The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 50

Now, on some rock, with loose, dishevelled hair, Near das.h.i.+ng waves, the sorrowing beauty stands, Hoping that each approaching barque may bear Homeward the wandering youth from foreign lands.

Oh! may no gales such faithful loves destroy, No hidden rock to Hymen fatal prove: And thou, fond swain, thy nicest art employ Once more on these sweet isles to meet your love.

When verging to the height of thirty-two, And east or west you guide the dashy prow; Then fear by night the dangers of this sh.o.r.e, Nature's wild garden, placed in sixty-four.[A]

Here many a merchant his lost freight bemoans, And many a gallant s.h.i.+p has laid her bones.

[A] Lat. 32 deg. 20 min. N.--Long. 63.40 W.--and about 780 miles East of the coast of South Carolina.--_Freneau's note._

[331] During several weeks in 1778 Freneau resided in Bermuda. While there he seems to have been greatly impressed by an instance of inconstancy. He has in several prose sketches, notably in "Light Summer Reading," 1788, and in the following series of poems, composed at different times, described the incident. There is a tradition that Freneau spent several weeks in the family of the Governor of Bermuda and that it was the daughter of this official who was the unfortunate Amanda. Some traditions have mentioned Freneau himself as the lover. The text is from the edition of 1809.

FLORIO TO AMANDA[332]

Lamp of the pilot's hope! the wanderer's dream, Far glimmering o'er the wave, we saw thy beam: Forced from your aid by cold December's gale As near your isle we reefed the wearied sail: From bar to bar, from cape to cape I roam, From you still absent, still too far from home.-- What shall repay me for these nights of pain, And weeks of absence on this restless main, Where every dream recalls that charming shade, Where once, Amanda, once with you I strayed, And fondly talked, and counted every tree, And minutes, ages, when removed from thee.

What sad mistake this wandering fancy drew To quit my natives sh.o.r.es, the woods, and You, When safely anch.o.r.ed on that winding stream, Where you were all my care, and all my theme: There, pensive, loitering, still from day to day, The pilot wondered at such strange delay, Musing, beheld the northern winds prevail, Nor once surmised that Love detained the sail.

Blest be the man, who, fear beneath him cast, From his firm decks first reared the tapering mast; And catching life and motion from the breeze, Stretched his broad canvas o'er a waste of seas; And taught some swain, whom absence doomed to mourn His distant fair one--taught a quick return: He, homeward borne by favouring gales, might find Remembrance welcome to his anxious mind, And grateful vows, and generous thanks might pay To Him, who filled the sail, and smoothed the way.

To me, indeed! the heavens less favouring prove: Each day, returning, finds a new remove-- Sorrowing, I spread the sail, while slowly creeps The weary vessel o'er a length of deeps; Her northern course no favouring breeze befriends, Hail, storm, and lightning, on her path attends: Here, wintry suns their shrouded light restrain, Stars dimly glow, and boding birds complain; Here, boisterous gales the rapid Gulph controul, Tremendous breakers near our Argo roll; Here cloudy, sullen Hatteras, restless, raves Scorns all repose, and swells his weight of waves: Here, drowned so late, sad cause of many a tear, Amyntor floats upon his watery bier; By bursting seas to horrid distance tossed, Thou, Palinurus, in these depths wert lost, When, torn by waves, and conquered by the blast, Art strove in vain, and ruin seized each mast.

Now, while the winds their wonted aid deny, For other ports, from day to day, we try Strive, all we can, to gain the unwilling sh.o.r.e, Dream still of you--the faithful chart explore; See other groves, in happier climates placed Untouched their bloom, and not one flower defaced.

Did Nature, there, a heaven of pleasure shew, Could they be welcome, if not shared with you?-- Lost are my toils--my longing hopes are vain: Yet, 'midst these ills, permit me to complain, And half regret, that, finding fortune fail, I left your cottage--to direct the sail: Unmoved, amidst this elemental fray, Let me, once more, the muses' art essay, Once more--amidst these scenes of Nature's strife, Catch at her forms and mould them into life; By Fancy's aid, to unseen coasts repair, And fondly dwell on absent beauty there.

