and so on sings the Doctor. Who would have thought that
"profound Solomon would tune a jig,
Or Nestor play at pushpin with the boys,"
as Shakspeare has it? who would have expected erotic tints and Epicurean morality from the author of "The Conquest of Canaan," and of four volumes of orthodox and weighty theology?
The "Ode to Columbia,"
"Columbia! Columbia! to glory arise,
The queen of the world and the child of the skies!"
written when Dwight was a chaplain in the Revolutionary Army, is probably more known to the moderns than any of his poetical efforts. It is a vision of the future greatness of the new-born nation,—short, spirited, and finished with more care than he was in the habit of giving to his verses.
In like manner the brave and burly Colonel
"Humphreys charmed the listening throng;
Sweetly he sang amid the clang of arms."
At Washington's head-quarters in Peekskill he composed "An Address to the Armies of the United States." It was recited publicly in London, and translated by Chastellux into French prose. Three years later he published a poem on the "Happiness of America," which ran through ten editions. In it the gallant man-at-rhymes tells the story of his own campaigns:—
"From whom I learnt the martial art;
With what high chiefs I played my early part:
With Parsons first, whose eye with piercing ken
Reads through their hearts the characters of men.
Then how I aided in the following scene
Death-daring Putnam, then immortal Greene.
Then how great Washington my youth approved,
In rank preferred and as a parent loved;
(For each fine feeling in his bosom blends,—
The first of heroes, sages, patriots, friends!)
With him what hours on warlike plans I spent
Beneath the shadow of th' imperial tent;
With him how oft I went the nightly round
Through moving hosts, or slept on tented ground;
From him how oft (nor far below the first
In high behests and confidential trust,)—
From him how oft I bore the dread commands
Which destined for the fight the eager bands;
With him how oft I passed th' eventful day,
Rode by his side as down the long array
His awful voice the columns taught to form,
To point the thunders and to pour the storm."