Chapter XVIII: Part II: , and made to refer to the Tories (3)

Here Bonner, bruised with many a knock,
Has changed his surplice for a frock;
Old Erskine swabs the decks,
And Watts, who once such pleasure took
In writing Hymns--here, turned a cook,
Sinners no longer vex.

Here Burnet, Tillotson, and Blair,
With Jemmy Hervey, curse and swear,
Here Cudworth mixes grog;
Pearson the crew to dinner hails,
A graceless Sherlock trims the sails,
And Bunyan heaves the log.

[330] The index to the edition of 1795 instead of "vessel" gives "ship of war." The text follows the edition of 1809.

THE BERMUDA ISLANDS[331]

"Bermuda, walled with rocks, who does not know,
That happy island, where huge lemons grow," &c.
_Waller's Battle of the Summer Islands._

These islands fair with many a grove are crowned,
With cedars tall, gay hills, and verdant vales,
But dangerous rocks on every side is found,
Fatal to him who unsuspecting sails.

The gay Palmetto shades the adjacent wave:
Blue, ocean water near the lime-tree breaks!--
I leave the scene!--this stormy quarter leave,
And rove awhile by Harrington's sweet lake.

In every vale fair woodland nymphs are seen
In bloom of youth, to mourn some absent love,
Who, wandering far on Neptune's rude domain,
Heaves the fond sigh at every new remove.

From hill to hill I see Amanda stray,
Searching, with anxious view, the encircling main,
To espy the sail, so long, so far away,
Rise from the waves, and bless her sight again.

Now, on some rock, with loose, dishevelled hair,
Near dashing waves, the sorrowing beauty stands,
Hoping that each approaching barque may bear
Homeward the wandering youth from foreign lands.

Oh! may no gales such faithful loves destroy,
No hidden rock to Hymen fatal prove:
And thou, fond swain, thy nicest art employ
Once more on these sweet isles to meet your love.

When verging to the height of thirty-two,
And east or west you guide the dashy prow;
Then fear by night the dangers of this shore,
Nature's wild garden, placed in sixty-four.[A]
Here many a merchant his lost freight bemoans,
And many a gallant ship has laid her bones.

[A] Lat. 32 deg. 20 min. N.--Long. 63.40 W.--and about 780 miles
East of the coast of South Carolina.--_Freneau's note._

[331] During several weeks in 1778 Freneau resided in Bermuda. While there he seems to have been greatly impressed by an instance of inconstancy. He has in several prose sketches, notably in "Light Summer Reading," 1788, and in the following series of poems, composed at different times, described the incident. There is a tradition that Freneau spent several weeks in the family of the Governor of Bermuda and that it was the daughter of this official who was the unfortunate Amanda. Some traditions have mentioned Freneau himself as the lover. The text is from the edition of 1809.

FLORIO TO AMANDA[332]

