Chapter XVIII: Epilogue (2)

He was a dear fellow!--O, had he remain'd!
For he was uneasy whene'er I complain'd;
He call'd me his charmer, and call'd me his belle,
What a folly to die on the banks of Sorel!

Then let me remain in my lonely retreat;
My shepherd departed I never shall meet--
Here's Billy O'Bluster--I love him as well,
And Damon may stay at the river Sorel.

[120] This poem is unique in the 1788 edition of Freneau's works. It is evidently an earlier version of the "Mars and Hymen" below.

MARS AND HYMEN[121]

Occasioned by the separation of a young widow from a young military
lover, of the troops sent to attack Fort Chamblee, in Canada; in
which expedition he lost his life [1775]

_Persons of the Poem_--Lucinda, Damon, Thyrsis

_Damon_

Why do we talk of shaded bowers,
When frosts, my fair one, chill the plain,
And nights are cold, and long the hours
That damp the ardour of the swain,
Who, parting from his rural fire,
All pleasure doth forego--
And here and there,
And everywhere,
Pursues the invading foe.

Yes, we must rest on frosts and snows!
No season shuts up our campaign!
Hard as the rocks, we dare oppose
The autumnal, or the wintery reign.
Alike to us, the winds that blow
In summer's season, gay,
Or those that rave
On Hudson's wave,
And drift his ice away.

Winter and war may change the scene!
The ball may pierce, the frost may chill;
And dire misfortunes intervene,
But freedom must be powerful still,
To drive these Britons from our shore,
Who come with sail, who come with oar,
So cruel and unkind,
With servile chain, who strive in vain,
Our freeborn souls to bind. [_Exit_]

_Lucinda_ (_two months after_)

They scold me, and tell me I must not complain,
To part a few weeks with my favourite swain!
He goes to the battle!--and leaves me to mourn--
And tell me--and tell me--and will he return?[122]
When he left me, he kiss'd me--and said, My sweet dear,
In less than a month I again will be here;
But still I can hardly my sorrows adjourn--
You may call me a witch--if ever I return.[123]
I said, My dear soldier, I beg you would stay;
But he, with his farmers,[124] went strutting away--
With anguish and sorrow my bosom did burn,
And I wept--for I thought he would never return.[125]

_Thyrsis_

Fairest of the female train,
You must seek another swain,
Damon will not come again!
All his toils are over!
As you prized him, to excess,
Your loss is great, I will confess,
But, lady, yield not to distress--
I will be your lover.

_Lucinda_

Not all the swains the land can shew,
(If Damon is not living now)[126]
Can from my bosom drive my woe,
Or bid a second passion glow;--
For Damon has possession;
Not all the gifts that wealth can bring,
Nor all the airs that you can sing,
Nor all the music of the string
Can banish his impression.

_Thyrsis_

Wedlock and death too often prove
Pernicious to the fires of Love:
With equal strength they both combine
Hearts best united[127] to disjoin:
Hence ardent loves too soon remit;
Thus die the fires that Cupid lit.
Female tears and April snow
Sudden come and sudden go.
Since his head is levelled low,
Cease remembrance of your woe.
Can it be in reason found
To be crazy for Love's wound?[128]
Must you live in sorrows drowned
For a lover under ground?

_Lucinda_

What a picture have I seen!
What can all these visions mean!
Wintry groves and vacant halls,
Coffins hid by sable palls,
Monuments and funerals!
Forms terrific to the sight,
Ghastly phantoms clad in white;
Streams that ever seemed to freeze,
Shaded o'er by willow trees,[129]
Ever drooping--hardly green--
What a vision have I seen!
One I saw of angel kind,
From the dregs of life refined;
On her visage such a smile,[130]
And she talk'd in such a style!
All was heaven upon her brow;--
Yes, I think I see her now!
All in beams of light arrayed;
And these cheering words she said:
Fair Lucinda, come to me;
What has grief to do with thee?
O forsake your wretched shore,
Crimsoned with its children's gore![131]
Could you but a moment stray
In the meadows where I play,
You would die to come away.
Come away, and speed your wing--[132]
Here we love, and here we sing!

_Thyrsis_

You will not yet forget your glooms,
The heavy heart, the downcast eye,
The cheek that scarce a smile assumes,
The never-ending sigh![133]

_Lucinda_

Had you the secret cause to grieve--
That in this breast doth lie,
Instead of wishing to relieve
You would be just as I.

_Thyrsis_

What secret cause have you to grieve?--
A lover gone astray?--[134]
If one was able to deceive,
Perhaps another may.

_Lucinda_

My lover has not me deceived,
An act he would disdain;
Oh! he is gone--and I am grieved--
He'll never come again!
He'll never come again!

_Thyrsis_

The turtle on yon' withered bough
Who lately moaned her murdered mate,
Has found another partner now,--
Such changes all await.
Again her drooping plume is dress'd,
Again she wishes to be bless'd,
And takes a husband to her nest.
If nature has decreed it so
With some above, and all below,
Let us, Lucinda, banish woe,[135]
Nor be perplext with sorrow:
If I should leave your arms this night,
And die before the morning light,
I would advise you--and you might
Wed again to-morrow.

_Lucinda_

The turtle on yon' withered tree!--
That turtle never felt like me!
Her grief is but a moment's date,
Another day, another mate:
And true it is, the feathered race
Hold many a partner no disgrace.
How would the world my fault display,
What would censorious Sally[136] say?
Would say, while grinning malice sneers,--[137]
She made a conquest by her tears!

_Thyrsis_

My Polly!--once the pride of all,
That shepherd lads their charmers call,
Too early parted with her bloom,
And sleeps in yonder sylvan tomb:
Her death has set me free--
Fair as the day, and sweet as May,
But what is that to me!
Since all must bow to fate's arrest,[138]
No love deceased shall rack my breast--
Come, then, Lucinda, and be blest.

