten'd our eyes,
And a cloud from all quarters begins to arise,
Vox Dei, Vox Populi, truly but one,
Shall tell dark designers—our will shall be done
Till you're down, down, twenty times down.
On the attempt to force the British Treaty on the People
of the United States
Americans! behold the fruits,
The end of all your vain pursuits,
Whole years in blood and warfare spent
To save this injur'd continent.—
How must it mortify your pride
To take once more the British side;
How will your eyes contain their tears
When all the sad effect appears!
This Treaty in one page confines
The sad result of base designs;
The wretched purchase here behold
Of traitors—who their country sold.
Here, in their proper shape and mien
Fraud, perjury, and guilt are seen.
And few, a chosen few, must know
The Mysteries that lurk below.
Go home, ye merchants, poor and lean,
And kiss the—hand—of Britain's queen.
I see you of your cargoes stript
Your vessels stolen, your seamen whipt,
I see them from their decks compell'd
To wander o'er the wat'ry field;—
In British ships, by force detain'd
I see the gallant sailor band
Engage the power that lent us aid
When Britain here her entry made—
I see them mix'd with George's sons,
I see them torn by gallic guns,
Disfigur'd, in the ocean cast
To find a resting place at last.
Philosophy! thou friend of man,
Teach me these strange events to scan;
Aid me to learn the secret cause
That alien seems from Nature's laws,
Why on this stage of human things
Man bows his neck to tyrant kings?
Say did the God, when life he gave,
Design his Image for a slave?—
Necessity, the tyrant's law,
All human race doth this way draw,
All prompted by the same desire
The vigorous youth, and aged sire—
Observe, the coward and the bold
Agree to have their freedom sold;
Physician, lawyer, and divine
All make oblation at this shrine.
Yet from this dismal state of things
In time a new creation springs;
From vile materials, fresh, shall rise
And fill the earth, and air, and skies;
In various forms appear again,
Popes, Presidents, and gentlemen:
So Jove pronounc'd among the Gods,
Olympus trembling as he nods!
ON THE INVASION OF ROME[99]
In 1796
Lo! to the gates of long forgotten Rome
Active as flame, the gallic legions come,
While pale with fear to their despotic wastes
On shorten'd wing the Austrian army hastes.
Where, consecrated to the pagan god
The silent vestal graced his dark abode,
Where Cæsars, once, in awful grandeur reign'd,
Or, Vandals ruin'd what of Rome remain'd,
Or where, excresence of a later age,
The mitred pontiff trod religion's stage,
There march the heroic bands that bring defeat,
Or bring reform on superstition's seat.
And may their march to honor's purpose tend,
May each new conquest all the past transcend,
Still may those hosts their first great plan pursue,
And honor, freedom, virtue keep in view.
Thus taught; and still propitious heaven their trust,
All past mis-rule shall crumble to the dust,
Nor will saint Peter, more, their cause regard,
Lost are his keys and every gate unbarr'd,
No sacred reliques from some saintly grave,
No saint Sebastian shall from ruin save:
All, all must yield; submissive to the dart
Of Gaul's firm legions led by Bonaparte,
Who, sent by heaven, to Rome's disastrous walls
Loud and more loud for his last victim calls;
While superstition's dark inveterate train
Turns pale, and sickens at their blasted reign,
And hosts reviving, round the standard throng,
Exult, and wonder how they slept so long.
ON THE DEATH OF CATHARINE II[100]
Empress of all the Russias
Confusion to that iron sway
Which bids the brute, not man, obey,
And dooms him to Siberian soil,
Chains, whips, and vassalage, and toil.
This female wolf, whom wolves did nurse,
So long of polar worlds the curse,
This Catharine, skill'd in royal arts,
To the dark world at last departs.
In style, the second of her name,
She to the crown by treason came;
To Peter, drowsy, royal drone,
She gave a prison for a throne.
