The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 37

Thence came a book (where came it but from thence?) Made up of all things but a grain of sense.

Lawyers and counsellors echo'd back the note And lying journals praised the trash they wrote.

Though British armies could not long prevail, Yet British politics may turn the scale: In ten short years, of freedom weary grown, The state, republic, sickens for a throne; Senates and sycophants a pattern bring A mere disguise for parliament and king.

A pensioned army! Whence a plan so base?-- A despot's safety, liberty's disgrace.

What saved these states from Britain's wasting hand, Who but the generous rustics of the land, A free-born race, inured to every toil, Who clear the forest and subdue the soil?

They tyrants banish'd from this injured sh.o.r.e, And home-bred traitors may expel once more.

Ye, who have propp'd the venerated cause, Who freedom honor'd, and sustain'd her laws!

When thirteen states are moulded into one, Your rights are vanish'd and your glory gone; The form of freedom will alone remain-- Rome had her senate when she hugg'd her chain.

Sent to revise our system,--not to change, What madness that whole system to derange, Amendments, only, was the plan in view, You scorn amendments, and destroy it too.

How much deceived! would heroes of renown Scheme for themselves, and pull the fabric down, Bid in its place Columbia's column rise Inscribed with these sad words,--Here freedom lies!

[164] From the 1815 edition.

ON A PROPOSED NEGOTIATION[165]

With the French Republic, and Political Reformation--1799

Thus to the verge of battle brought Reflection leads a happy thought, Agrees, half way, the Gaul to meet, Prepared to fight him or to treat.

Fatigued with long oppression's reign, Tis time to break oppression's chain; One gem we ravish'd from one crest And time, perhaps, will take the rest.

The revolutions of this age (To swell the late historian's page) Are but old prospects drawing near, The outset of a new career.

What Plato saw, in ages fled, What Solon to the Athenians said, What fired the British Sydney's page, The Solon of a modern age,

Is now unfolding to our view; A system liberal, great, and new, Which from a long experience springs And bodes a better course of things.

And will these States, whose beam ascends, On whose resolve so much depends; Will these, whose Was.h.i.+ngton, or Greene, Gave motion to the vast machine;

Will these be torpid, careless found To help the mighty wheel go round; These, who began the immortal strife, And liberty preferr'd to life.

If not the cause of France we aid Yet never should the word be said That we, to royal patrons p.r.o.ne, Made not the cause of man our own.

Could Britain here renew her sway, And we a servile homage pay, The coming age, too proud to yield, Would drive her myriads from the field.

Time will mature the mighty scheme, We build on no platonic dream; The light of truth shall s.h.i.+ne again, And save the democratic reign.

[165] From the 1815 edition. An emba.s.sy, headed by Chief Justice Ellsworth, had been appointed by Adams early in 1799 for the purpose of negotiating a treaty with France, but owing to diplomatic tangles it did not depart until late in the year.

STANZAS TO AN ALIEN[166]

Who after a Series of Persecutions emigrated to the Southwestern Country.--1799

Remote, beneath a sultry star, Where Mississippi flows afar, I see you rambling, G.o.d knows where.

Sometimes, beneath a cypress bough, When met in dreams, with spirits low, I long to tell you what I know.

How matters go, in this our day, When monarchy renews her sway, And royalty begins her play.

I thought you wrong to come so far Till you had seen our western star Above the mists ascended clear.

I thought you right, to speed your sails If you were fond of loathsome jails, And justice with uneven scales.

And so you came and spoke too free And soon they made you bend the knee, And lodged you under lock and key.

Discharged at last, you made your peace With all you had, and left the place With empty purse and meagre face.--

You sped your way to other climes And left me here to teaze with rhymes The worst of men in worst of times.

Where you are gone the soil is free And freedom sings from every tree, "Come quit the crowd and live with me!"

Where I must stay, no joys are found; Excis.e.m.e.n haunt the hateful ground, And chains are forged for all around.

The scheming men, with brazen throat, Would set a murdering tribe afloat To hang you for the lines you wrote.

If you are safe beyond their rage Thank heaven, and not our ruling sage, Who shops us up in jail and cage.

Perdition seize that odious race Who, aiming at distinguish'd place, Would life and liberty efface;

With iron rod would rule the ball And, at their shrine, debase us all, Bid devils rise and angels fall.

Oh wish them ill, and wish them long To be as usual in the wrong In scheming for a chain too strong.

So will the happy time arrive When coming home, if then alive, You'll see them to the devil drive.

[166] From the 1815 edition.

STANZAS[167]

Written in Blackbeard's, the Pirate's, Castle, near the Town of St.

Thomas, in the West Indies.--1799

The ancient knave, who raised these walls, Now to oblivion half resign'd-- His fortress to the mind recalls The nerve that stimulates mankind; When savage force exerts its part And ruffian blood commands the heart.