Lamp of the pilot's hope! the wanderer's dream,
Far glimmering o'er the wave, we saw thy beam:
Forced from your aid by cold December's gale
As near your isle we reefed the wearied sail:
From bar to bar, from cape to cape I roam,
From you still absent, still too far from home.--
What shall repay me for these nights of pain,
And weeks of absence on this restless main,
Where every dream recalls that charming shade,
Where once, Amanda, once with you I strayed,
And fondly talked, and counted every tree,
And minutes, ages, when removed from thee.
What sad mistake this wandering fancy drew
To quit my natives shores, the woods, and You,
When safely anchored on that winding stream,
Where you were all my care, and all my theme:
There, pensive, loitering, still from day to day,
The pilot wondered at such strange delay,
Musing, beheld the northern winds prevail,
Nor once surmised that Love detained the sail.
Blest be the man, who, fear beneath him cast,
From his firm decks first reared the tapering mast;
And catching life and motion from the breeze,
Stretched his broad canvas o'er a waste of seas;
And taught some swain, whom absence doomed to mourn
His distant fair one--taught a quick return:
He, homeward borne by favouring gales, might find
Remembrance welcome to his anxious mind,
And grateful vows, and generous thanks might pay
To Him, who filled the sail, and smoothed the way.
To me, indeed! the heavens less favouring prove:
Each day, returning, finds a new remove--
Sorrowing, I spread the sail, while slowly creeps
The weary vessel o'er a length of deeps;
Her northern course no favouring breeze befriends,
Hail, storm, and lightning, on her path attends:
Here, wintry suns their shrouded light restrain,
Stars dimly glow, and boding birds complain;
Here, boisterous gales the rapid Gulph controul,
Tremendous breakers near our Argo roll;
Here cloudy, sullen Hatteras, restless, raves
Scorns all repose, and swells his weight of waves:
Here, drowned so late, sad cause of many a tear,
Amyntor floats upon his watery bier;
By bursting seas to horrid distance tossed,
Thou, Palinurus, in these depths wert lost,
When, torn by waves, and conquered by the blast,
Art strove in vain, and ruin seized each mast.
Now, while the winds their wonted aid deny,
For other ports, from day to day, we try
Strive, all we can, to gain the unwilling shore,
Dream still of you--the faithful chart explore;
See other groves, in happier climates placed
Untouched their bloom, and not one flower defaced.
Did Nature, there, a heaven of pleasure shew,
Could they be welcome, if not shared with you?--
Lost are my toils--my longing hopes are vain:
Yet, 'midst these ills, permit me to complain,
And half regret, that, finding fortune fail,
I left your cottage--to direct the sail:
Unmoved, amidst this elemental fray,
Let me, once more, the muses' art essay,
Once more--amidst these scenes of Nature's strife,
Catch at her forms and mould them into life;
By Fancy's aid, to unseen coasts repair,
And fondly dwell on absent beauty there.

[332] On Jan. 20, 1789, Freneau was at Castle Ireland, Bermuda, where eleven years before he had passed five delightful weeks in the family of the English Governor. The above lines were written on the tempestuous return voyage, doubtless inspired by her who soon afterward became his wife. The text follows the 1809 version.

PHILANDER: OR THE EMIGRANT[333]

While lost so long to his Arcadian shade,
Careless of fortune and of fame he stray'd,
Philander to a barbarous region came
And found a partner in a colder shade,
Fair as Amanda; and perhaps might claim
With her the impassion'd soul, and friendship's holy flame;
For sprightly loves upon her bosom play'd,
And youth was in her blush, and every shepherd said
She was a modest and accomplish'd dame.
What have I done, (the wandering shepherd cry'd)
Thus to be banish'd from a face so fair,
(For now the frosts had spoil'd the daisies' pride,
And he once more for roving did prepare)
Ah, what have I to do with swelling seas
Who once could pipe upon the hollow reed?--
I take no joy in such rude scenes as these,
Nor look with pleasure on the vagrant weed
That gulphy streams from rugged caverns bore,
Which floats thro' every clime, and never finds a shore!
But other fields and other flowers were mine,
'Till wild disorder drove me from the plain.
And the black dogs of war were seen to join,
Howl o'er the soil, and dispossess the swain:
Why must I leave these climes of frost and snow?--
Were it not better in these glooms to stay,
And, while on high the autumnal tempests blow,
Let others o'er the wild seas take their way,
And I with my Livinia's tresses play?--
Ah, no, no, no! the imperious wave demands
That I must leave these shores, and lose these lands
And southward to the high equator stray:
But Fancy now has lost her vernal hue;
See Nature in her wintry garb array'd--
And where is that fine dream which once she drew
While yet by Cambria's stream she fondly play'd!
Lavinia heard his long complaint, and said,
Wouldst thou, for me, detain the expecting sail--?
Go, wanderer, go--the trees have lost their shade,
And my gay flowers are blasted by the gale,
And the bright stream is chill'd that wandered thro' the vale:
Ah, why, Philander, do you sigh, so sad!
Why all this change in such a jovial lad?
Smooth seas shall be your guard, and, free from harms,
Restore you, safely, to Lavinia's arms!
Or should the eastern tempest rend your sail,
Trust me, dear shepherd, should the seas prevail,
And you be laid in Neptune's cradle low,
The winds will bring me back the woeful tale
When I must to the long shore weeping go,
And while I see the ruffian surge aspire,
Some consolation will it be to know
No pain or anguish can afflict the head
The limbs or stomach, when the heart is dead.

