1798—1809
THE FINAL PERIOD OF WANDERING
1798—1809[153]
ON ARRIVING IN SOUTH CAROLINA, 1798[154]
A happy gale presents, once more,
The gay and ever verdant shore,
Which every pleasure will restore
To those who come again:
You, Carolina, from the seas
Emerging, claim all power to please,
Emerge with elegance and ease
From Neptune's briny main.
To find in you a happier home,
Retirement for the days to come,
From northern coasts you saw me roam,
By flattering fancy moved:
I came, and in your fragrant woods,
Your magic isles and gay abodes,
In rural haunts and passing floods
Review'd the scenes I loved,
When sailing oft, from year to year
And leaving all I counted dear,
I found the happy country here
Where manly hearts abound;
Where friendship's kind extended hand,
All social, leads a generous band;
Where heroes, who redeem'd the land
Still live to be renown'd:
Who live to fill the trump of fame,
Or, dying, left the honor'd name
Which Athens had been proud to claim
From her historian's page—
These with invading thousands strove,
These bade the foe their prowess prove,
And from their old dominions drove
The tyrants of the age.
Long, long may every good be thine,
Sweet country, named from Caroline,
Once seen in Britain's court to shine
The fairest of the fair:
Still may the wanderer find a home
Where'er thy varied forests bloom,
And peace and pleasure with him come
To take their station here.
Here Ashley, with his brother stream,
By Charleston gliding, all, may claim,
That ever graced a poet's dream
Or sooth'd a statesman's cares;
She, seated near her forests blue,
Which winter's rigor never knew,
With half an ocean in her view
Her shining turrets rears.
Here stately oaks of living green
Along the extended coast are seen,
That rise beneath a heaven serene,
Unfading through the year—
In groves the tall Palmetto grows,
In shades inviting to repose,
The fairest, loveliest, scenes disclose—
All nature charms us here.
Dark wilds are thine, the yellow field,
And rivers by no frost congeal'd,
And, Ceres, all that you can yield
To deck the festive board;
The snow white fleece, from pods that grows,
And every seed that Flora sows—
The orange and the fig-tree shows
A paradise restored.
There rural love to bless the swains
In the bright eye of beauty reigns,
And brings a heaven upon the plains
From some dear Emma's charms;
Some Laura fair who haunts the mead,
Some Helen, whom the graces lead,
Whose charms the charms of her exceed
That set the world in arms.
And distant from the sullen roar
Of ocean, bursting on the shore,
A region rises, valued more
Than all the shores possess:
There lofty hills their range display,
Placed in a climate ever gay,
From wars and commerce far away,
Sweet nature's wilderness.
There all that art has taught to bloom,
The streams that from the mountain foam,
And thine, Eutaw, that distant roam,
Impart supreme delight:
The prospect to the western glade,
The ancient forest, undecay'd—
All these the wildest scenes have made
That ever awed the sight.
There Congaree his torrent pours,
Saluda, through the forest roars,
And black Catawba laves his shores
With waters from afar,
Till mingled with the proud Santee,
Their strength, united, finds the sea,
Through many a plain, by many a tree,
Then rush across the bar.
But, where all nature's fancies join,
Were but a single acre mine,
Blest with the cypress and the pine,
I would request no more;
And leaving all that once could please,
The northern groves and stormy seas—
I would not change such scenes as these
For all that men adore.
[153] This period comprises the time between the poet's abandonment of the Time-Piece in New York in 1798, and his final farewell to the sea, which was, in reality, in 1807. During this time Freneau lived in retirement at Mount Pleasant, making now and then voyages along the southern coast and to the Madeira Islands. The poems of the period dwell largely on the dangers of monarchy. He became more and more philosophical as he grew older. He delighted in his leisure hours to translate from the old Latin writers, and to make moralizing verses of a somewhat tedious nature. I have omitted all of the translations of this period and most of the moralizings.
[154] Freneau sailed as passenger to Charleston, January 3, 1798, and arrived on February 3, after a rough voyage. He sailed back from Charleston in the ship Maria, March 7, arriving in New York one week later. Text from the 1815 edition.
ODE TO THE AMERICANS[155]
That the progress of liberty and reason in the world is slow and gradual;
but, considering the present state of things, and the light
of science universally spreading, that it cannot be
long impeded, or its complete establishment
prevented.—1798
They who survey the human stage,
In reason's view; through time's past age,
Will find, whatever nature plann'd
Came, first, imperfect from her hand,
Or what ourselves imperfect call;
In nature's eye, though perfect all—
To man she gave to improve, adorn;
But let him halt—and all things turn
To assume their wild primeval cast,
The growth of a neglected waste.
Yond' stately trees, so fresh and fair,
That now such golden burthens bear,
Were once mean shrubs that, far from view,
In desert woods, unthrifty grew.
Man saw the seeds of something good
In these rude children of the wood;
Apply'd the knife, and pruned with care,
Till art has made them what they are.
With curious eye, search history's page,
And Man observe, through every age;
At first a mere barbarian, he
Bore nothing good, (like that wild tree).
At length by thought and reason's aid,
Reflection piercing night's dark shade,
Improvements gain'd, by slow advance
Direction, not the work of chance.
Forsaking, first, the savage den
And fellow-beasts less fierce than men,
New plans they form'd for war or power,
And sunk the ditch and raised the tower.