_Lucinda_

My Damon! Oh, can I forget
The hour you left these moistened eyes,
O'er northern lakes to wander far
To colder climes and dreary skies!
There, vengeful, in their wastes of snow
The Britons guard the frozen shore,
And Damon there is perished now,
The swain that shall return no more!

_Thyrsis_

Weep, weep no more, my Jersey lass,[139]
The pang is past that fixed his doom--
They, too, shall to destruction pass,
Perhaps--and hardly find a tomb.
Refrain your tears--enough are shed--
They, too, shall have their share of woe:
Fled is their fame, their honours fled;
And Washington shall lay them low.

_Lucinda_

If you had but yon' sergeant's size,
His mien and looks, so debonaire,
You might seem lovely in my eyes,
Nor should you quite despair.[140]
There's something in your looks, I find,
Recalling Damon to my mind--
He is dead, and I must be resigned!
His lively step, his sun-burnt face,
His nervous arm in you I trace--
Indeed,--I think you no disgrace.[141]

_Thyrsis_

On this dismal, cloudy day,[142]
In these fighting times, I say,
Will you Yea, or will you Nay?

_Lucinda_

Oh! I will not tell you Nay,
You have such a coaxing way!

_Thyrsis_

Call the music!--half is done
That my heart could count upon--
From the grave I seize a prize!
Here she is, and where he lies,
She or I but little care!
O, what animals we are!
For you!--I would forego all ease,[143]
And traverse sands or travel seas.
Of all they sent us from above,
Nothing, nothing is like love!
Happiest passion of the mind,
Sent from heaven to bless mankind,
Though at variance with your charms,
Fate's eternal mandate stands;
Hymen, come!--unite our hands,
And give Lucinda to my arms!

[121] This poem seems first to have appeared in the edition of 1786, where it bore the title, "Female Frailty. Written _November 1775_." Freneau made use of the opening speeches of Damon and Lucinda in his drama, _The Spy_. He omitted the poem from the 1795 edition of his works, retaining, however, the opening lyric, which he entitled "The Northern Soldier." The poem was reprinted in the edition of 1809, the text of which I have used. The poet edited the earlier version with great care, making verbal variations in almost every line, and adding lines and even stanzas. I have marked only a few of the more notable changes.

[122] "And, say what you please, he will never return."--_Ed. 1786._

[123]

"With anguish and sorrow my bosom did burn,
And I wept, being sure he would never return."--_Ib._

[124] "With his soldiers."--_Ib._

[125]

"Then why should I longer my sorrows adjourn?--
You may call me a fool if he ever return."--_Ib._

[126] Not in the earliest version.

[127] "Hearts once united."--_Ed. 1786._

[128]

"Never yet was reason found
So distracted with love's wound
As to be in sorrow drown'd."--_Ib._

[129] "Planted round with cypress trees."--_Ed. 1786._

[130] Four lines beginning with this not in original version.

[131] "Shrouded all with darkness o'er."--_Ib._

[132]

"'Come away! and speed thy flight,
All with me is endless light.'"--_Ib._

[133] "The breast that heaves a sigh."--_Ed. 1786._

[134] "A lover gone away?"--_Ib._

[135]

"Let us, like them, forget our woe,
And not be kill'd with sorrow."--_Ed. 1786._

[136] "Censorious Chloe."--_Ib._

[137] "While laughing folly hears."--_Ib._

[138] "Death's arrest."--_Ed. 1786._

[139] "My lovely lass."--_Ib._

[140]

"If you had once a soldier's guise,
The splendid coat, the sprightly air,
You might seem charming in these eyes,
Nor would I quite despair."--_Ed. 1786._

[141]

"His handsome shape, his manly face,
His youthful step in you I trace--
All, all I wish for, but the lace."--_Ib._

[142] The following eleven lines not in the original version.

[143] The 1786 version ended as follows:

_Thyrsis_

For you I would forego my ease,
And traverse lakes, or ravage seas,
And dress in lace, or what you please.

This enchanting month of May,
So bright, so bloomy, and so gay,
Claims our nuptials on this day.

For her vernal triumphs, we
Tune the harp to symphony--
Conquest has attended me.

Brightest season for the mind,
Vigorous, free, and unconfin'd,
Golden age of human kind.

Still at variance with thy charms
Death's eternal empire stands--
_Hymen_, come--while rapture warms,
And give Lucinda to my arms.

MAC SWIGGEN[144]