Thus long discoursing, on the bank they stood,
The heavy burthen'd barque at anchor lay,
While the broad topsails, from the yards unfurl'd,
Shook in the wind, and summon'd him away;
Brisk blew the gales, and curl'd the yielding flood,
Nor had he one excuse to urge his stay--
Be chang'd (he said) ye winds that blow so fair;
Why do not tempests harrow up the deep,
And all but the moist south in quiet sleep!

To the bleak shore the parting lovers came,
And while Philander did his sighs renew,
So near the deep they bade their last farewell
That the rough surge, to quench the mutual flame
Burst in and broke the embrace, and o'er Lavinia flew;
While a dark cloud hung lowering o'er the main,
From whence the attendants many an omen drew,
And said Philander would not come again!

Now to their various heights the sails ascend,
And southward from the land their course they bore.
Lavinia mourn'd the lover and the friend,
And stood awhile upon the sandy shore,
'Till interposing seas the hull conceal'd,
And distant sails could only greet her view,
Like a faint cloud that brush'd the watery field,
And swell'd by whistling winds, impetuous, flew:
Then to a neighbouring hill the nymph withdrew,
And the dear object from that height survey'd,
'Till all was lost and mingled with the main,
And night descended, with her gloomy shade,
And kindled in the heavens her starry train.

Safe to the south the ocean-wading keel
In one short month its rapid course achiev'd,
And the cold star, that marks the Arctic pole,
Was in the bosom of the deep receiv'd:
And now the weary barque at anchor rode
Where Oronoko pours his sultry wave,
Moist Surinam, by torrents overflow'd,
And Amazonia vends the fainting slave;--
Philander, there, not fated to return,
Perceiv'd destruction in his bosom burn,
And the warm flood of life too fiercely, glow:
The vertic sun a deadly fever gave,
And the moist soil bestow'd his bones a grave,
Deep in the waste, where oceans overflow,
And Oronoko's streams the forests lave.

Oft' to the winding shore Lavinia came
Where fond Philander bade his last adieu,
(And that steep hill which gave her the last view)
Till seven long years had round their orbits ran,
Yet no Philander came, or none she knew;
Alas (she cry'd) for every nymph but me
Each sea-bleach'd sail some welcome wanderer brings,
And all but I get tidings of their friends;
Sad Mariamne drowns herself in woe
If one poor month Amyntor quits her arms,
And says, "from Ashley's stream he comes too slow,"--
And bodes the heavy storm, and midnight harms:
What would she say, if doom'd to wait, like me,
And mourn long years, and no Philander see!

[333] The text follows the edition of 1795.

THE FAIR SOLITARY[334]

No more these groves a glad remembrance claim
Where grief consumes a half deluded dame,
Whom to these isles a modern Theseus bore,
And basely left, frail virtue to deplore;--

In foreign climes detained from all she loved,
By friends neglected, long by Fortune proved,
While sad and solemn passed the unwelcome day
What charms had life for her, to tempt her stay?

Deceived in all; for meanness could deceive,
Expecting still, and still condemned to grieve,
She scarcely saw--to different hearts allied
That her dear Florio ne'er pursued a bride!
Are griefs, like thine, to Florio's bosom known?--
Must these, alas! be ceaseless in your own?

Life is a dream!--its varying shades I see;
But this cold wanderer hardly dreams of thee--
The bloom of health, which bade all hearts adore,
To your pale cheek what physic shall restore?
Vain are those drugs that art and love prepares,
No art redeems the waste of sighs and tears!