[332] On Jan. 20, 1789, Freneau was at Castle Ireland, Bermuda, where eleven years before he had pa.s.sed five delightful weeks in the family of the English Governor. The above lines were written on the tempestuous return voyage, doubtless inspired by her who soon afterward became his wife. The text follows the 1809 version.

PHILANDER: OR THE EMIGRANT[333]

While lost so long to his Arcadian shade, Careless of fortune and of fame he stray'd, Philander to a barbarous region came And found a partner in a colder shade, Fair as Amanda; and perhaps might claim With her the impa.s.sion'd soul, and friends.h.i.+p's holy flame; For sprightly loves upon her bosom play'd, And youth was in her blush, and every shepherd said She was a modest and accomplish'd dame.

What have I done, (the wandering shepherd cry'd) Thus to be banish'd from a face so fair, (For now the frosts had spoil'd the daisies' pride, And he once more for roving did prepare) Ah, what have I to do with swelling seas Who once could pipe upon the hollow reed?-- I take no joy in such rude scenes as these, Nor look with pleasure on the vagrant weed That gulphy streams from rugged caverns bore, Which floats thro' every clime, and never finds a sh.o.r.e!

But other fields and other flowers were mine, 'Till wild disorder drove me from the plain.

And the black dogs of war were seen to join, Howl o'er the soil, and dispossess the swain: Why must I leave these climes of frost and snow?-- Were it not better in these glooms to stay, And, while on high the autumnal tempests blow, Let others o'er the wild seas take their way, And I with my Livinia's tresses play?-- Ah, no, no, no! the imperious wave demands That I must leave these sh.o.r.es, and lose these lands And southward to the high equator stray: But Fancy now has lost her vernal hue; See Nature in her wintry garb array'd-- And where is that fine dream which once she drew While yet by Cambria's stream she fondly play'd!

Lavinia heard his long complaint, and said, Wouldst thou, for me, detain the expecting sail--?

Go, wanderer, go--the trees have lost their shade, And my gay flowers are blasted by the gale, And the bright stream is chill'd that wandered thro' the vale: Ah, why, Philander, do you sigh, so sad!

Why all this change in such a jovial lad?

Smooth seas shall be your guard, and, free from harms, Restore you, safely, to Lavinia's arms!

Or should the eastern tempest rend your sail, Trust me, dear shepherd, should the seas prevail, And you be laid in Neptune's cradle low, The winds will bring me back the woeful tale When I must to the long sh.o.r.e weeping go, And while I see the ruffian surge aspire, Some consolation will it be to know No pain or anguish can afflict the head The limbs or stomach, when the heart is dead.

Thus long discoursing, on the bank they stood, The heavy burthen'd barque at anchor lay, While the broad topsails, from the yards unfurl'd, Shook in the wind, and summon'd him away; Brisk blew the gales, and curl'd the yielding flood, Nor had he one excuse to urge his stay-- Be chang'd (he said) ye winds that blow so fair; Why do not tempests harrow up the deep, And all but the moist south in quiet sleep!

To the bleak sh.o.r.e the parting lovers came, And while Philander did his sighs renew, So near the deep they bade their last farewell That the rough surge, to quench the mutual flame Burst in and broke the embrace, and o'er Lavinia flew; While a dark cloud hung lowering o'er the main, From whence the attendants many an omen drew, And said Philander would not come again!

Now to their various heights the sails ascend, And southward from the land their course they bore.

Lavinia mourn'd the lover and the friend, And stood awhile upon the sandy sh.o.r.e, 'Till interposing seas the hull conceal'd, And distant sails could only greet her view, Like a faint cloud that brush'd the watery field, And swell'd by whistling winds, impetuous, flew: Then to a neighbouring hill the nymph withdrew, And the dear object from that height survey'd, 'Till all was lost and mingled with the main, And night descended, with her gloomy shade, And kindled in the heavens her starry train.