She would have sent her Tartar bands
To waste and ravage gallic lands,
She would have sent her legions o'er,
Columbia! to invade your shore!—
But, even in conquest, she foresaw
Destruction to despotic law;
She fear'd, in hordes returning home,
That liberty would with them come.
She fear'd the savage from the den
Would see and learn the rights of men;
And hence, in time, destruction bring
To hell's vicegerents—queen and king.
No thanks to her! she fear'd her beasts,
Enslaved by kings, enslaved by priests,
Even if all freedom they o'er ran,
Would learn the dignity of man;
And kept them home, and held them there,
Oppression's iron reign to bear;
And never meet a beam of light,
Involved in worse than Zembla's night.
Now she is dead, and Paul will rise
As fierce as she, but not as wise;
He may his barbarous millions send,
He may the fall of France intend;
But they who see with keener eye
Will see them faint, will see them fly;
With hostile step will see them come
To turn their backs, or meet their doom.
PREFATORY LINES[101]
To a Periodical Publication
Wherever this volume[102] may chance to be read
For the feast of good humor a table I spread;
Here are dishes by dozens; whoever will eat
Will have no just cause to complain of the treat.
If the best of the market is not to be had
I'll help you to nothing that's seriously bad;[103]
To sense and to candor no place I refuse,
Pick here and pick there, and wherever you choose.[104]
If I give you a frolic I hope for no fray;
My style I adapt to the taste of the day,
The feast of amusement we draw from all climes,
The best we can give in a run of hard times.[105]
The guest, whom the pepper of satire may bite
Is wrong, very wrong, if he shows us his spite;[106]
Should a fit of resentment be-ruffle his mind,
Sit still, I would tell him, be calm and resign'd.[107]
In the service of freedom forever prepared,
We have done[108] our endeavor the goddess to guard;
This idol, whom reason should only adore,
And banish'd from Europe,[109] to dwell on our shore.
In a country like this, exalted by fame,
The trade of an author[110] importance may claim
Which monarchs would never permit them to find,
Whose views are to chain and be-darken the mind.
Ye sons of Columbia! our efforts befriend;
To you all the tyrants of Europe shall bend
Till reason at length shall illumine the ball[111]
And man from his state of debasement recall.
Republics of old, that are sunk in the dust,
Could once like our own, of their liberty boast;
Both virtue and wisdom in Athens appear'd,
Each eye saw their charms, and all bosoms revered.
But as virtue and morals fell into disgrace
Pride, splendor, and folly stept into their place;
Where virtues domestic no longer were known,
Simplicity lost, and frugality flown.
Where the virtues, that always a republic adorn,
Were held in contempt, or were laugh'd into scorn,
There, tyrants and slaves were the speedy effect
Of virtue dishonor'd or fall'n to neglect:[112]
Then tyrants and slaves, the worst plagues of this earth,
From the lapse of good manners[113] were hatch'd into birth;
And soon the base maxim all popular grew,
And allowed, that the many were made for the few.
From the fate of republics, or Athens, or Rome,
Tis time we should learn a sad lesson at home—
From their faults and their errors a warning receive,
And steer from the shoals where they both found a grave.
Columbians! forever may freedom remain,
And virtue forever that freedom maintain;
To these, all attracting, all views should submit
All labors of learning, all essays of wit.
Tis time a new system of things was embraced
To prevail on a planet so often debased;[114]
As here, with our freedom, that system began,
Here, at least keep it pure—for the honor of man.
Projected with the Republic of France
The cause that rests on reason's ground,
Shall potent through the world be found,
Mankind must yield to that decree
Which humbles pride and tyranny.
O'er this wide globe what darkness broods,
What misery, murder, wars and feuds!—
Does man deserve the solar light
While he performs the deeds of night?
When to the gates of modern Rome
We see the gallic legions come,
Their triumphs should, in honor, be
To make them men, and make them free.
In these new wars new views we trace,
Not fetters for the human race,
And, France, where'er you dart your rays
Old superstition's reign decays.