A SATIRE

Written 1775

Long have I sat on this disast'rous shore,
And, sighing, sought to gain a passage o'er
To Europe's towns, where, as our travellers say,
Poets may flourish, or, perhaps they may;
But such abuse has from your coarse pen fell
I think I may defer my voyage as well;
Why should I far in search of honour roam,
And dunces leave to triumph here at home?
Great Jove in wrath a spark of genius gave.
And bade me drink the mad Pierian wave,
Hence came these rhimes, with truth ascrib'd to me,
That swell thy little soul to jealousy:[145]
If thus, tormented at these flighty lays,
You strive to blast what ne'er was meant for praise,
How will you bear the more exalted rhime,
By labour polish'd, and matur'd by time?
Devoted madman! what inspir'd thy rage,
Who bade thy foolish muse with me engage?
Against a wind-mill would'st thou try thy might,
Against a giant[146] would a pigmy fight?
What could thy slanderous pen with malice arm
To injure him, who never did thee harm?[147]
Have I from thee been urgent to attain
The mean ideas of thy barren brain?
Have I been seen in borrowed clothes to shine,
And, when detected, swear by Jove they're mine?
O miscreant, hostile to thine own repose,
From thy own envy thy destruction flows!
Bless'd be our western world--its scenes conspire
To raise a poet's fancy and his fire,
Lo, blue-topt mountains to the skies ascend!
Lo, shady forests to the breezes bend!
See mighty streams meandering to the main!
See lambs and lambkins sport on every plain!
The spotted herds in flowery meadows see!
But what, ungenerous wretch, are these to thee?--
You find no charms in all that nature yields,
Then leave to me the grottoes and the fields:
I interfere not with your vast design--
Pursue your studies, and I'll follow mine,
Pursue, well pleas'd, your theologic schemes,
Attend professors, and correct your themes,
Still some dull nonsense, low-bred wit invent,
Or prove from scripture what it never meant,
Or far through law, that land of scoundrels, stray,
And truth disguise through all your mazy way;
Wealth you may gain, your clients you may squeeze,
And by long cheating, learn to live at ease;
If but in Wood or Littleton well read,
The devil shall help you to your daily bread.
O waft me far, ye muses of the west--
Give me your green bowers and soft seats of rest--
Thrice happy in those dear retreats to find
A safe retirement from all human kind.
Though dire misfortunes every step attend,
The muse, still social, still remains a friend--
In solitude her converse gives delight,
With gay poetic dreams she cheers the night,
She aids me, shields me, bears me on her wings,
In spite of growling whelps, to high, exalted things,
Beyond the miscreants that my peace molest,
Miscreants, with dullness and with rage opprest.
Hail, great Mac Swiggen![148] foe to honest fame,[149]
Patron of dunces, and thyself the same,
You dream of conquest--tell me, how, or whence?
Act like a man and combat me with sense--
This evil have I known, and known but once,[150]
Thus to be gall'd and slander'd by a dunce,
Saw rage and weakness join their dastard plan
To crush the shadow, not attack the man.
What swarms of vermin from the sultry south
Like frogs surround thy pestilential mouth--
Clad in the garb of sacred sanctity,
What madness prompts thee to invent a lie?
Thou base defender of a wretched crew,
Thy tongue let loose on those you never knew,
The human spirit with the brutal join'd,
The imps of Orcus in thy breast combin'd,
The genius barren, and the wicked heart,
Prepar'd to take each trifling scoundrel's part,
The turn'd up nose, the monkey's foolish face,
The scorn of reason, and your sire's disgrace--
Assist me, gods, to drive this dog of rhime
Back to the torments of his native clime,
Where dullness mingles with her native earth,[151]
And rhimes, not worth the pang that gave them birth!
Where did he learn to write or talk with men?--
A senseless blockhead, with a scribbling pen--
In vile acrostics thou may'st please the fair,[152]
Not less than with thy looks and powder'd hair,
But strive no more with rhime to daunt thy foes,
Or, by the flame that in my bosom glows,
The muse on thee shall her worst fury spend,
And hemp, or water, thy vile being end.
Aspers'd like me, who would not grieve and rage!
Who would not burn, Mac Swiggen to engage?
Him and his friends, a mean, designing race,
I, singly I, must combat face to face--
Alone I stand to meet the foul-mouth'd train,[153]
Assisted by no poets of the plain,
Whose timerous Muses cannot swell their theme
Beyond a meadow or a purling stream.--
Were not my breast impervious to despair,
And did not Clio reign unrivall'd there,
I must expire beneath the ungenerous host,
And dullness triumph o'er a poet lost.
Rage gives me wings, and fearless prompts me on
To conquer brutes the world should blush to own;
No peace, no quarter to such imps I lend,
Death and perdition on each line I send;
Bring all the wittlings that your host supplies,
A cloud of nonsense and a storm of lies--
Your kitchen wit--Mac Swiggen's loud applause,
That wretched rhymer with his lanthorn jaws--
His deep-set eyes forever on the wink,
His soul extracted from the public sink--
All such as he, to my confusion call--
And tho' ten myriads--I despise them all.
Come on, Mac Swiggen, come--your muse is willing,
Your prose is merry, but your verse is killing--
Come on, attack me with that whining prose,
Your beard is red, and swine-like is your nose,
Like burning brush your bristly head of hair,
The ugliest image of a Greenland bear--
Come on--attack me with your choicest rhimes,
Sound void of sense betrays the unmeaning chimes--
Come, league your forces; all your wit combine,
Your wit not equal to the bold design--
The heaviest arms the Muse can give, I wield,
To stretch Mac Swiggen floundering on the field,
'Swiggen, who, aided by some spurious Muse,
But bellows nonsense, and but writes abuse,
'Swiggen, immortal and unfading grown,[154]
But by no deeds or merits of his own.--
So, when some hateful monster sees the day,
In spirits we preserve it from decay,
But for what end, it is not hard to guess--
Not for its value, but its ugliness.
Now, by the winds which shake thy rubric mop,
(That nest of witches, or that barber's shop)
Mac Swiggen, hear--Be wise in times to come,
A dunce by nature, bid thy muse be dumb,
Lest you, devoted to the infernal skies,
Descend, like Lucifer, no more to rise.--
Sick of all feuds, to Reason I appeal[155]
From wars of paper, and from wars of steel,
Let others here their hopes and wishes end,
I to the sea with weary steps descend,
Quit the mean conquest that such swine might yield,
And leave Mac Swiggen to enjoy the field--
In distant isles some happier scene I'll choose,
And court in softer shades the unwilling Muse,
Thrice happy there, through peaceful plains to rove,
Or the cool verdure of the orange grove,
Safe from the miscreants that my peace molest,
Miscreants, with dullness and with rage opprest.

[144] I can find only two versions of this poem: that in the 1786 edition of the poet, which I have reproduced, and that in the 1809 edition, in which the title is changed to "A Satire in Answer to a Hostile Attack. [First written, and published 1775.]" From the nature of the concluding lines of the poem, it may be inferred that it was the last work done by the poet before starting on his voyage to the West Indies, late In November. I have not been able to find a trace of the hostile attack in the newspapers or publications of the period, or of the original publication of "Mac Swiggen." The poem was omitted from the 1795 edition, only the first eight lines being used in the short poem "To Shylock Ap-Shenken." The poet made many verbal changes for the later edition, but I have marked only the most significant.