In course of years the human mind,
Advancing slow proved more refined,
Less brutal in external show,
But native mischief lurk'd below.
Despots and kings begun their part,
And millions fell by rules of art;
Or malice, rankling all the while,
Lay hid beneath the treacherous smile.
Religion brought her potent aid
To kings, their subjects to degrade—
Religion!—to profane your name
The hag of superstition came,
And seized your place, the world to ensnare,
A bitter harvest doom'd to bear!
And priests, or history much deceives,
Turn'd aide-de-camps to sceptred thieves.
At last that Cherub from the skies,
(Our nature meant to humanize)
And sway, without a king or crown,
Philosophy, from heaven came down.
Adorn'd with all her native charms
She clasp'd her offspring in her arms,
In hope the mists of night to chase
And hold them in her fond embrace.
She, only she, for virtue warm
Dissolved the spell and broke the charm,
That bade mankind their hands imbue
In blood, to please the scheming few.
Arm'd with a dart of fire and love
She left the seats and courts above,
And her celestial power display'd
Not to compel, but to persuade.
The moment she had whirl'd her sling
Each trembling war-hawk droop'd his wing:
They saw that reason's game was won,
They saw the trade of tyrants done:
And all was calm—she saw, well pleased,
The havoc done, the tumult ceased,
She saw her throne was now adored,
She saw the reign of peace restored,
And said, 'I leave you—pray, be wise!
'I'm on a visit to the skies,
'Let incense on my altars burn
'And you'll be blest till I return.'
But sad reverse!—when out of sight
The fiends of darkness watch'd her flight—
What she had built, they soon displaced,
Her temples burn'd, her tracks effaced.
Their force they join'd, to quench her flame,
A thousand ghastly legions came
To blast the blossom in the bud
And retrograde to chains and blood.
The people—to be bought and sold,
Were still the prize they wish'd to hold;—
All peasants, soldiers, sailors, slaves,
The common sink of rogues and knaves.
Yet, nature must her circle run—
Can they arrest the rising sun?
Prevent his warm reviving ray,
Or shade the influence of the day?
If Europe to the yoke returns,
Columbia at the idea spurns—
Let Britain wield barbarian rage
We meet her here, through every stage.
In vain her navy spreads its sails,
The strength of mind at last prevails;
And reason! thy prodigious power
Has brought it to its closing hour.
Appeal to arms henceforth should cease,
And man might learn to live in peace;
No kings with iron hearts should reign,
To seize old ocean's free domain.
Americans! would you conspire
To extinguish this increasing fire?
Would you, so late from fetters freed,
Join party in so base a deed?
Would you dear freedom sacrifice,
Bid navies on the ocean rise,
Be bound by military laws,
And all, to aid a tyrant's cause?
Oh, no! but should all shame forsake,
And gratitude her exit make,
Could you, as thousands say you can,
Desert the common cause of man?
A curse would on your efforts wait
Old british sway to reinstate;
No hireling hosts could force a crown
Nor keep the bold republic down:
The rising race, combined once more,
Would honor to our cause restore,
And in your doom and downfall seal
Such woes as wicked kings shall feel.
O liberty! seraphic name,
With whom from heaven fair virtue came,
For whom, through years of misery toss'd,
One hundred thousand lives were lost;
Still shall all grateful hearts to thee
Incline the head and bend the knee;
For thee this dream of life forego
And quit the world when thou dost go.
[155] From the 1815 edition.
ON THE WAR PATRONS, 1798[156]
Weary of peace, and warm for war,
Who first will mount the iron car?
Who first appear, to shield the Stars,
Who foremost, take the field of Mars?
For death and blood, with bold design,
Who bids a hundred legions join?
To see invasions in the air
From France, the moon, or heaven knows where;
In freedom's mouth to fix the gag,
And aid afford t' a wither'd hag;
This is the purpose of a few;
But this we see will scarcely do.
Who bears the brunt, or pays the bill?
The friends of war alone can tell:
Observe, six thousand heroes stand
With not three privates to command;
No matter for the nation's debt
If some can wear the epaulette.
If reason no attention finds,
What magic shall unite all minds?
If war a patronage ensures
That fifty thousand men procures,
Is such a force to humble France?
Will these against her arms advance?
To fight her legions, near the Rhine,
Or England's force in Holland join?
In dreams, that on the brain intrude,
When nature takes her sleepy mood,
And when she frolics through the mind,
By sovereign reason unconfined,
When her main spring is all uncoil'd
And fancy acts in whimsy wild—
I saw a chieftain, cap-a-pee,
Arm'd for the battle,—who but he?—
I saw him draw his rusty sword,
A present from a London lord:
The point was blunt, the edge too dull
I deem'd to cleave a dutchman's scull;
And with this sword he made advance,
And with this sword he struck at France—
This sword return'd without its sheath,
Too weak to cause a single death;
And there he found his work complete,
And then he made a safe retreat,
Where folly finds the camp of rest
And patience learns to do her best.
What next, will policy contrive
To bid the days of war arrive:
Is there no way to pick a quarrel,
And deck the martial brow with laurel?
Is there no way to coax a fight
And gratify some men of might?