But look again!—what myriads join
The vast reform to undermine!
What labor, bribes, and deep-laid schemes
To quench the sun, and reason's beams!
Shall these succeed? and will that sun
Continue, still, his race to run
O'er scenes that he must blush to see
Disorder, chains, and tyranny?
Must systems, still, of monstrous birth,
Enslave mankind, deform this earth?
No!—to the question answers fate,
These efforts come an age too late.
In such a system to combine,
Columbia, can the wish be thine!
Could such a thought assail your heart,
To take that base, ungrateful part.
From Britain's yoke so lately freed
Would she her hosts, her legions lead
To crush that power, which jointly gain'd
And once her sinking cause sustain'd?
From all true hearts be banish'd far
The thought of so profane a war—
A curse would on her arms attend
And all her well-earn'd honors end.
Fortune no more your toils would crown,
Your flag would fall before her frown;
No gallant men the foe would dare,
No Greenes no Washingtons appear;
No chiefs, that check'd the pride of kings
On Monmouth's plains—at Eutaw springs;
But blundering hordes, not brave or warm,
With broken heart, and nerveless arm,
Would sail, to attack your gallic foe,
Would strive in vain a cause t'o'erthrow
Which, sink or not, will live in fame,
While Europe can one patriot claim.
TO MYRTALIS[116]
On her Lightning Wires, or Conductors[A]
How bold this project, to defy
The artillery of a summer sky:
Round you, unmoved, the lightning plays,
While others perish in the blaze.
The fluid fire, in deafening peals,
Along the warm conductor steals;
And thence directed to the ground,
It glances off without a wound!
Thus guarded, while the heavens are bowed,
You, fearless, see the passing cloud;
And Jove's red bolts unheeded fall,
Near You, who slight, or scorn them all.
The beaver on your sacred scull,
(Secure as Salamander's wool)
Assists to keep from your rigg'd head
The flash that strikes us, wretches, dead.
But while the sulphur of the skies,
Disarmed, from this fair lady flies;
Or while the warm electric fire
In flashes darts along her spire,
She, not so merciful or kind,
(Or we, not guarded to her mind)
By Cupid's darts, procures our fall,
By Cupid's arrows kills us all.
TO MR. BLANCHARD[117]
The celebrated Æronaut, on his ascent in a Balloon, from the
jail-yard in Philadelphia, 1793
By Science taught, on silken wings
Beyond our grovelling race you rise,
And, soaring from terrestial things,
Explore a passage to the skies—
O, could I thus exalted sail,
And rise, with you, beyond the Jail!
Ah! when you rose, impell'd by fear
Each bosom heav'd a thousand sighs;
To you each female lent a tear,
And held the 'kerchief to her eyes:
All hearts still follow'd, as you flew,
All eyes admir'd a sight so new.
Whoe'er shall thus presume to fly,
While downward with disdain they look
Shall own this journey, through the sky,
The dearest jaunt they ever took;
And choose, next time, without reproach,
A humbler seat in Inskeep's coach.
The birds, that cleave the expanse of air,
Admiring, view your globe full-blown,
And, chattering round the painted car,
Complain your flight out-does their own:
Beyond their track you proudly swim,
Nor fear the loss of life or limb.
How vast the height, how grand the scene
That your enraptured eye surveys,
When, towering in your gay machine,
You leave the astonish'd world to gaze,
And, wandering in the ætherial blue,
Our eyes, in vain, your course pursue.
The Orb of Day, how dazzling bright!
In paler radiance gleams the Moon,
And Terra, whence you took your flight,
Appears to you—a meer balloon:
Its noisy crew no longer heard,
Towns, cities, forests, disappear'd.
Yet, travelling through the azure road,
Soar not too high for human ken;
Reflect, our humble safe abode
Is all that Nature meant for men:
Take in your sails before you freeze,
And sink again among the trees.