[334] Published in the 1795 edition under the title "The Mourning Nun." Text from the edition of 1809.

AMANDA IN A CONSUMPTION[335]

Smit by the glance of your bright eyes
When I, Amanda, fondly gaze,
Strange feelings in my bosom rise
And passion all my reason sways:
Worlds I would banish from my view,
And quit the gods--to talk with you.

The smile that decks your fading cheek,
To me a heavy heart declares;
When you are silent I would speak
But cowardice alarms my fears:
All must be sense that you do prize,
All that I say--be grave and wise.

When wandering in the evening shade
I shared her pain, and calmed her grief,
A thousand tender things I said,
But all I said gave no relief:
When from her hair I dried the dew,
She sighed, and said--I am not for you!

When drooping, dull, and almost dead
With fevers brought from sultry climes,
She would not wrap my fainting head;
But recommended me some rhymes
On patience and on fortitude,
And other things--less understood.

When, aiming to engage her heart
With verses from the muses' stock;
She sighed, regardless of the art,
And counted seconds by the clock;
"And thus, (she said) will verse decay,
"And thus the muse will pass away!"

When languishing upon her bed
In willow shades, remote from towns,
We came; and while Priscilla read
Of chrystal skies and golden crowns:
She bade us at a distance stand,
And leaned her head upon her hand.

So, drooping hangs the fading rose,
When summer sends the beating shower:
So, to the grave Amanda goes,
Her whole duration--but an hour!
Who shall controul the sad decree,
Or what, fair girl, recover thee?

Such virtue in that spirit dwells--
Such fortitude amidst such pain!--
And, now, with pride my bosom swells,
To think I have not lived in vain.
For, slighting all the sages knew,
I learn philosophy from you.

[335] The _Freeman's Journal_ printed this poem on Feb. 7, 1787, with the date of composition Jan. 26, 1787. The lady's name in this original version was Cynthia. The poem was reprinted in the 1788 collection as a part of the story "Light Summer Reading." The half mad poet, who is infatuated with the lovely Marcia, writes the verses and inscribes them "To Marcia." It seems to have been a favorite with the poet. He republished it in the _National Gazette_ in 1792 under the title "Marcella in a Consumption." Text from the edition of 1809.

ELEGIAC LINES[336]

With life enamoured, but in death resigned,
To seats congenial flew the unspotted mind:
Attending spirits hailed her to that shore
Where this world's winter chills the soul no more.
Learn hence, to live resigned;--and when you die
No fears will seize you, when that hour is nigh.

Transferred to heaven, Amanda has no share
In the dull business of this world of care.
Her blaze of beauty, even in death admired,
A moment kindled, but as soon expired.
Sweet as the favourite offspring of the May
Serenely mild, not criminally gay:

Adorned with all that nature could impart
To please the fancy and to gain the heart;
Heaven ne'er above more innocence possessed,
Nor earth the form of a diviner guest:
A mind all virtue!--flames descended here
From some bright seraph of some nobler sphere;
Yet, not her virtues, opening into bloom,
Nor all her sweetness saved her from the tomb,
From prospects darkened, and the purpose crossed,
Misfortune's winter,--and a lover lost;
Nor such resemblance to the forms above,
The heart of goodness, and the soul of love!

Ye thoughtless fair!--her early death bemoan,
Sense, virtue, beauty, to oblivion gone.[337]

[336] In the 1788 edition this appeared as two poems. The opening six lines had the title "Epitaph" and the remainder was entitled "Lines on the Death of a Lady." In the 1809 edition, the text of which is followed here, the poem was placed in the group of Amanda poems.

[337] "And while you mourn your fate, think on your own."--_Ed. 1788._

THE INSOLVENT'S RELEASE[338]

(By H. Salem)

Not from those dismal dreary coasts I come
Where wizzard Faustus chews his brimstone rolls,
Nor have I been to wrangle with the men
Of that sad country, where, for want of rum,
Dead putrid water from the stagnant fen
Is drank, unmingled, by departed souls:
Nor from that dog-house do I bring you news,
Where Macedonian Philip[A] mends old shoes,
But from that dreadful place arrived,
Where men in debt at cribbage play,
And I most cunningly contrived
To fatten on two groats a day--
Full on my back now turned the key,
The 'squire himself is not so free.