To some, who sit at helm of state,
State-business is no killing weight,
They sign their names, inquire the news,
Look wise,—take care to get their dues;
At levees, note down who attends—
And there the mighty business ends:
To some that deal in state affairs
The world comes easy, with its cares;
To some who wish for crown and king,
A quarrel is a charming thing:
They, seated at the fountain head
Quaff bowls of nectar, and are fed
With all the danties of the land
That cash, or market may command:
But others doom'd to station low,
Their choicest draughts are but—so, so.
Hard knocks are theirs, and blood, and wounds,
Ten thousand thumps for twenty pounds:
Their youth they sell for paltry pay
For sixpence, and six kicks a day,
A pound of pork and rotten bread,
A coat lapell'd, with badge of red;
A life of din from year to year,
And thus concludes the mad career.
Ye rising race, consider well
What has been read, or what we tell.
From wars all regal mischiefs flow,
And kings make wars a raree-show,
A business to their post assign'd
To torture, damn, enslave mankind.
For this, of old, did priests anoint 'em,
Be ours the task to disappoint 'em.
But when a foe your soil invades,
A soldier is the first of trades;
Then, every step a soldier takes,
Reflection in his breast awakes,
That duty calls him to the field
Till all invaders are expell'd;
That honor sends him to the fight,
That he is acting what is right,
To guard the soil, and all that's dear;
From such as would be tyrants here.
[156] Text from the 1815 edition. During the early part of the year 1798 America was full of rumors of a French invasion. Talleyrand was scattering obscure hints that an invading army was preparing; that France well knew that America was divided; that only the Federalists would support the administration. The Federalists, supported by President Adams and by Washington, took active measures at once. In July they formally abrogated the treaty between the two countries and authorized the President to grant letters to shipmen empowering them to seize French vessels. The army was put into readiness, and financial legislation was enacted to procure means for carrying on the war. All believed that war with France was inevitable.
TO THE DEMOCRATIC COUNTRY EDITORS[157]
On a Charge of Bribery
You, Journalists, are bribed—that's clear,
And paid French millions by the year;
We see it in the coats you wear;
Such damning, such convincing proof
Of such a charge, is strong enough—
Your suits are made of costly stuff.
Dear boys! you lodge in mansions grand—
In time you'll own six feet of land,
Where now the sexton has command.
Your lodging is in garret high;
But where your best possessions lie,
Yourselves know best—and Him on high.
And have you had a foreign bribe?—
Then, why so lean?—shall we describe
The leanness of your honest tribe?
Why did you not with Tories join
To hold the British king divine—
And all his mandates very fine?
Then had your faces shined with fat—
Then had you worn the gold-laced hat—
And—said your lessons—very pat.—
Your lives are, now, continual trial,
Existence, constant self-denial,
To keep down some, who would be royal.
For public good you wear out types,
For public good you get dry wipes—
For public good you may get—stripes.
One half your time in Federal court,
On libel charge—you're made a sport—
You pay your fees—nor dare retort.—
All pleasure you are sworn to shun;
Are always cloistered, like a nun,
And glad to hide from Ragman's dun.—
All night you sit by glare of lamp,
Like Will o' Wisp in vapoury swamp,
To write of armies and the camp.—
You write—compile—compile and write,
'Till you have nearly lost your sight—
Then off to jail; and so, good night.
Turned out as poor as Christ-church rat,
Once more the trade you would be at
Which never yet made lean man fat.
You send your journals far and wide,
And though undone, and though belied;
You choose to take the patriot side.
Your works are in Kentucky found;
And there your politics go round—
And there you trust them many a pound.—
At home, to folks residing near,
You grant a credit, half a year;
And pine, mean while, on cakes and beer.
The time elapsed when friends should pay,
You urge your dun from day to day;
And so you must—and so you may.
One customer begins to fret,
And tells the dunner in a pet,
"Plague take the Printer and his debt:
"Ungrateful man—go hang—go burn—
"I read his paper night and morn,
"And now experience this return!
"Sir! was I not among the first
"Who did my name on paper trust,
"To help this Journalist accursed?
"Thus am I used for having signed:
"But I have spirit, he shall find—
"Ah me! the baseness of mankind!"
Thus, on you strive with constant pain,
The kindest tell you, call again!—
And you their humble dupe remain.
Who aims to prosper—should be sold—
If bribes are offered, take the gold,
Nor live to be forever fooled.
Salem.
[157] Found only in the edition of 1809. The anti-federal press opposed the administration of Adams, and the whole affair of the threatened French war.
THE SERIOUS MENACE[158]
Or Botany Bay and Nootka Sound: In answer to the Communications
of a Persecuting Royalist
Last week we heard a king's man say,
Do tell me where is Botany Bay?
There are, quoth he, a meddling few,
That shall go there—and we know who.
This Botany Bay is in an isle
Removed from us twelve thousand mile,
There rogues are banish'd, to atone
For roguish things in England done.
Ye vultures, here on sufferance fed,
Who curse the hand that gives you bread,
Recall your threats, or, by the way,
You'll find us act a serious play.
The haughty prince that England owns,
To make more room for royal sons,
Has given the hint, I would suspect—
And are you one of his Elect?
Ye busy tribe, of harpy face,
In search of power, in search of place,
Ye rancorous hearts, who build your all
On royal wrongs and freedom's fall,
This have we seen, and well we know,
Each son of freedom is your foe,
And these you would, unheard, convey
To places worse than Botany Bay.
