A Political Oration, Superficially Composed on an Important Subject
Sound without sense, and words devoid of force,
Through which no art could find a clue,
And mean and shackling was the whole discourse
That kept me, Tully, long from you.
Heads of harangues, to heads less general, split,
Seem'd like small laths, cleft from some heavy log;
I heard the inference, that no object hit—
All congelation, vapor, smoke, or fog.
And what avail'd the argument unsound
That nothing proved, or on the expecting mind
Forced no conviction—just as well might sound
To the deaf ear with sentiments abound.
Long did we wait for application time
To find what sense or reason might apply:—
It came—attended with the false sublime,
And thread-bare truths, no mortal could deny.
Repeated thoughts, and periods of a mile,
Remarks devoid of dignity or power,
Exploded notions, dress'd in brilliant style,
Exhausted patience, and consumed the hour.
Thus when of old some town some folks besieged,
Before the walls the invader sat him down,
While those who mann'd them, at their foes enraged,
Threw many a load of ancient lumber down;
And wore them out, with tumbling on their heads
Bricks, tiles, and paving-stones, huge logs of timber,
Pump-water, cold or boiling, shovels, spades,—
And more, by far, than you or I remember.
Ah, speaker! with artillery like your own
Hard will it be one Federal to awake,
Trust me, although you scold, and chafe, and frown,
You may besiege, but are not like to take
Their three wall'd town.
MEGARA AND ALTAVOLA[119]
To a Female Satirist (an English Actress) on receiving from her No. 1.
of a very Satirical and Biting Attack[A]
"In the rag, in the rag—whewgh!—
"O well-flown dart."—
Shakespeare's King Lear.
A Satire is arrived this day,
And it must be repelled this night:
Ye Powers! assist us what to say,
For, from ourselves, we nothing write.
We could have laughed at all you said,
But when you writ—it struck us dead!—
Megara!—do forbear to write,
Or rage with less malignant spite.
Leave it to men to snap and snarl—
Be you the sweet engaging girl—
Great in your smiles—weak in your arm—
All vengeance, with no power to harm.
I'll borrow from a scribbling set
A Raven's feather, black as jet,
And with the vengeance of the pen
Create confusion in your Den.
This, from an impulse all unknown,
Shall temper down your heart of stone,
Turn storms of hail to showers of rain,
And bring your happy smiles again.
But still, unwilling to resent
What folly for a Satire meant,
Peruse a fable that may blast,
And your number one—make number last.
In ancient times, no matter when,
A lady, in some ancient reign
(Perhaps in Greece, perhaps in Rome,
Perhaps in countries nearer home.)
This lady, rather fond of Fun,
Had put a suit of armour on:
With bow and arrows, and her fan
She conquered many an honest man.
One day she met, in a desart waste
A wight unseemely to her taste;
His brow, she thought, had too much frown;
Thought she, "I'll fetch the fellow down."
And strait she bends her twanging bow,
And to his breast the arrows go!
They tore a passage through his vest,
But bounded from his solid chest.
Another dart she aimed, and missed,
Then boarded him, and bit his fist—
Her grinders left a trifling mark—
They were not grinders of a shark.
She scampered then, and, as she flew,
Another feeble arrow threw,
Which though intended for one spot,
It glanced aside, and touched him not.
Enraged, he threw his mantle off,
And said, She shall be plagued enough!
Then, swift as fate, her pace defied,
Out went her trot, and joined her side.—
Megara was in such a glow!—
When thus the ruffian hailed her, "Hoa!—
What, Madam, are your spirits low?—
Heave to!—you are my prisoner now!"—
Megara saw that all was gone!—
She saw, her teeth would now be drawn:
She saw her weapons were his prize,
She saw it, and with flowing eyes,
And with a feeble squeak or two,
She faintly bawled out, Who are you?
Altavola
"From whence I came, or what I am,
"Perhaps I may inform you, Ma'am:
"I come from lands of Pure Delight,
"Where female warriors do not Bite.
"You view me with an eye of scorn!—
"When I was old you were unborn:
"When I aspired on eagle's wings
"You were among unthought of things.
"And did you hope to escape my rage,
"You toy-shop on a strolling stage!