When to these rugged walls, a fathom thick,
I came, directed by the sheriff's stick,
Alas, said I, what can they mean to do!
I am not conscious of one roguish trick!
I am no thief--I took no Christian's life,
Nor have I meddled with the parson's wife,
(Which would have been a dreadful thing you know)
Then, by these gloomy walls, this iron gate
Appointed by the wisdom of your state
To shut in little rogues, and keep out great;
Tell me, ye pretty lads, that deal in law,
Ye men of mighty wigs, ye judges, say--
Say! by the jailor's speckled face
That never beamed one blush of grace;
How long must I
In prison lie
For just nine guineas--that I cannot pay!

Return, ye happy times, when all were free,
No jails on land, no nets at sea;
When mountain beasts unfettered ran,
And man refused to shut up man,
As men of modern days have shut up me!--
This is the dreary dark abode
Of poverty and solitude;
Such was the gloomy cell where Bunyan lay
While his dear pilgrim helped the time away--
Such was the place where Wakefield's vicar drew
Grave morals from the imprisoned crew,
And found both time to preach and pray.
In bed of straw and broken chair
What consolation could be found!
No gay companions ventured there
To push the ruddy liquor round!
From jug of stone
I drank, alone,
A beverage, neither clear nor strong
No table laid,
No village maid
Came there to cheer me with her song;
My days were dull, my nights were long!
My evening dreams,
My morning schemes
Were how to break that cruel chain,
And, Jenny, be with you again.

[338] The version in the _Freeman's Journal_ is dated Philadelphia, April 10, 1787. The title in the 1788 version is "The Insolvent's Release and Miseries of a Country Jail." The "H. Salem" was first added in the edition of 1809, the text of which I have followed.

[A] See Lucian's Dialogues; to the following effect:

"Great scholars have in Lucian read,
When Philip, king of Greece, was dead
His soul and body did divide.
And each part took, a different side;
One rose a star, the other fell
Below--and mended shoes in hell."--_Freneau's note._

MAY TO APRIL[339]

Without your showers, I breed no flowers,
Each field a barren waste appears;
If you don't weep, my blossoms sleep,
They take such pleasures in your tears.

As your decay made room for May,
So I must part with all that's mine:
My balmy breeze, my blooming trees
To torrid suns their sweets resign!

O'er April dead, my shades I spread:
To her I owe my dress so gay--
Of daughters three, it falls on me
To close our triumphs on one day:

Thus, to repose, all Nature goes;
Month after month must find its doom:
Time on the wing, May ends the Spring,
And Summer dances on her tomb!

[339] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_ where it was signed Philadelphia, April 16, 1787. Text from the edition of 1809.

TO AN AUTHOR[340]

Your leaves bound up compact and fair,
In neat array at length prepare,
To pass their hour on learning's stage,[341]
To meet the surly critic's rage;
The statesman's slight, the smatterer's[342] sneer--
Were these, indeed, your only[343] fear,
You might be tranquil and resigned:
What most should touch your fluttering mind;[344]
Is that, few critics[345] will be found
To sift[346] your works, and deal the wound.

Thus, when one fleeting year is past
On some bye-shelf your book is cast--[347]
Another comes, with something new,[348]
And drives you fairly out of view:
With some to praise, but more to blame,
The mind[349] returns to--whence it came;
And some alive, who scarce could read[350]
Will publish satires on the dead.

Thrice happy Dryden[A], who could meet
Some rival bard in every street!
When all were bent on writing well
It was some credit to excel:--[351]

[A] See Johnson's lives of the English Poets.--_Freneau's note._

Thrice happy Dryden, who could find
A Milbourne for his sport designed--
And Pope, who saw the harmless rage
Of Dennis bursting o'er his page
Might justly spurn the critic's aim,
Who only helped to swell his fame.