Be cautious how you talk so loud—
Above your heads there hangs a cloud,
That, bursting with explosion vast,
May scatter vengeance in its blast;
And send you all, on th' devil's dray,
A longer road than—Botany Bay.
Another threat alarm'd us much—
(Indeed, we hourly meet with such)—
A cockney said, but spoke it low,
For fear the street his mind should know:
"And is there no sedition act?
("'Tis almost time to doubt the fact,)
"By which this gabbling crew are bound
"The nearest way to Nootka Sound?"
Can you but smile!—who would have thought
That they who writ, who march'd, who fought
For many a year, and little got
But liberty, and dearly bought
Must now away
With half their pay,
And seek on ocean's utmost bound
Their chance to starve at Nootka Sound!
This Nootka Sound, so far remote,
Would make us sing a serious note,
If it be true what travellers tell
That there a race of natives dwell
Who, when they would their brethren treat
And give them a regale of meat
Unchain their prisoners from the den,
And scrape the bones of bearded men.
God save us from so hard a fate!
As to be spitted, soon or late;
It is a lot that few admire—
So let us for a while retire;
And live to see some traitors drown'd
I' the deepest swash of Nootka Sound.
[158] Text from the 1815 edition.
REFLECTIONS[159]
On the Mutability of Things—1798
The time is approaching, deny it who may,
The days are not very remote,
When the pageant that glitter'd for many a day,
On the stream of oblivion will float.
The times are advancing when matters will turn,
And some, who are now in the shade,
And pelted by malice, or treated with scorn,
Will pay, in the coin that was paid:
The time it will be, when the people aroused,
For better arrangements prepare,
And firm to the cause, that of old they espoused,
Their steady attachment declare:
When tyrants will shrink from the face of the day,
Or, if they presume to remain,
To the tune of peccavi, a solo will play,
And lower the royalty strain:
When government favors to flattery's press
Will halt on their way from afar,
And people will laugh at the comical dress
Of the knights of the garter and star:
When a monarch, new fangled, with lawyer and scribe,
In junto will cease to convene,
Or take from old England a pitiful bribe,
To pamper his "highness serene;"
When virtue and merit will have a fair chance
The loaves and the fishes to share,
And Jefferson, you to your station advance,
The man for the president's chair:
When honesty, honor, experience, approved,
No more in disgrace will retire;
When fops from the places of trust are removed
And the leaders of faction retire.
[159] Text from the 1815 edition.
THE POLITICAL WEATHER-COCK[160]
'Tis strange that things upon the ground
Are commonly most steady found
While those in station proud
Are turned and twirled, or twist about,
Now here and there, now in or out,
Mere play things to a cloud.
See yonder influential man,
So late the stern Republican
While interest bore him up;
See him recant, abjure the cause,
See him support tyrannic laws,
The dregs of slavery's cup!
Thus, on yon' steeple towering high,
Where clouds and storms distracted fly,
The weather-cock is placed;
Which only while the storm does blow
Is to one point of compass true,
Then veers with every blast.
But things are so appointed here
That weather-cocks on high appear,
On pinnacle displayed,
While Sense, and Worth, and reasoning wights,
And they who plead for Human Rights,
Sit humble in the shade.
[160] From the 1809 edition.
REFLECTIONS[161]
On the Gradual Progress of Nations from Democratical States to
Despotic Empires
Mantua vae miserae nimium vicina Cremonae!—Virgil.
Oh fatal day! when to the Atlantic shore,
European despots sent the doctrine o'er,
That man's vast race was born to lick the dust;
Feed on the winds, or toil through life accurst;
Poor and despised, that rulers might be great
And swell to monarchs, to devour the state.
Whence came these ills, or from what causes grew
This vortex vast, that only spares the few,
Despotic sway, where every plague combined,
Distracts, degrades, and swallows up mankind;
Takes from the intellectual sun its light,
And shrouds the world in universal night?
Accuse not nature for the dreary scene,
That glooms her stage or hides her heaven serene,
She, equal still in all her varied ways,
An equal blessing to the world displays.
The suns that now on northern climates glow,
Will soon retire to melt Antarctic snow,
The seas she robb'd to form her clouds and rain,
Return in rivers to that source again;
But man, wrong'd man, borne down, deceived and vex'd,
Groans on through life, bewilder'd and perplex'd;
No suns on him but suns of misery shine,
Now march'd to war, now grovelling in the mine.
Chain'd, fetter'd, prostrate, sent from earth a slave,
To seek rewards in worlds beyond the grave.
If in her general system, just to all,
We nature an impartial parent call,
Why did she not on man's whole race bestow,
Those fine sensations angels only know;
Who, sway'd by reason, with superior mind
In nature's state all nature's blessings find,
Which shed through all, does all their race pervade,
In streams not niggard by a despot made?
Leave this a secret in great nature's breast,
Confess that all her works tend to the best,
Or own that man's neglected culture here
Breeds all the mischiefs that we feel or fear.
In all, except the skill to rule her race,
Man, wise and skilful, gives each part its place:
Each nice machine he plans, to reason true,
Adapting all things to the end in view,
But taught in this, the art himself to rule
His sense is folly, and himself a fool.
