The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume I Part 40

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And from within the howls of Death I heard, Cursing the dismal night that gave him birth, d.a.m.ning his ancient sire, and mother sin, Who at the gates of h.e.l.l, accursed, brought him forth.

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[For fancy gave to my enraptur'd soul 445 An eagle's eye, with keenest glance to see, And bade those distant sounds distinctly roll, Which, waking, never had affected me.]

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Oft his pale breast with cruel hand he smote, And tearing from his limbs a winding sheet, 450 Roar'd to the black skies, while the woods around, As wicked as himself, his words repeat.

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Thrice tow'rd the skies his meagre arms he rear'd, Invok'd all h.e.l.l, and thunders on his head, Bid light'nings fly, earth yawn, and tempests roar, 455 And the sea wrap him in its oozy bed.

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"My life for one cool draught!--O, fetch your springs, "Can one unfeeling to my woes be found!

"No friendly visage comes to my relief, "But ghosts impend, and spectres hover round. 460

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"Though humbled now, dishearten'd and distrest, "Yet, when admitted to the peaceful ground, "With heroes, kings, and conquerors I shall rest, "Shall sleep as safely, and perhaps as sound."

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Dim burnt the lamp, and now the phantom Death 465 Gave his last groans in horror and despair-- "All h.e.l.l demands me hence,"--he said, and threw The red lamp hissing through the midnight air.

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Trembling, across the plain my course I held, And found the grave-yard, loitering through the gloom, 470 And, in the midst, a h.e.l.l-red, wandering light, Walking in fiery circles round the tomb.

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Among the graves a spiry building stood, Whose tolling bell, resounding through the shade, Sung doleful ditties to the adjacent wood, 475 And many a dismal drowsy thing it said.

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This fabrick tall, with towers and chancels grac'd, Was rais'd by sinners' hands, in ages fled; The roof they painted, and the beams they brac'd, And texts from scripture o'er the walls they spread: 480

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But wicked were their hearts, for they refus'd To aid the helpless orphan, when distrest, The s.h.i.+vering, naked stranger they mis-us'd, And banish'd from their doors the starving guest.

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By laws protected, cruel and prophane, 485 The poor man's ox these monsters drove away;-- And left Distress to attend her infant train, No friend to comfort, and no bread to stay.

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But heaven look'd on with keen, resentful eye, And doom'd them to perdition and the grave, 490 That as they felt not for the wretch distrest, So heaven no pity on their souls would have.

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In pride they rais'd this building tall and fair, Their hearts were on perpetual mischief bent, With pride they preach'd, and pride was in their prayer, 495 With pride they were deceiv'd, and so to h.e.l.l they went.

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At distance far approaching to the tomb, By lamps and lanthorns guided through the shade, A coal-black chariot hurried through the gloom, Spectres attending, in black weeds array'd, 500

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Whose woeful forms yet chill my soul with dread, Each wore a vest in Stygian chambers wove, Death's kindred all--Death's horses they bestrode, And gallop'd fiercely, as the chariot drove.

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Each horrid face a grizly mask conceal'd, 505 Their busy eyes shot terror to my soul As now and then, by the pale lanthorn's glare, I saw them for their parted friend condole.

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Before the hea.r.s.e Death's chaplain seem'd to go, Who strove to comfort, what he could, the dead; 510 Talk'd much of Satan, and the land of woe, And many a chapter from the scriptures read.

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At last he rais'd the swelling anthem high, In dismal numbers seem'd he to complain; The captive tribes that by Euphrates wept, 515 Their song was jovial to his dreary strain.

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That done, they plac'd the carcase in the tomb, To dust and dull oblivion now resign'd, Then turn'd the chariot tow'rd the House of Night, Which soon flew off, and left no trace behind. 520

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But as I stoop'd to write the appointed verse, Swifter than thought the airy scene decay'd; Blus.h.i.+ng the morn arose, and from the east With her gay streams of light dispell'd the shade.

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What is this Death, ye deep read sophists, say?-- 525 Death is no more than one unceasing change; New forms arise, while other forms decay, Yet all is Life throughout creation's range.

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The towering Alps, the haughty Appenine, The Andes, wrapt in everlasting snow, 530 The Apalachian and the Ararat Sooner or later must to ruin go.

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Hills sink to plains, and man returns to dust, That dust supports a reptile or a flower; Each changeful atom by some other nurs'd 535 Takes some new form, to perish in an hour.

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