The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 38

This pirate, known to former days, The scourge of these unhappy climes, In this strong fabric thought to raise A monument to future times: To guard himself and guard his gold, Or shelter robbers, uncontrol'd.

A standard on these walls he rear'd, And here he swore the oath profane, That by his G.o.d, and by his beard, Sole, independent, he would reign; And do his best to crush the sway Of legal right and honesty.

Within these walls, and in these vaults, Of princely power and wealth possess'd, Dominion hung on all his thoughts, And here he hoped an age of rest; The wealth of princes flowing in That from the Spaniards he did win.

He many a chief and captain awed, Or chain'd with fetters, foot and hand; Uncheck'd, his fleets he sent abroad, Commission gave, conferr'd command; And if his sailors skulk'd or fled, He made them shorter--by a head.

Half Europe's flags he bade retire From ponderous guns he hurl'd the ball-- He fill'd his gla.s.s with liquid fire And drank d.a.m.nation to them all: For many a year he held the sway And thousands at his mercy lay.

Confiding in his castle's strength Mann'd by a fierce, heroic crew, He blunder'd on till they at length, The model of a city drew, Where he might reign and be obey'd, And be the tyrant of all trade.

Vain hope! his fort neglected stands And, crumbling, hastens to decay;-- Where, once, he train'd his daring bands The stranger scarcely finds his way: The bushes in the castle grow Where once he menaced friend and foe.

In this mysterious scene of things There must be laws or who could live?

There must be laws to aid the wings Of those who on the ocean strive To earn by commerce, bold and free, The honest gains of industry.

[167] Text from the 1815 edition.

LINES WRITTEN AT SEA[168]

No pleasure on earth can afford such delights, As the heavenly view of these tropical nights: The glow of the stars, and the breeze of the sea, Are heaven--if heaven on ocean can be.--

The star of old Cancer is right overhead, And the sun in the water has travelled to bed; He is gone, as some say, to recline at his ease, And not, like ourselves, to be pestered with fleas.

What pity that here is no insular spot, Where quarrels, and murder, and malice are not: Where a stranger might land, to recruit his worn crew, Replenish the casks, and the water renew.

On this Empire of waves, this expanse of the main, In the track we are sailing, no island is seen: The glow of the stars, and the breath of the wind Are lost!--for they bring not the scent of the land!

Huge porpoises swim, where there should be an isle, Where an Eden might bloom, or a Cyprus might smile-- From Palma,[A] thus far, with a tedious delay, Salt water and aether is all we survey!

[A] The most north-westerly of the Canary Islands.--_Freneau's note._

Like an artist that's busy in melting his lead, At random it falls, and is carelessly spread, So Nature, though wisely the globe she has planned, Left the surface to chance--to be sea, or be land.

[168] Unique in the edition of 1809.

STANZAS[169]

To the memory of General WAs.h.i.+NGTON, who died December 14, 1799

_Terra tegit, populus maeret, caelum habet!_

Departing with the closing age To virtue, worth, and freedom true, The chief, the patriot, and the sage To Vernon bids his last adieu: To reap in some exalted sphere The just rewards of virtue here.

Thou, Was.h.i.+ngton, by heaven design'd To act a part in human things That few have known among mankind, And far beyond the task of kings; We hail you now to heaven received, Your mighty task on earth achieved.

While sculpture and her sister arts, For thee their choicest wreaths prepare, Fond grat.i.tude her share imparts And begs thy bones for burial there; Where, near Virginia's northern bound Swells the vast pile on federal ground.

To call from their obscure abodes The Grecian chief, the Roman sage, The kings, the heroes, and the G.o.ds Who flourish'd in time's earlier age, Would be to cla.s.s them not with you,-- Superior far, in every view.

Those ancients of ferocious mould, Blood their delight, and war their trade, Their oaths profaned, their countries sold, And fetter'd nations prostrate laid; Could these, like you, a.s.sert their claim To honor and immortal fame?

Those monarchs, proud of pillaged spoils, With nations shackled in their train, Returning from their desperate toils With trophies,--and their thousands slain; In all they did no traits are known Like those that honor'd Was.h.i.+ngton.

Who now will save our sh.o.r.es from harms, The task to him so long a.s.sign'd?

Who now will rouse our youth to arms Should war approach to curse mankind?

Alas! no more the word you give, But in your precepts you survive.

Ah, gone! and none your place supply, Nor will your equal soon appear; But that great name can only die When memory dwells no longer here, When man and all his systems must Dissolve, like you, and turn to dust.

[169] From the 1815 edition.

STANZAS[170]

Upon the Same Subject with the Preceding

The chief who freed these suffering lands From Britain's bold besieging bands, The hero, through all countries known,-- The guardian genius of his own,

Is gone to that celestial bourne From whence no traveller can return, Where Scipio and where Trajan went; And heaven reclaims the soul it lent.

Each heart with secret wo congeals; Down the pale cheek moist sorrow steals, And all the n.o.bler pa.s.sions join To mourn, remember, and resign.

O ye, who carve the marble bust To celebrate poor human dust, And from the silent shades of death Retrieve the form but not the breath,

Vain is the attempt by force of art To impress his image on the heart: It lives, it glows, in every breast, And tears of millions paint it best.

Indebted to his guardian care, And great alike in peace and war, The loss they feel these States deplore,-- Their friend--their father--is no more.

What will they do to avow their grief?

No sighs, no tears, afford relief: Dark mourning weeds but ill express The poignant wo that all confess; Nor will the monumental stone a.s.suage one tear--relieve one groan.

O Was.h.i.+ngton! thy honor'd dust To parent nature we entrust; Convinced that your exalted mind Still lives, but soars beyond mankind, Still acts in virtue's sacred cause, Nor asks from man his vain applause.