Where social strength resides, there rests, 'tis plain,
The power, mankind to govern and restrain:
This strength is not but in the social plan
Controling all, the common good of man,
That power concentred by the general voice,
In honest men, an honest people's choice,
With frequent change, to keep the patriot pure,
And from vain views of power the heart secure:
Here lies the secret, hid from Rome or Greece,
That holds a state in awe, yet holds in peace.
See through the world, in ages now retired,
Man foe to man, as policy required:
At some proud tyrant's nod what millions rose,
To extend their sway, and make a world their foes.
View Asia ravaged, Europe drench'd with blood,
In feuds whose cause no nation understood.
The cause we fear, of so much misery sown,
Known at the helm of state, and there alone.
Left to himself, wherever man is found,
In peace he aims to walk life's little round;
In peace to sail, in peace to till the soil,
Nor force false grandeur from a brother's toil.
All but the base, designing, scheming, few,
Who seize on nations with a robber's view,
With crowns and sceptres awe his dazzled eye,
And priests that hold the artillery of the sky;
These, these, with armies, navies, potent grown,
Impoverish man and bid the nations groan.
These with pretended balances of states
Keep worlds at variance, breed eternal hates,
Make man the poor base slave of low design,
Degrade his nature to its last decline,
Shed hell's worse blots on his exalted race,
And make them poor and mean, to make them base.
Shall views like these assail our happy land,
Where embryo monarchs thirst for wide command,
Shall a whole nation's strength and fair renown
Be sacrificed, to prop a tottering throne,
That, ages past, the world's great curse has stood,
Has throve on plunder, and been fed on blood.—
Americans! will you control such views?
Speak—for you must—you have no hour to lose.
[161] From the 1815 edition.
COMMERCE[162]
That internal commerce only, promotes the morals of a country situated
like America, and prevents its growth of luxury,
and its consequent vices
To every clime, through every sea
The bold adventurer steers;
In bounding barque, through each degree
His country's produce bears.—
How far more blest to stay at home
Than thus on Neptune's wastes to roam,
Where fervors melt, or frosts congeal—
Ah ye! with toils and hardships worn,
Condemn'd to face the briny foam;
Ah! from such fatal projects turn
The wave-dividing keel.
The product of the furrow'd plain—
Transferr'd to foreign shores,
To pamper pride and please the vain
The reign of kings restores:
Hence, every vice the sail imports,
The glare of crowns, the pomp of courts,
And War, with all his crimson train!
Thus man design'd to till the ground,
A stranger to himself is found—
Is sent to toil on yonder wave,
Is made the dreary ocean's sport,
Since commerce first to avarice gave
To sail the ocean round.
How far more wise the grave Chinese,
Who ne'er remotely stray,
But bid the world surmount the seas
And hard-earn'd tribute pay.
Hence, treasure to their country flows
Freed from the danger, and the woes
Of distant seas and dreary shores.
There commerce breeds no foreign war;
At home they find their wants supplied,
And ask, why nations come so far
To seek superfluous stores?
Americans! why half neglect
The culture of your soil?
From distant traffic why expect
The harvest of your toil?
At home a surer harvest springs
From mutual interchange of things,
Domestic duties to fulfil.—
Vast lakes within your realm abound
Where commerce now expands her sail,
Where hostile navies are not found
To bend you to their will.
[162] From the edition of 1815.
ON FALSE SYSTEMS[163]
Of Government, and the Generally Debased Condition of Mankind
Does there exist, or will there come
An age with wisdom to assume,
The Rights by heaven designed;
The Rights which man was born to claim,
From Nature's God which freely came,
To aid and bless mankind.—
No monarch lives, nor do I deem
There will exist one crown supreme
The world in peace to sway;
Whose first great view will be to place
On their true scale the human race,
And discord's rage allay.
Republics! must the task be your's
To frame the code which life secures,
And Right from man to man—
Are you, in Time's declining age,
Found only fit to tread the stage
Where tyranny began?
How can we call those systems just
Which bid the few, the proud, the first
Possess all earthly good;
While millions robbed of all that's dear
In silence shed the ceaseless tear,
And leeches suck their blood.
Great orb, that on our planet shines,
Whose power both light and heat combines,
You should the model be;
To man, the pattern how to reign
With equal sway, and how maintain
True human dignity.
Impartially to all below
The solar beams unstinted flow,
On all is poured the Ray,
Which cheers, which warms, which clothes the ground
In robes of green, or breathes around
Life;—to enjoy the day.
But crowns not so;—with selfish views
They partially their bliss diffuse
Their minions feel them kind;—
And, still opposed to human right,
Their plans, their views in this unite,
To embroil and curse mankind.
Ye tyrants, false to Him, who gave
Life, and the virtues of the brave,
All worth we own, or know:—
Who made you great, the lords of man,
To waste with wars, with blood to stain
The Maker's works below?
You have no iron race to sway—
Illume them well with Reason's ray;
Inform our active race;
True honour, to the mind impart,
With virtue's precepts tame the heart,
Not urge it to be base;
Let laws revive, by heaven designed,
To tame the tiger in the mind
And drive from human hearts
That love of wealth, that love of sway
Which leads the world too much astray,
Which points envenomed darts:
And men will rise from what they are;
Sublimer, and superior, far,
Than Solon guessed, or Plato saw;
All will be just, all will be good—
That harmony, "not understood,"
Will reign the general law.