"You insect of a puny race,
"You baggage formed of gauze and lace!
"The proudest strength you can assume,
"Shakes not one feather from my plume.
"My lot is in the æther cast,
"I sail upon the northern blast;
"Am mostly seen when whirlwinds rise,
"And love the storm that rends the skies.
"When thunders roar and lightnings flash,
"Then is my time to cut a dash:
"The clouds of hell alarm me less
"Than you, some sad old fashioned dress.
"And, if to answer some great end,
"I to this wrangling world descend,
"With force unknown, and pinions strong,
"I travel quick and stay not long.
"My spear is like a weaver's beam,
"And pointed well at each extreme;
"It flies with a tremendous force,
"And rivals lightning in its course.
"Of all things that are seen or known,
"I hate a Calm—and say, Begone
"Stagnation from this rolling ball,
"Or slumbers in this Dreadful All!
"I rise upon the drift of snow—
"In polar frosts my spirits glow—
"In the torrid zone, I temperate keep,
"And wake!—when you, Megara, sleep.
"I come from ghosts, that dreary brood,
"Whose aspect would congeal your blood!
"A people on the infernal coast,
"Who know me well, and love me most.
"I courted there, and found her kind,
"A ghostess, suited to my mind;
"Her wedding gown was flounced with soot,
"And near her nose hung snuff and smut:
"She pointed to her father's gate,
"(A graveyard was his whole estate)
"The bars were weak, the boards were thin,
"She sung a psalm—and took me in.
"Of shadowy stuff my parents were,
"Composed of fogs, or framed of air:
"He sold his brimstone to the skies,
"While nitre kindled in Her eyes.
"They feasted on the vapours blue,
"Their glass of wine was evening dew;
"On Etna's top they made their bed,
"And there was I, their devil, bred.
"My prowess is almost adored,
"I blunt the edge of Orion's sword;
"I seize Aquarius by the throat,
"Nor care for Libra, or the Goat.
"My word is, when I meet my foes,
"Here's to the Lucky Wind that blows!
"And, instant, all is sighs and groans,
"And battered heads, and broken bones.
"I now reward you for your spite—
"I draw my weapon—see, how bright!
"My last exploit in war I crown,
"And thus—and thus—I throw you down!
"Ah, miscreant! why that scream of death?
"I only meant to—draw your teeth!—
"Oh no!—I scorn to take your life—
"Go, Madam,—be a prudent wife.
"But, lady, I would have you know
"You lose your arrows and your bow:
"They are indeed of slender make,
"And, in your hands might kill a rake:
"So, to prevent such fatal harms,
"I leave you destitute of arms—
"I now must go!"—he, laughing, said,
And vanished to the Stygian shade.
This contest with Megara done,
Thou dear, defeated Amazon!—
As happy, now, as man can be,
I hang my pen on yonder tree:
It only asks one day of rest,
It yields to every changing blast—
Yes—let it stay suspended there,
And strike My Colours—if you dare!
THE REPUBLICAN FESTIVAL[120]
In Compliment to Colonel Munroe, on his return to America, 1797
As late at a feast that she gave to Munroe,
Her mark of attention to show,
Young liberty gave her libations to flow,
To honor where honor is due.
Return'd from the country that trampled on crowns
Where high in opinion he stood,
Dark malace attack'd him, with sneers, and with frowns,
But he met the applause of the good.
To the Knight of the Sceptre unwelcome he came
But freedom his merit confess'd—
He look'd at their malice, and saw it was fame,
And pity forgave them the rest.
Good humor, and pleasure, and friendship did join,
And reason the pleasure increased;
And the hero, who captured the British Burgoyne,
Presided and honor'd the feast.
On a broomstick from hell, with a quill in his hand,
Baal-Zephou came riding the air;
He look'd, and he saw that among the whole band
Not a single apostate was there.
Disappointed, he sigh'd, but still hover'd about
Till the toasts, with a vengeance, began—
He met the first four; when the next they gave out[A]
To his cavern he fled back again.
In liberty's temple, the petulant cur
Could see not a man but he hates;
With a curse on her cause, and a sneer, and a spur
He fled from the frown of a Gates.