[145] "Urge your little soul to cruelty."--_Ed. 1809._

[146] "Castle."--_Ed. 1809._

[147] "Meant you harm."--_Ib._

[148] "Thou bright genius." In each case where Mac Swiggen is used in the earlier version, it is changed later.--"This giant," "Sangrado," "dear satirist," "a green goose," "scribbler," and "insect," are supplied in its place.

[149] Of the ninety-four remaining lines of the poem, fifty were taken from the satires written by the poet while in college, in the war between the Whig and Cliosophic Societies. Many of the lines were much changed. The portion used by Freneau may be said to comprise all of the three early satires that could be quoted with decency.

[150] This line and the one following not in the Clio-Whig satires.

[151] This line and the one following not in the Clio-Whig satires.

[152] This line and the seven following not in the Clio-Whig satires.

[153] This line and the seven following not in the Clio-Whig satires.

[154] Six lines not in Clio-Whig satires.

[155] The remainder of the poem not in the Clio-Whig satires.

THE HOUSE OF NIGHT[156]

A Vision

ADVERTISEMENT--This Poem is founded upon the authority of
Scripture, inasmuch as these sacred books assert, that _the last
enemy that shall be conquered is Death_. For the purposes of poetry
he is here personified, and represented as on his dying bed. The
scene is laid at a solitary palace, (the time midnight) which, tho'
before beautiful and joyous, is now become sad and gloomy, as being
the abode and receptacle of Death. Its owner, an amiable, majestic
youth, who had lately lost a beloved consort, nevertheless with a
noble philosophical fortitude and humanity, entertains him in a
friendly manner, and by employing Physicians, endeavours to restore
him to health, altho' an enemy; convinced of the excellence and
propriety of that divine precept, _If thine enemy hunger, feed him;
if he thirst, give him drink_. He nevertheless, as if by a spirit
of prophecy, informs this (fictitiously) wicked being of the
certainty of his doom, and represents to him in a pathetic manner
the vanity of his expectations, either of a reception into the
abodes of the just, or continuing longer to make havock of mankind
upon earth. The patient finding his end approaching, composes his
epitaph, and orders it to be engraved on his tombstone, hinting to
us thereby, that even Death and Distress have vanity; and would be
remembered with honour after he is no more, altho' his whole life
has been spent in deeds of devastation and murder. He dies at last
in the utmost agonies of despair, after agreeing with an avaricious
Undertaker to intomb his bones. This reflects upon the inhumanity
of those men, who, not to mention an enemy, would scarcely cover a
departed friend with a little dust, without certainty of reward for
so doing. The circumstances of his funeral are then recited, and
the visionary and fabulous part of the poem disappears. It
concludes with a few reflections on the impropriety of a too great
attachment to the present life, and incentives to such moral virtue
as may assist in conducting us to a better.

1

Trembling I write my dream, and recollect
A fearful vision at the midnight hour;
So late, Death o'er me spread his sable wings,
Painted with fancies of malignant power!

2

Such was the dream the sage Chaldean saw 5
Disclos'd to him that felt heav'n's vengeful rod,
Such was the ghost, who through deep silence cry'd,
Shall mortal man--be juster than his God?

3

Let others draw from smiling skies their theme,
And tell of climes that boast unfading light, 10
I draw a darker scene, replete with gloom,
I sing the horrors of the House of Night.

4

Stranger, believe the truth experience tells,
Poetic dreams are of a finer cast
Than those which o'er the sober brain diffus'd, 15
Are but a repetition of some action past.

5

Fancy, I own thy power--when sunk in sleep
Thou play'st thy wild delusive part so well
You lift me into immortality,
Depict new heavens, or draw the scenes of hell. 20

6

By some sad means, when Reason holds no sway,
Lonely I rov'd at midnight o'er a plain
Where murmuring streams and mingling rivers flow
Far to their springs, or seek the sea again.

7

Sweet vernal May! tho' then thy woods in bloom 25
Flourish'd, yet nought of this could Fancy see,
No wild pinks bless'd the meads, no green the fields,
And naked seem'd to stand each lifeless tree:

8

Dark was the sky, and not one friendly star
Shone from the zenith or horizon, clear, 30
Mist sate upon the woods, and darkness rode
In her black chariot, with a wild career.

9

And from the woods the late resounding note
Issued of the loquacious Whip-poor-will,[A]
Hoarse, howling dogs, and nightly roving wolves 35
Clamour'd from far off cliffs invisible.

[A] A Bird peculiar to America, of a solitary nature, who
never sings but in the night. Her note resembles the
name given to her by the country people.--_Freneau's
note._

10

Rude, from the wide extended Chesapeke
I heard the winds the dashing waves assail,
And saw from far, by picturing fancy form'd,
The black ship travelling through the noisy gale. 40

11

At last, by chance and guardian fancy led,
I reach'd a noble dome, rais'd fair and high,
And saw the light from upper windows flame,
Presage of mirth and hospitality.

12

And by that light around the dome appear'd 45
A mournful garden of autumnal hue,
Its lately pleasing flowers all drooping stood
Amidst high weeds that in rank plenty grew.

13

The Primrose there, the violet darkly blue,
Daisies and fair Narcissus ceas'd to rise, 50
Gay spotted pinks their charming bloom withdrew,
And Polyanthus quench'd its thousand dyes.

14

No pleasant fruit or blossom gaily smil'd,
Nought but unhappy plants or trees were seen,
The yew, the myrtle, and the church-yard elm, 55
The cypress, with its melancholy green.

15

There cedars dark, the osier, and the pine,
Shorn tamarisks, and weeping willows grew,
The poplar tall, the lotos, and the lime,
And pyracantha did her leaves renew. 60

16

The poppy there, companion to repose,
Display'd her blossoms that began to fall,
And here the purple amaranthus rose
With mint strong-scented, for the funeral.