For, in our race, deranged, bereft,
The parting god some vestige left
Of worth before possessed;
Which full, which fair, which perfect shone
When love and peace, in concord sown,
Ruled, and inspired each breast.
Hence, the small Good which yet we find,
Is shades of that prevailing mind
Which sways the worlds around:—
Let these depart, once disappear,
And earth would all the horrors wear
In hell's dominions found.
Just, as yon' tree, which, bending, grows
To chance, not fate, its fortune owes;
So man from some rude shock,
Some slighted power, some hostile hand,
Has missed the state by Nature planned,
Has split on passion's rock.
Yet shall that tree, when hewed away
(As human woes have had their day)
A new creation find:
The infant shoot in time will swell,
(Sublime and great from that which fell,)
To all that heaven designed.
What is this earth, that sun, these skies;
If all we see, on man must rise,
Forsaken and oppressed—
Why blazes round the eternal beam,
Why, Reason, art thou called supreme,
Where nations find no rest.—
What are the splendours of this ball—
When life is closed, what are they all?
When dust to dust returns
Does power, or wealth, attend the dead;
Are captives from the contest led—
Is homage paid to urns?
What are the ends of Nature's laws;
What folly prompts, what madness draws
Mankind in chains, too strong:—
Nature, to us, confused appears,
On little things she wastes her cares,
The great seem sometimes wrong.
[163] Unique, as far as I can find, in the edition of 1809.
ON THE PROPOSED SYSTEM[164]
Of State Consolidation, &c., about 1799
In thoughtless hour some much misguided men,
And more, who held a prostituted pen,
From monstrous creeds a monstrous system drew,
That every State into one kettle threw,
And boil'd them up until the goodly mass
Might for a kingdom, or a something, pass.
In the gay circle of saint James's placed,
From thence, no doubt, this modest plan they traced,
Suit with the splendor that surrounds a king,
Too many sigh'd, and wish'd to be that thing.
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 shore,
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 Washington, 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 prone,
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 shine again,
And save the democratic reign.
[165] From the 1815 edition. An embassy, 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, God 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;
Excisemen 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.
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 god, 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 glass with liquid fire
And drank damnation 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 æther 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 Washington, who died December 14, 1799
Terra tegit, populus mæret, cælum 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, Washington, 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 gratitude 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 gods
Who flourish'd in time's earlier age,
Would be to class 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, assert 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 Washington.
Who now will save our shores from harms,
The task to him so long assign'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 nobler passions 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
Assuage one tear—relieve one groan.
O Washington! 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.
In raptures with a theme so great,
While thy famed actions they relate,
Each future age from thee shall know
All that is good and great below;
Shall glow with pride to hand thee down
To latest time, to long renown,
The brightest name on freedom's page,
And the first honor of our age.
[170] From the 1815 edition.
STANZAS[171]
Occasioned by certain absurd, extravagant, and even blasphemous
panegyrics and encomiums on the character of the late Gen.
Washington, that appeared in several pamphlets, journals,
and other periodical publications, in January, 1800
No tongue can tell, no pen describe
The phrenzy of a numerous tribe,
Who, by distemper'd fancy led,
Insult the memory of the dead.
Of old, there were in every age
Who stuff'd with gods the historian's page,
And raised beyond the human sphere
Some who, we know, were mortal here.
Such was the case, we know full well,
When darkness spread her pagan spell;
Mere insects, born for tombs and graves,
They changed into celestial knaves;
Made some, condemn'd to tombs and shrouds,
Lieutenant generals in the clouds.
In journals, meant to spread the news,
From state to state—and we know whose—
We read a thousand idle things
That madness pens, or folly sings.
Was, Washington, your conquering sword
Condemn'd to such a base reward?
Was trash, like that we now review,
The tribute to your valor due?
One holds you more than mortal kind,
One holds you all ethereal mind,
This puts you in your saviour's seat,
That makes you dreadful in retreat.
One says you are become a star,
One makes you more resplendent, far;
One sings, that, when to death you bow'd,
Old mother nature shriek'd aloud.
We grieve to see such pens profane
The first of chiefs, the first of men.—
To Washington—a man—who died,
As abba father well applied?
Absurdly, in a frantic strain,
Why ask him not for sun and rain?—
We sicken at the vile applause
That bids him give the ocean laws.
Ye patrons of the ranting strain,
What temples have been rent in twain?
What fiery chariots have been sent
To dignify the sad event?—
O, ye profane, irreverent few,
Who reason's medium never knew:
On you she never glanced her beams;
You carry all things to extremes.
Shall they, who spring from parent earth,
Pretend to more than mortal birth?
Or, to the omnipotent allied,
Control his heaven, or join his side?
O, is there not some chosen curse,
Some vengeance due, with lightning's force
That far and wide destruction spreads,
To burst on such irreverent heads!
Had they, in life, be-praised him so,
What would have been the event, I know
He would have spurn'd them, with disdain,
Or rush'd upon them, with his cane.
He was no god, ye flattering knaves,
He own'd no world, he ruled no waves;
But—and exalt it, if you can,
He was the upright, Honest Man.
This was his glory, this outshone
Those attributes you doat upon:
On this strong ground he took his stand,
Such virtue saved a sinking land.
[171] From the 1815 edition.
TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD RUTLEDGE, ESQ.[172]
Late Governor of South Carolina
Removed from life's uncertain stage,
In virtue firm, in honor clear,—
One of the worthies of our age,
Rutledge! resigns his station here.