For July the Fourth, 1799
Once more, our annual debt to pay,
We meet on this auspicious day
That will, through every coming age,
Columbia's patriot sons engage.
From this fair day we date the birth,
Of freedom's reign, restored to earth,
And millions learn, too long depraved,
How to be govern'd, not enslaved.[122]
Thou source of every true delight
Fair peace, extend thy sway,
While to thy temple we invite
All nations on this day.[123]
O dire effects of tyrant power!
How have ye darken'd every hour,
And made those hours embitter'd flow
That nature meant for joys below.
With sceptred pride, and brow of awe
Oppression gave the world her law,
And man, who should such law disdain,
Resign'd to her malignant reign.
Here on our quiet native coast
No more we dread the warring host
That once alarm'd, when Britain rose,
And made Columbia's sons her foes.
Parent of every cruel art
That stains the soul, that steels the heart,
Fierce war, with all thy bleeding band,
Molest no more this rising land.
May thy loud din be changed for peace,
All human woe and warfare cease,
And nations sheath the sword again
To find a long, pacific reign.[124]
Soon may all tyrants disappear
And man to man be less severe;
The ties of love more firmly bind,
Not fetters, that enchain mankind.
But virtue must her strength maintain,
Or short, too short, is freedom's reign,
And, if her precepts we despise,
Tyrants and kings again will rise.[125]
No more an angry, plundering race,
May man in every clime embrace,
And we on this remoter shore,
Exult in bloody wars no more.
On this returning annual day
May we to heaven our homage pay,
Happy, that here the time's began
That made mankind the friend of man!—
To the Republicans of America
Say—shall we pause, and here conclude our page,
Or waft it onward to the coming age?—
Just as You say, whose efforts shook his throne,
And plucked the brightest gem from George's crown—
Who, armed in Freedom's cause with hearts of steel,
Have through these stormy times toiled for the common weal;
Nor quit that standard thousands have deserted,
By foreign arts, or gold, or titles re-converted.
If You, propitious to the press and pen,
Gave vigour to the cause that roused up men
When slavery's sons approached with Britain's fleet,
Still we demand your aid—for Britain hates you yet:
Not with the sword and gun she now contends
But wages silent war, and by corruption bends,
Foe to the system that enlightens man,
Here, thrones she would erect, and frustrate Freedom's plan.
Here, on this virgin earth, the soil unstained,
Where yet no tyrant has his purpose gained,
Keep bright that flame which every bosom fired
When Hessian hirelings from these lands retired,
When, worn and wasted, all that murdering crew
And British squadrons from the Hudson flew;
When, leagued with France, you darts of vengeance hurled,
And bade defiance to the despot world.
Ye heirs and owners of the future age
Who soon will shove old actors from the stage,
To you the care of liberty they trust
When Washington and Gates are laid in dust—
When Jefferson, with Greene, in long repose
Shall sleep, unconscious of your bliss or woes,
Seeming to say, Be wise, be free, my sons,
Nor let one tyrant trample on our bones.
TO PETER PORCUPINE.[127]
From Penn's famous city what hosts have departed,
The streets and the houses are nearly deserted,
But still there remain
Two Vipers, that's plain,
Who soon, it is thought, yellow flag will display;
Old Porcupine preaching,
And Fenno beseeching
Some dung-cart to wheel him away.
Philadelphians, we're sorry you suffer by fevers,
Or suffer such scullions to be your deceivers;
Will. Pitt's noisy whelp
With his red foxy scalp
Whom the kennels of London spew'd out in a fright,
Has skulk'd over here
To snuffle and sneer,
Like a puppy to snap, or a bull dog to bite.
If cut from the gallows, or kick'd from the post,
Such fellows as these are of England the boast
But Columbia's disgrace!
Begone from that place
That was dignified once by a Franklin and Penn,
But infested by you
And your damnable crew
Will soon be deserted by all honest men.
ON THE ATTEMPTED LAUNCH[128]
Of a Frigate, designed for war against a Sister Republic.—1798
Unless it be for mere defence
May shipwrights fail to launch you hence,
At best, the comrade of old Nick—
Some folks will smile to see you stick.
But now, suppose the matter done,
And her the element upon;
What cause have we mad wars to wage
Or join the quarrels of the age?