17

And here and there with laurel shrubs between 65
A tombstone lay, inscrib'd with strains of woe,
And stanzas sad, throughout the dismal green,
Lamented for the dead that slept below.

18

Peace to this awful dome!--when strait I heard
The voice of men in a secluded room, 70
Much did they talk of death, and much of life,
Of coffins, shrouds, and horrors of a tomb.

19

Pathetic were their words, and well they aim'd
To explain the mystic paths of providence,
Learn'd were they all, but there remain'd not I 75
To hear the upshot of their conference.

20

Meantime from an adjoining chamber came
Confused murmurings, half distinguish'd sounds,
And as I nearer drew, disputes arose
Of surgery, and remedies for wounds. 80

21

Dull were their feuds, for they went on to talk
Of _Anchylosis_,[B] and the shoulder blade,
_Os Femoris_,[B] _Trochanters_[B]--and whate'er
Has been discuss'd by Cheselden or Meade:

[B] _Anchylosis_--a morbid contraction of the joints.
_Os Femoris_--the thigh bone. _Trochanters_--two
processes in the upper part of the thigh bone,
otherwise called _rotator major et minor_, in
which the tendons of many muscles terminate.--_Freneau's
notes._

22

And often each, to prove his notion true, 85
Brought proofs from Galen or Hippocrates--
But fancy led me hence--and left them so,
Firm at their points of hardy No and Yes.

23

Then up three winding stairs my feet were brought
To a high chamber, hung with mourning sad, 90
The unsnuff'd candles glar'd with visage dim,
'Midst grief, in ecstacy of woe run mad.

24

A wide leaf'd table stood on either side,
Well fraught with phials, half their liquids spent,
And from a couch, behind the curtain's veil, 95
I heard a hollow voice of loud lament.

25

Turning to view the object whence it came,
My frighted eyes a horrid form survey'd;
Fancy, I own thy power--Death on the couch,
With fleshless limbs, at rueful length, was laid. 100

26

And o'er his head flew jealousies and cares,
Ghosts, imps, and half the black Tartarian crew,
Arch-angels damn'd, nor was their Prince remote,
Borne on the vaporous wings of Stygian dew.

27

Around his bed, by the dull flambeaux' glare, 105
I saw pale phantoms--Rage to madness vext,
Wan, wasting grief, and ever musing care,
Distressful pain, and poverty perplext.

28

Sad was his countenance, if we can call
That countenance, where only bones were seen 110
And eyes sunk in their sockets, dark and low,
And teeth, that only show'd themselves to grin.

29

Reft was his scull of hair, and no fresh bloom
Of chearful mirth sate on his visage hoar:
Sometimes he rais'd his head, while deep-drawn groans 115
Were mixt with words that did his fate deplore.

30

Oft did he wish to see the daylight spring,
And often toward the window lean'd to hear,
Fore-runner of the scarlet-mantled morn,
The early note of wakeful Chanticleer. 120

31

Thus he--But at my hand a portly youth
Of comely countenance, began to tell,
"That this was Death upon his dying bed,
"Sullen, morose, and peevish to be well;

32

"Fixt is his doom--the miscreant reigns no more 125
"The tyrant of the dying or the dead;
"This night concludes his all-consuming reign,
"Pour out, ye heav'ns, your vengeance on his head.

33

"But since, my friend (said he), chance leads you here,
"With me this night upon the sick attend, 130
"You on this bed of death must watch, and I
"Will not be distant from the fretful fiend.

34

"Before he made this lofty pile his home,
"In undisturb'd repose I sweetly slept,
"But when he came to this sequester'd dome, 135
"'Twas then my troubles came, and then I wept:

35

"Twice three long nights, in this sad chamber, I,
"As though a brother languish'd in despair,
"Have 'tended faithful round his gloomy bed,
"Have been content to breathe this loathsome air. 140

36

"A while relieve the languors that I feel,
"Sleep's magic forces close my weary eyes;
"Soft o'er my soul unwonted slumbers steal,
"Aid the weak patient till you see me rise.

37

"But let no slumbers on your eye-lids fall, 145
"That if he ask for powder or for pill
"You may be ready at the word to start,
"And still seem anxious to perform his will.

38

"The bleeding Saviour of a world undone
"Bade thy compassion rise toward thy foe; 150
"Then, stranger, for the sake of Mary's son,
"Thy tears of pity on this wretch bestow.

39

"'Twas he that stole from my adoring arms
"Aspasia, she the loveliest of her kind,
"Lucretia's virtue, with a Helen's charms, 155
"Charms of the face, and beauties of the mind.

40

"The blushy cheek, the lively, beaming eye,
"The ruby lip, the flowing jetty hair,
"The stature tall, the aspect so divine,
"All beauty, you would think, had center'd there. 160

41

"Each future age her virtues shall extol,
"Nor the just tribute to her worth refuse;
"Fam'd, to the stars Urania bids her rise,
"Theme of the moral, and the tragic Muse.

42

"Sweet as the fragrance of the vernal morn, 165
"Nipt in its bloom this faded flower I see;
"The inspiring angel from that breast is gone,
"And life's warm tide forever chill'd in thee!

43

"Such charms shall greet my longing soul no more,
"Her lively eyes are clos'd in endless shade, 170
"Torpid, she rests on yonder marble floor;
"Approach, and see what havock Death has made.

44

"Yet, stranger, hold--her charms are so divine,
"Such tints of life still on her visage glow,
"That even in death this slumbering bride of mine 175
"May seize thy heart, and make thee wretched too.

45

"O shun the sight--forbid thy trembling hand
"From her pale face to raise the enshrouding lawn,--
"Death claims thy care, obey his stern command,
"Trim the dull tapers, for I see no dawn!" 180

46

So said, at Death's left side I sate me down,
The mourning youth toward his right reclin'd;
Death in the middle lay, with all his groans,
And much he toss'd and tumbled, sigh'd and pin'd.