Alike in arts of war and peace,
And form'd by nature to excel,
From early Rome and ancient Greece,
He modell'd all his actions well.
When Britons came with chains to bind,
Or ravage these devoted lands,
He our firm league of freedom sign'd
And counsell'd how to break their bands.
To the great cause of honor true,
He took his part with manly pride,
His spirit o'er these regions flew,
The patriots' and the soldiers' guide.
In arts of peace, in war's bold schemes
Amongst our brightest stars he moved,
The Lees, the Moultries, Sumpters, Greenes—
By all admired, by all beloved.
A patriot of superior mould,
He dared all foreign foes oppose,
Till, from a tyrant's ashes cold,
The mighty pile of freedom rose.
In process of succeeding days
When peace resumed her joyous reign,
With laurel wreaths and twining bays
He sought less active life again.
There, warm to plead the orphan's cause
From misery's eye to dry the tear,
He stood where justice guards the laws
At once humane, at once severe.
'Twas not his firm enlighten'd mind,
So ardent in affairs of state;
'Twas not that he in armies shined
That made him so completely great:
Persuasion dwelt upon his tongue,
He spoke—all hush'd, and all were awed;—
From all he said conviction sprung,
And crowds were eager to applaud.
Thus long esteem'd, thus early loved,
The tender husband, friend sincere;
The parent, patriot, sage, approved,
Had now survived his fiftieth year—
Had now the highest honors met
That Carolina could bestow;
Presiding o'er that potent state
Where streams of wealth and plenty flow.
Where labor spreads her rural reign
To western regions bold and free;
And commerce on the Atlantic main
Wafts her rich stores of industry:
Then left this stage of human things
To shine in a sublimer sphere
Where time to one assemblage brings
All virtuous minds, all hearts sincere.
[172] From the 1815 edition. Edward Rutledge was a member of the Continental Congress from South Carolina and a signer of the Declaration of Independence. He was a conspicuous figure during the whole war. He was elected governor of South Carolina in 1798, but died January 23, 1800, before completing his term.
ON THE DEPARTURE OF PETER PORCUPINE[173]
For England
A bird of night attends the sail
That now towards us turns her tail
With Porcupine, escaped from jail.
O may the sharks enjoy their bait:
He came such mischief to create
We wish him not a better fate.
This hero of the pension'd pen
Has left our shores, and left his den
To write at home for English men.
Five thousand dollars,[174] we may guess,
Have made his pension something less—
So, Peter left us,—in distress.
He writ, and writ, and writ so long[A]
That sheriff came, with writ more strong,
And he went off, and all went wrong.
[A] For several years he published newspapers and other periodical works in Philadelphia which had a vast circulation; the whole scope and tendency of which was, as is well remembered, to render the republican institutions of this country contemptible, as well as odious to the people; and by discontenting them with their government, to open the way for the introduction of a monarchial system. He was thought to be a pensioner of the English government; but whether such or not is uncertain.—Freneau's note.
May southern gales that vex the main,
Or Boreas, with his whistling train
Make Peter howl and howl again.
I hear him screech, I hear him shout!—
The storm has put his Rush light[B] out—
I see him famish'd with sour crout.
[B] A weekly pamphlet publication, in which the political as well as private character of Dr. Rush, and other persons of celebrity, was vilified to the lowest degree of scurrility, malignancy and falsehood.—Ib.
May on the groaning vessel's side
All Neptune's ruffian strength be try'd
Till every seam is gaping wide.
And while the waves about him swell
May not one triton blow the shell
(A sign at sea of doing well):
But should he reach the british shore,
(The land that englishmen adore)
One trouble will he find and more:
His pen will run at such a rate,
His malice so provoke the great,
They soon will drive him out of date.
With broken heart and blunted pen
He'll sink among the little men
Or scribble in some Newgate den.
Alack, alack! he might have stay'd
And followed here the scribbling trade,
And lived without the royal aid.
But democratic laws he hated,
Our government he so be-rated
That his own projects he defeated.
He took his leave from Sandy-Hook,
And parted with a surly look,
That all observed and few mistook.
[173] From the 1815 edition. William Cobbett sailed for England in June, 1800.
[174] Cobbett was sued by Dr. Rush for libel, was found guilty, and compelled to pay a fine of $5,000.
THE NAUTICAL RENDEZVOUS[175]
Written at a house in Guadaloupe, in 1800, where they were collecting Recruits for a Privateer
The ship preparing for the main
Enlists a wild, but gallant train,
Who in a moving jail would roam
Disgusted with the world at home.
They quit the fields and quit the trees
To seek their bread on stormy seas;
Perhaps to see the land no more,
Or see, but not enjoy the shore.
There must be some as this world goes
Who every joy and pleasure lose,
And round the world at random stray
To gain their bread the shortest way.
They hate the ax, they hate the hoe
And execrate the rural plough,
The mossy bank, the sylvan shade
Where once they wrought, where once they play'd:
Prefer a boisterous, mad career,
A broken leg, and wounds severe,
To all the joys that can be found
On mountain top or furrow'd ground.
A hammock holds them when they sleep;
A tomb, when dying, in the deep,
A crowded deck, a cann of beer
These sons of Amphitrite prefer
To all the verdure of the fields
Or all a quiet pillow yields.