Remote from Europe's wrangling race,
Who show us no pacific face
Let's tread negociation's track
Before we venture to attack.
But to the seas if we must go,
'Tis clearly seen who is the foe,
Who hastens, at no distant date,
To repossess his lost estate.
I see them raise the storm of war,
To cloud the gay columbian star,
I see them, bloody, brave and base
Make us the object of their chase.
Their ships of such superior might
All we possess will put to flight,
Or bear them off, with all on board,
To make a meal for George the third.
One frigate, only, will not do—
She must retreat while they pursue,
To make her drink affliction's cup,
And, heaven preserve us, eat her up.
A navy of stupendous strength
'Tis plain, must be our lot at length,
To sweep the seas, to guard the shore,
And crush their haughtiest seventy four.
Those puny ships that now we frame,
(The way that England plays her game)
Will to their bull-dogs fall a prey
The hour we get them under weigh.—
ON THE LAUNCHING OF THE FRIGATE
CONSTITUTION[129]
The builders had the ship prepared,
And near her stood a triple guard,
For fear of secret foes.
Some, tiptoe stood to see her start,
And would have said, with all their heart,
In raptures, there she goes!
The stubborn ship, do what they could,
Convinced them, she was made of wood
Though plann'd with art supreme;
All art, all force the ship defy'd—
Nor brilliant day, nor top of tide
Could urge her to the stream.
Some, with their airs aristocratic,
And some with honors diplomatic,
Advanced to see the show:
In vain the builder to her call'd—
In vain the shipwrights pull'd and haul'd—
She could not—would not go.
Each anti-federal, with a smile
Observed the yet unfloating pile
As if he meant to say,
Builder, no doubt, you know your trade,
A constitution you have made
But should her ways have better laid.
Well now to heave the ship afloat,
To move from this unlucky spot,
Take our advice, and give them soon,
What should have long ago been done,
Amendments—You Know What.
ON THE FREE USE OF THE LANCET[130]
In Yellow Fevers[A]
In former days your starch'd divines
From notes of twenty thousand lines
Held many a long dispute;
One argued this, one argued that,
And reverend wigs, as umpires sat,
All sophists to confute.
They dwelt on things beyond their ken
And teazed and puzzled simple men
To hold them in the dark;
But their long season now is past,
The churchman's horn has blown its blast,
Things take a different mark.
Physicians now to quiet pain
Stick lancet in the patient's vein
That burns with feverish heat:
The next contend, they're wholly wrong,
That life will leak away ere long
If thus the case they treat.
Meantime a practice gets about,
Perhaps to make some doctors pout:
Old Shelah, with her herbs and teas,
And scarce a shilling for her fees,
In many instances, at least,
When deaths and funerals increased,
Did more to dispossess the fever,
Did more from dying beds deliver
Than all the hippocratian host
Could by the lancet's virtue boast;
To which, I trow, full many a ghost
Will have a grudge forever.
THE BOOK OF ODES[131]
ODE I
"He that readeth not in the Book of Odes is like a man standing with
his face against a wall; he can neither move a step forward, nor
survey any object."—Hau Kiou Choaan.
Blest is the man who shuns the place
Where Demo's love to meet,
Who scorns to gnaw their bread and cheese,
And hates their small beer treat:
But in the glare of splendid halls
Doth place his whole delight,
And there by day eats force-meat balls,
And roasted hogs by night.
He, like some thrifty pumpkin vine,
Near Hartford that doth grow,
Shall creep, and spread, and twist, and twine,
And shade the weeds below.
Puff'd by all dunces far and near
He'll swell to station high,
While Democrats confus'd appear
As he rides rattling by.
Not so the man of vulgar birth,
And Democratic phiz;
Want, toil, and every plague on earth,
Shall certainly be his.
Poor as a snake, and ever vile
Shall his condition be,
Who to the men of royal style
Neglects to bend the knee.
He, with the herd of little note,
May starve on bread and cheese,
And soon shall be without a coat
Or sent to pay jail-fees.
ODE II[132]
To the Frigate Constitution
"A ship carpenter being once asked, what sort of ships are the safest, he
answered, those which are hauled up on dry land."