47

But now this man of hell toward me turn'd, 185
And strait, in hideous tone, began to speak;
Long held he sage discourse, but I forebore
To answer him, much less his news to seek.

48

He talk'd of tomb-stones and of monuments,
Of Equinoctial climes and India shores, 190
He talk'd of stars that shed their influence,
Fevers and plagues, and all their noxious stores.

49

He mention'd, too, the guileful _calenture_,[C]
Tempting the sailor on the deep sea main,
That paints gay groves upon the ocean floor, 195
Beckoning her victim to the faithless scene.

[C] _Calenture_--an inflammatory fever, attended with a
delirium, common in long voyages at sea, in which the
diseased persons fancy the sea to be green fields and
meadows, and, if they are not hindered, will leap
overboard.--_Freneau's note._

50

Much spoke he of the myrtle and the yew,
Of ghosts that nightly walk the church-yard o'er,
Of storms that through the wint'ry ocean blow
And dash the well-mann'd galley on the shore, 200

51

Of broad-mouth'd cannons, and the thunderbolt,
Of sieges and convulsions, dearth and fire,
Of poisonous weeds--but seem'd to sneer at these
Who by the laurel o'er him did aspire.

52

Then with a hollow voice thus went he on: 205
"Get up, and search, and bring, when found, to me,
"Some cordial, potion, or some pleasant draught,
"Sweet, slumb'rous poppy, or the mild Bohea.

53

"But hark, my pitying friend!--and, if you can,
"Deceive the grim physician at the door-- 210
"Bring half the mountain springs--ah! hither bring
"The cold rock water from the shady bower.

54

"For till this night such thirst did ne'er invade,
"A thirst provok'd by heav'n's avenging hand;
"Hence bear me, friends, to quaff, and quaff again 215
"The cool wave bubbling from the yellow sand.

55

"To these dark walls with stately step I came,
"Prepar'd your drugs and doses to defy;
"Smit with the love of never dying fame,
"I came, alas! to conquer--not to die!" 220

56

Glad, from his side I sprang, and fetch'd the draught,
Which down his greedy throat he quickly swills,
Then on a second errand sent me strait,
To search in some dark corner for his pills.

57

Quoth he, "These pills have long compounded been, 225
"Of dead men's bones and bitter roots, I trow;
"But that I may to wonted health return,
"Throughout my lank veins shall their substance go."

58

So down they went.--He rais'd his fainting head
And oft in feeble tone essay'd to talk; 230
Quoth he, "Since remedies have small avail,
"Assist unhappy Death once more to walk."

59

Then slowly rising from his loathsome bed,
On wasted legs the meagre monster stood,
Gap'd wide, and foam'd, and hungry seem'd to ask, 235
Tho' sick, an endless quantity of food.

60

Said he, "The sweet melodious flute prepare,
"The anthem, and the organ's solemn sound,
"Such as may strike my soul with ecstacy,
"Such as may from yon' lofty wall rebound. 240

61

"Sweet music can the fiercest pains assuage,
"She bids the soul to heaven's blest mansions rise,
"She calms despair, controuls infernal rage
"And deepest anguish, when it hears her, dies.

62

"And see, the mizzling, misty midnight reigns, 245
"And no soft dews are on my eye-lids sent!--
"Here, stranger, lend thy hand; assist me, pray,
"To walk a circuit of no large extent."--

63

On my prest shoulders leaning, round he went,
And could have made the boldest spectre flee, 250
I led him up stairs, and I led him down,
But not one moment's rest from pain got he.

64

Then with his dart, its cusp unpointed now,
Thrice with main strength he smote the trembling floor;
The roof resounded to the fearful blow, 255
And Cleon started, doom'd to sleep no more.

65

When thus spoke Death, impatient of controul,
"Quick, move, and bring from yonder black bureau
"The sacred book that may preserve my soul
"From long damnation, and eternal woe. 260

66

"And with it bring--for you may find them there,
"The works of holy authors, dead and gone,
"The sacred tome of moving Drelincourt,
"Or what more solemn Sherlock mus'd upon:

67

"And read, my Cleon, what these sages say, 265
"And what the sacred Penman hath declar'd,
"That when the wicked leaves his odious way,
"His sins shall vanish, and his soul be spar'd."

68

But he, unmindful of the vain command,
Reason'd with Death, nor were his reasonings few: 270
Quoth he--"My Lord, what frenzy moves your brain,
"Pray, what, my Lord, can Sherlock be to you,

69

"Or all the sage divines that ever wrote,
"Grave Drelincourt, or heaven's unerring page;
"These point their arrows at your hostile breast, 275
"And raise new pains that time must ne'er assuage.

70

"And why should thus thy woe disturb my rest?
"Much of Theology I once did read,
"And there 'tis fixt, sure as my God is so,
"That Death shall perish, tho' a God should bleed. 280

71

"The martyr, doom'd the pangs of fire to feel,
"Lives but a moment in the sultry blast;
"The victim groans, and dies beneath the steel,
"But thy severer pains shall always last.

72

"O miscreant vile, thy age has made thee doat-- 285
"If peace, if sacred peace were found for you,
"Hell would cry out, and all the damn'd arise
"And, more deserving, seek for pity too.

73

"Seek not for Paradise--'tis not for thee,
"Where high in heaven its sweetest blossoms blow, 290
"Nor even where, gliding to the Persian main,
"Thy waves, Euphrates, through the garden flow!

74

"Bloody has been thy reign, O man of hell,
"Who sympathiz'd with no departing groan;
"Cruel wast thou, and hardly dost deserve 295
"To have _Hic Jacet_ stampt upon thy stone.

