The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume II Part 52

To meet the follies of the age:--

On one, we fear, your choice must fall-- The least engaging of them all--[356]

Her visage stern--an angry style-- A clouded brow--malicious smile-- A mind on murdered victims placed-- She, only she, can please the taste!

[340] First published in the 1788 edition. It doubtless records the poet's mood a year or two after his first book, the 1786 collection, was given to the public. Its original t.i.tle was "An Author's Soliloquy." In 1795 the t.i.tle was changed to "An Author on Authors.h.i.+p." Text from the 1809 edition.

[341] "Time's broad stage."--_Ed. 1788._

[342] "Pedants."--_Ib._

[343] The poem in the 1788 version is wholly in the first person.

[344] "What most torments my boding mind."--_Ed. 1788._

[345] "No critic."--_Ib._

[346] "Read."--_Ib._

[347] "With dead men's works my book is cla.s.s'd."--_Ib._

[348] This line and the following not in the original version.

[349] "Soul."--_Ib._

[350]

"And I must wear the marks of time Who hardly flourish'd in my prime."--_Ed. 1788._

[351] In the 1788 version two lines follow:

"While those condemn'd to stand alone Can only by themselves be known."--_Ib._

[352] "Around her."--_Ib._

[353]

"No fabled Love's enchanting power, Nor tale of Flora's painted bower, Nor woodland haunt, or murmuring grove, Can their prosaic bosoms move."--_Ib._

[354] "I'll try my fortune."--_Ib._

[355]

"Which of the Nine shall I engage To suit the humour of the age."--_Ib._

[356] Followed by:

"So late she does her wreathes prepare I hardly think them worth my care."--_Ib._

TO MISFORTUNE[357]

Dire G.o.ddess of the haggard brow, Misfortune! at that shrine I bow Where forms uncouth pourtray thee still, A leaky s.h.i.+p, a doctor's bill:

A poet d.a.m.n'd, a beggar's prayer, The critic's growl, the pedant's sneer, The urgent dun, the law severe, A smoky house, rejected love, And friends that all but friendly prove.

Foe to the pride of scheming man Whose frown controuls the wisest plan, To your decree we still submit Our views of gain, our works of wit.

Untaught by you the feeble mind A dull repose, indeed, might find: But life, unvext by such controul, Can breed no vigour in the soul.

The calm that smooths the summer seas May suit the man of sloth and ease: But skies that fret and storms that rave Are the best schools to make us brave.

On Heckla's heights who hopes to see The blooming grove, the orange tree Awhile on hope may fondly lean 'Till sad experience blots the scene.

If Nature acts on Reason's plan, And Reason be the guide of man: Why should he paint fine prospects there, Then sigh, to find them disappear?

For ruin'd states or trade perplext 'Tis almost folly to be vext: The world at last will have its way And we its torrent must obey.

On other sh.o.r.es a happier guest The mind must fix her haven of rest, Where better men and better climes Shall soothe the cares of future times.

[357] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, July 18, 1787; dated "Philadelphia, July 16." Republished in the 1788 and 1795 editions, the latter of which I have followed.

TO CRACOVIUS PUTRIDUS[358]

The Sailor, toss'd on stormy seas, Implores his patron-G.o.d for ease When Luna hides her paler blaze, And stars, obscurely, dart their rays:

For ease the Yankee, fierce in war, His stores of vengeance points afar: For ease, the toiling Dutchman sighs, Which gold, nor gems, nor purple buys!

No treasur'd h.o.a.rds, from India trade, No doctor's, or the lawyer's aid Can ease the tumults of the mind, Or cares to gilded roofs a.s.sign'd.

The end of life he, best, completes Whose board is spread with frugal treats, Whose sleep no fears, no thirst of gain, Beneath his homely shed, restrain.

Why, then, with wasting cares engage, Weak reptiles of so frail an age-- Why, thus, to far-off climates run, And lands beneath another sun?

For, though to China's coasts we roam, Ourselves we ne'er can leave at home: Care, swift as deer--as tempests strong, Ascends the prow, and sails along.

The mind that keeps an even state, And all the future leaves to fate, In every ill shall pleasure share, As every pleasure has it's care.

Fate early seal'd Montgomery's doom, In youth brave Laurens found a tomb; While Arnold spends in peace and pride The years, that heaven to them denied.

A host of votes are at your call; A seat, perhaps, in Congress-Hall;[359]