Safe to the south the ocean-wading keel In one short month its rapid course achiev'd, And the cold star, that marks the Arctic pole, Was in the bosom of the deep receiv'd: And now the weary barque at anchor rode Where Oronoko pours his sultry wave, Moist Surinam, by torrents overflow'd, And Amazonia vends the fainting slave;-- Philander, there, not fated to return, Perceiv'd destruction in his bosom burn, And the warm flood of life too fiercely, glow: The vertic sun a deadly fever gave, And the moist soil bestow'd his bones a grave, Deep in the waste, where oceans overflow, And Oronoko's streams the forests lave.

Oft' to the winding sh.o.r.e Lavinia came Where fond Philander bade his last adieu, (And that steep hill which gave her the last view) Till seven long years had round their orbits ran, Yet no Philander came, or none she knew; Alas (she cry'd) for every nymph but me Each sea-bleach'd sail some welcome wanderer brings, And all but I get tidings of their friends; Sad Mariamne drowns herself in woe If one poor month Amyntor quits her arms, And says, "from Ashley's stream he comes too slow,"-- And bodes the heavy storm, and midnight harms: What would she say, if doom'd to wait, like me, And mourn long years, and no Philander see!

[333] The text follows the edition of 1795.

THE FAIR SOLITARY[334]

No more these groves a glad remembrance claim Where grief consumes a half deluded dame, Whom to these isles a modern Theseus bore, And basely left, frail virtue to deplore;--

In foreign climes detained from all she loved, By friends neglected, long by Fortune proved, While sad and solemn pa.s.sed the unwelcome day What charms had life for her, to tempt her stay?

Deceived in all; for meanness could deceive, Expecting still, and still condemned to grieve, She scarcely saw--to different hearts allied That her dear Florio ne'er pursued a bride!

Are griefs, like thine, to Florio's bosom known?-- Must these, alas! be ceaseless in your own?

Life is a dream!--its varying shades I see; But this cold wanderer hardly dreams of thee-- The bloom of health, which bade all hearts adore, To your pale cheek what physic shall restore?

Vain are those drugs that art and love prepares, No art redeems the waste of sighs and tears!

[334] Published in the 1795 edition under the t.i.tle "The Mourning Nun."

Text from the edition of 1809.

AMANDA IN A CONSUMPTION[335]

Smit by the glance of your bright eyes When I, Amanda, fondly gaze, Strange feelings in my bosom rise And pa.s.sion all my reason sways: Worlds I would banish from my view, And quit the G.o.ds--to talk with you.

The smile that decks your fading cheek, To me a heavy heart declares; When you are silent I would speak But cowardice alarms my fears: All must be sense that you do prize, All that I say--be grave and wise.

When wandering in the evening shade I shared her pain, and calmed her grief, A thousand tender things I said, But all I said gave no relief: When from her hair I dried the dew, She sighed, and said--I am not for you!

When drooping, dull, and almost dead With fevers brought from sultry climes, She would not wrap my fainting head; But recommended me some rhymes On patience and on fort.i.tude, And other things--less understood.

When, aiming to engage her heart With verses from the muses' stock; She sighed, regardless of the art, And counted seconds by the clock; "And thus, (she said) will verse decay, "And thus the muse will pa.s.s away!"

When languis.h.i.+ng upon her bed In willow shades, remote from towns, We came; and while Priscilla read Of chrystal skies and golden crowns: She bade us at a distance stand, And leaned her head upon her hand.

So, drooping hangs the fading rose, When summer sends the beating shower: So, to the grave Amanda goes, Her whole duration--but an hour!

Who shall controul the sad decree, Or what, fair girl, recover thee?

Such virtue in that spirit dwells-- Such fort.i.tude amidst such pain!-- And, now, with pride my bosom swells, To think I have not lived in vain.