There must be such a nervous race,
Who venture all, and no disgrace;
Who will support through every blast,
The shatter'd ship, the falling mast—
Who will support through every sea
The sacred cause of liberty,
And every foe to ruin drag
Who aims to strike the gallic flag.
[175] From the 1815 edition.
TO THE MEMORY[176]
Of the Late Ædanus Burke, Esq., of South-Carolina
Quiesco—ubi saeva indignatio,
Ulterius cor lacerare nequit!
A land enslaved, his generous heart disdain'd
Which tyrants fetter'd, and where tyrants reign'd:
Disgusted there, he left the hibernian shore
The laws that bound him, and the isle that bore.
Bold, open, free, he call'd the world his own,
Preferr'd our new republics to a throne;
And lent his aid their insults to repay,
Repel the britons and to win the day.
In every art of subtlety untaught,
He spoke no more, than "just the thing he ought;"
For justice warm, he spurn'd, with just disdain,
The mean evasion, and the law's chicane.
Burke! to thy shade we pay this last address,
And only say what all, who knew, confess:
Your virtues were not of the milder kind,
But rugged independence ruled your mind,
And, stern, in all that binds to honor's cause,
No interest sway'd you to desert her laws.
Then rest in peace, the portion of the just,
Where Carolina guards your honor'd dust:
Beneath a tree, remote, obscure, you sleep,
But all the sister virtues, round you, weep;
Your native worth, no tongue, no time arraigns,
That last memorial, and the best remains!
[176] From the edition of 1815. Ædanus Burke, a native of Ireland, died in Charleston, S. C., March 30, 1802. He was a soldier of the Revolution, a judge of the State Supreme Court, and a member of the first Federal Congress. He was a man of the purest patriotism, and his influence was wide and potent.
TO THE
REV. SAMUEL STANHOPE SMITH, D.D.[177]
And president of Nassau-hall, at Princeton, New-Jersey, on the rebuilding
of that noble edifice, which had been destroyed by fire
This honor'd pile, so late in ashes laid,
Once more emerges, by your generous aid;
Your aid, and their's, who through our vast domain,
Befriend the muses, and their cause sustain.
In flames involved, that stately fabric fell,
Where, long presiding, you deserved so well;
But to the dust when you beheld it fall,
The honor'd, famed, majestic, Nassau-Hall,
Not then repining in that darkened hour
Your native genius show'd its native power,
And plann'd the means to bid a structure rise
Pride of the arts, and favorite of the wise.
For this we saw you trace the unwearied mile
And saw the friends of Nassau on you smile;
They to your efforts lent their generous aid,
And every honor to your genius paid,
To the firm patron of the arts they gave
What Alfred lavish'd, and what arts should have.
For this we saw you rove the southern waste
In our Columbia's milder climates placed,
Those happier shores, where Carolina proves
The friend of Princeton's academic groves,
Where Georgia owns the wreath to science due
And honor'd science, genius, art, and you:
And Charleston every generous wish return'd,
Sigh'd for the loss, and for her favorite mourn'd,
Proud of her sons, who by your cares are seen
Lights of the world, and pride of social man.
There Ramsay met you, esculapian sage,
The famed historian of a warring age,
His word gave vigor to your vast design,
And his strong efforts equall'd all but thine.
Nassau revived, from thence in time proceed
Chiefs, who shall empire sway, or legions lead,
Who, warm'd with all that philosophic glow
Which Greece, or Rome, or reasoning powers bestow,
Shall to mankind the friends and guardians be
Shall make them virtuous, and preserve them free.
From that lost pile, which, now to ashes turn'd;
The sage regretted and the muses mourn'd,
Sprung, once, a race who firm to freedom's cause,
Repell'd oppression and despotic laws,
Unsceptered kings, or one at least dismiss'd,
With half the lords and prefects on his list:
Such, early, here imbibed the sacred flame
That glanced from heaven, or from true science came;
With these enroll'd, be every honor done
To our firm statesman, patriot, Madison,
Form'd to the purpose of a reasoning age,
To raise its genius, and direct its rage.
This tribute from a friendly heart receive,
O Smith! which must your kind indulgence crave,
If half a stranger to the poet's lay,
It fails your just, your due reward to pay.
[177] The text is from the edition of 1815. The interior of Nassau Hall was destroyed by fire March 6, 1802. The damage was promptly repaired by generous contributions from the alumni and friends of the institution. President Smith took an active part in the work of rebuilding and it was in no small measure due to his efforts that the edifice was so quickly restored.
Nassau Hall, the oldest and because of its historical associations the most interesting of the Princeton buildings, was erected in 1756 from plans drawn by Robert Smith and Dr. Shippen of Philadelphia. It was for many years the handsomest and most commodious academic structure in the colonies and as such attracted no little attention. During the Revolution it served repeatedly as barracks and hospital for both armies and suffered considerable damage. From the 26th of June until the 4th of November, 1783, it was the national capitol. Within its walls the Congress of the nation found a safe retreat and for more than four months held quiet session in the spacious library-room remote from the mutinous troops at Philadelphia. Here the Minister from the States General of Holland, the first ambassador accredited to America after the declaration of peace was received, and here the grateful acknowledgments of Congress were tendered Washington for his services in establishing the freedom and independence of the United States.