75

"He that could build his mansion o'er the tombs,
"Depending still on sickness and decay,
"May dwell unmov'd amidst these drowsier glooms,
"May laugh the dullest of these shades away. 300

76

"Remember how with unrelenting ire
"You tore the infant from the unwilling breast--
"Aspasia fell, and Cleon must expire,
"Doom'd by the impartial God to endless rest:

77

"In vain with stars he deck'd yon' spangled skies, 305
"And bade the mind to heaven's bright regions soar,
"And brought so far to my admiring eyes
"A glimpse of glories that shall blaze no more!

78

"Even now, to glut thy devilish wrath, I see
"From eastern realms a wasteful army rise: 310
"Why else those lights that tremble in the north?
"Why else yon' comet blazing through the skies?

79

"Rejoice, O fiend; Britannia's tyrant sends
"From German plains his myriads to our shore.
"The fierce Hibernian with the Briton join'd-- 315
"Bring them, ye winds!--but waft them back no more.

80

"To you, alas! the fates in wrath deny
"The comforts to our parting moments due,
"And leave you here to languish and to die,
"Your crimes too many, and your tears too few. 320

81

"No cheering voice to thee shall cry, Repent!
"As once it echoed through the wilderness--
"No patron died for thee--damn'd, damn'd art thou
"Like all the devils, nor one jot the less.

82

"A gloomy land, with sullen skies is thine, 325
"Where never rose or amaranthus grow,
"No daffodils, nor comely columbine,
"No hyacinths nor asphodels for you.

83

"The barren trees that flourish on the shore
"With leaves or fruit were never seen to bend, 330
"O'er languid waves unblossom'd branches hang,
"And every branch sustains some vagrant fiend.

84

"And now no more remains, but to prepare
"To take possession of thy punishment;
"That's thy inheritance, that thy domain, 335
"A land of bitter woe, and loud lament.

85

"And oh that He, who spread the universe,
"Would cast one pitying glance on thee below!
"Millions of years in torments thou might'st fry,
"But thy eternity!--who can conceive its woe!" 340

86

He heard, and round with his black eye-balls gaz'd,
Full of despair, and curs'd, and rav'd, and swore:
"And since this is my doom," said he, "call up
"Your wood-mechanics to my chamber door:

87

"Blame not on me the ravage to be made; 345
"Proclaim,--even Death abhors such woe to see;
"I'll quit the world, while decently I can,
"And leave the work to George my deputy."

88

Up rush'd a band, with compasses and scales
To measure his slim carcase, long and lean-- 350
"Be sure," said he, "to frame my coffin strong,
"You, master workman, and your men, I mean:

89

"For if the Devil, so late my trusty friend,
"Should get one hint where I am laid, from you,
"Not with my soul content, he'd seek to find 355
"That mouldering mass of bones, my body, too!

90

"Of hardest ebon let the plank be found,
"With clamps and ponderous bars secur'd around,
"That if the box by Satan should be storm'd,
"It may be able for resistance found." 360

91

"Yes," said the master workman, "noble Death,
"Your coffin shall be strong--that leave to me--
"But who shall these your funeral dues discharge?
"Nor friends nor pence you have, that I can see."

92

To this said Death--"You might have ask'd me, too, 365
"Base caitiff, who are my executors,
"Where my estate, and who the men that shall
"Partake my substance, and be call'd my heirs.

93

"Know, then, that hell is my inheritance,
"The devil himself my funeral dues must pay-- 370
"Go--since you must be paid--go, ask of him,
"For he has gold, as fabling poets say."

94

Strait they retir'd--when thus he gave me charge,
Pointing from the light window to the west,
"Go three miles o'er the plain, and you shall see 375
"A burying-yard of sinners dead, unblest.

95

"Amid the graves a spiry building stands
"Whose solemn knell resounding through the gloom
"Shall call thee o'er the circumjacent lands
"To the dull mansion destin'd for my tomb. 380

96

"There, since 'tis dark, I'll plant a glimmering light
"Just snatch'd from hell, by whose reflected beams
"Thou shalt behold a tomb-stone, full eight feet,
"Fast by a grave, replete with ghosts and dreams.

97

"And on that stone engrave this epitaph, 385
"Since Death, it seems, must die like mortal men;
"Yes--on that stone engrave this epitaph,
"Though all hell's furies aim to snatch the pen.

98

"_Death in this tomb his weary bones hath laid,_
"_Sick of dominion o'er the human kind--_ 390
"_Behold what devastations he hath made,_
"_Survey the millions by his arm confin'd._

99

"_Six thousand years has sovereign sway been mine,_
"_None, but myself, can real glory claim;_
"_Great Regent of the world I reign'd alone,_ 395
"_And princes trembled when my mandate came._

100

"_Vast and unmatch'd throughout the world, my fame_
"_Takes place of gods, and asks no mortal date--_
"_No; by myself, and by the heavens, I swear,_
"_Not Alexander's name is half so great._ 400

101

"_Nor swords nor darts my prowess could withstand,_
"_All quit their arms, and bowd to my decree,_
"_Even mighty Julius died beneath my hand,_
"_For slaves and Cæsars were the same to me!_

102

"_Traveller, wouldst thou his noblest trophies seek,_ 405
"_Search in no narrow spot obscure for those;_
"_The sea profound, the surface of all land_
"_Is moulded with the myriads of his foes._"

103

Scarce had he spoke, when on the lofty dome
Rush'd from the clouds a hoarse resounding blast-- 410
Round the four eaves so loud and sad it play'd
As though all musick were to breathe its last.

104

Warm was the gale, and such as travellers say
Sport with the winds on Zaara's barren waste;
Black was the sky, a mourning carpet spread, 415
Its azure blotted, and its stars o'ercast!

105

Lights in the air like burning stars were hurl'd,
Dogs howl'd, heaven mutter'd, and the tempest blew,
The red half-moon peeped from behind a cloud
As if in dread the amazing scene to view. 420

106

The mournful trees that in the garden stood
Bent to the tempest as it rush'd along,
The elm, the myrtle, and the cypress sad
More melancholy tun'd its bellowing song.

107

No more that elm its noble branches spread, 425
The yew, the cypress, or the myrtle tree,
Rent from the roots the tempest tore them down,
And all the grove in wild confusion lay.

108

Yet, mindful of his dread command, I part
Glad from the magic dome--nor found relief; 430
Damps from the dead hung heavier round my heart,
While sad remembrance rous'd her stores of grief.

109

O'er a dark field I held my dubious way
Where Jack-a-lanthorn walk'd his lonely round,
Beneath my feet substantial darkness lay, 435
And screams were heard from the distemper'd ground.

110

Nor look'd I back, till to a far off wood,
Trembling with fear, my weary feet had sped--
Dark was the night, but at the inchanted dome
I saw the infernal windows flaming red. 440

111

And from within the howls of Death I heard,
Cursing the dismal night that gave him birth,
Damning his ancient sire, and mother sin,
Who at the gates of hell, accursed, brought him forth.

112

[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.]

113

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.

114

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

115

"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

116

"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."

117

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

118

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

119

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.

120

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

121

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

122

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.

123

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.

124

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 hell they went.

125

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

126

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.

127

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.

128

Before the hearse 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.

129

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.

130

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

131

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

132

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.

133

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.

134

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.

135

Too nearly join'd to sickness, toils, and pains,
(Perhaps for former crimes imprison'd here)
True to itself the immortal soul remains,
And seeks new mansions in the starry sphere. 540

136

When Nature bids thee from the world retire,
With joy thy lodging leave, a fated guest;
In Paradise, the land of thy desire,
Existing always, always to be blest.

[156] The text is from the edition of 1786, which contains the only complete version. The poem was first published in the August number of _The United States Magazine_, 1779, which also contained the following note: "_'The House of Night'_, a poem in the present number of the Magazine, is from a young gentleman who has favoured us with several original pieces in the course of this work; and readers of taste will no doubt be pleased with it, as perfectly original both in the design and manner of it." It bore the title "The House of Night; or, Six Hours Lodging with Death, A Vision," and the quotation:

"_Felix qui potiut rerum cognoscere causas,
Atque metus omnes et inexorable Fatum
Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acherontis avari._

VIRG. GEORG. II., v. 490."

As printed in the magazine it consisted of seventy-three stanzas, which coincide with the following numbers of the 1786 edition: 3, 4, 6-10, 12, 14, 18, 20-26, 28, 29, 31, 32, 47-54, 58, 59, 65, 66, 68, 69, 72, 74, 75, 78, 79, 86, 87, 94, 96-100, 102-106, 111, 113-115, 117, 118, 125-127, 130, 131. Following are the variations:

Line 10, "eternal light"; 11, "a deeper scene"; 21, "the mind cannot recall"; 23, "where Chesapeque's deep rivers upward flow"; 25, "Though then the woods, in fairest vernal bloom"; 28, "childless tree"; 29, "a friendly star"; 35, "Hoarse roaring wolves, and nightly roving bears"; 37, "Fierce from the loudly sounding Chesapeque"; 45, 46, "When to my view a pile of buildings stood, And near, a garden of autumnal hue"; 55, "The yew, the willow"; 69, "Peace to those buildings; when at once I heard"; 70, "in a remoter dome"; 77, "a superior chamber"; 78, "Confused murmurs, scarce distinguish'd sounds"; 81, "Long were their feuds, for they design'd to talk"; 95, "And from a bed behind a curtain veil"; 97, "Turning to view from whence the murmur came"; 99, "Death, dreary death, upon the gloomy couch"; 100, "in rueful form"; 101, "High o'er his head"; 109, 110, "Sad was his aspect, if we so can call, That aspect where but skin and bones were seen"; 111, "deep and low"; 121, 122, "Then at my hand I saw a comely youth, Of port majestic, who began to tell"; 126, "The monarch"; 127, "melancholy reign"; 185, "the man"; 186, "with frightful tone"; 188, "To answer, and"; 192, "their sickly stores"; 194, "the placid main"; 195, "fine groves"; 196, "Beckoning his footsteps"; 198, "The summer winds, and of the church-yard hoar"; 202, "Of fevers and contagions"; 206, "Arise, make search"; 229, 230, "But now refresh'd, the phantoms rais'd his head, And writhing, seem'd to aim once more to talk"; 232, "expiring death"; 234, "the monstrous spectre"; 257, "Now to the anxious youth his speech he turn'd"; 274, "inspired page"; 275, "harden'd breast"; 285, "Wicked old man"; 295, 296, "nor dost thou now deserve To have 'here lies' engrav'd"; 299, 300, "Might dwell unmov'd amidst November's glooms, And laugh the dullest of his shades away"; 309, "thy savage rage"; 310, "a bloody army"; 315, "The Caledonian with the Albion join'd." Here in the 1779 version occur the following stanzas:

"Why runs thy stream dejected to the main,
O Hudson, Hudson, dreary, dull and slow?
Seek me no more along that mountain stream,
For on his banks is heard the sound of woe.

Sword, famine, thirst, and pining sickness there,
Shall people half the realms this monster owns;
He like the cruel foe, accursed he,
Laughs at our pains, rejoices in our groans.

Now wilt you tremble if you hear your fate,
Out of the dread Apocalypse your doom,
That death and hell must perish in the lake
Of fire, dispelling half hell's ancient gloom."

341, "black optics"; 348, "And leave the business to some deputy"; 373, "Now thus the drooping victim gave me charge"; 381, "A quivering light"; 383, "by whose far glimmering beams"; 384, "arrayed with ghosts"; 388, "furies snatch the engraving pen"; 390-392,

"Tir'd of his long continued victory:
What glory can there be to vanquish those
Who all beneath his stroke are sure to die?"