On these bleak climes by Fortune thrown,
Where rigid Reason reigns alone,
Where lovely Fancy has no sway,
Nor magic forms about us[352] play--
Nor nature takes her summer hue
Tell me, what has the muse to do?--

An age employed in edging steel
Can no poetic raptures feel;
No solitude's attracting power,[353]
No leisure of the noon day hour,
No shaded stream, no quiet grove
Can this fantastic century move;

The muse of love in no request--
Go--try your fortune[354] with the rest,
One of the nine you should engage,[355]
To meet the follies of the age:--

On one, we fear, your choice must fall--
The least engaging of them all--[356]
Her visage stern--an angry style--
A clouded brow--malicious smile--
A mind on murdered victims placed--
She, only she, can please the taste!

[340] First published in the 1788 edition. It doubtless records the poet's mood a year or two after his first book, the 1786 collection, was given to the public. Its original title was "An Author's Soliloquy." In 1795 the title was changed to "An Author on Authorship." Text from the 1809 edition.

[341] "Time's broad stage."--_Ed. 1788._

[342] "Pedants."--_Ib._

[343] The poem in the 1788 version is wholly in the first person.

[344] "What most torments my boding mind."--_Ed. 1788._

[345] "No critic."--_Ib._

[346] "Read."--_Ib._

[347] "With dead men's works my book is class'd."--_Ib._

[348] This line and the following not in the original version.

[349] "Soul."--_Ib._

[350]

"And I must wear the marks of time
Who hardly flourish'd in my prime."--_Ed. 1788._

[351] In the 1788 version two lines follow:

"While those condemn'd to stand alone
Can only by themselves be known."--_Ib._

[352] "Around her."--_Ib._

[353]

"No fabled Love's enchanting power,
Nor tale of Flora's painted bower,
Nor woodland haunt, or murmuring grove,
Can their prosaic bosoms move."--_Ib._

[354] "I'll try my fortune."--_Ib._

[355]

"Which of the Nine shall I engage
To suit the humour of the age."--_Ib._

[356] Followed by:

"So late she does her wreathes prepare
I hardly think them worth my care."--_Ib._

TO MISFORTUNE[357]

Dire Goddess of the haggard brow,
Misfortune! at that shrine I bow
Where forms uncouth pourtray thee still,
A leaky ship, a doctor's bill:

A poet damn'd, a beggar's prayer,
The critic's growl, the pedant's sneer,
The urgent dun, the law severe,
A smoky house, rejected love,
And friends that all but friendly prove.

Foe to the pride of scheming man
Whose frown controuls the wisest plan,
To your decree we still submit
Our views of gain, our works of wit.

Untaught by you the feeble mind
A dull repose, indeed, might find:
But life, unvext by such controul,
Can breed no vigour in the soul.

The calm that smooths the summer seas
May suit the man of sloth and ease:
But skies that fret and storms that rave
Are the best schools to make us brave.

On Heckla's heights who hopes to see
The blooming grove, the orange tree
Awhile on hope may fondly lean
'Till sad experience blots the scene.

If Nature acts on Reason's plan,
And Reason be the guide of man:
Why should he paint fine prospects there,
Then sigh, to find them disappear?

For ruin'd states or trade perplext
'Tis almost folly to be vext:
The world at last will have its way
And we its torrent must obey.

On other shores a happier guest
The mind must fix her haven of rest,
Where better men and better climes
Shall soothe the cares of future times.

[357] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, July 18, 1787; dated "Philadelphia, July 16." Republished in the 1788 and 1795 editions, the latter of which I have followed.

TO CRACOVIUS PUTRIDUS[358]

The Sailor, toss'd on stormy seas,
Implores his patron-god for ease
When Luna hides her paler blaze,
And stars, obscurely, dart their rays:

For ease the Yankee, fierce in war,
His stores of vengeance points afar:
For ease, the toiling Dutchman sighs,
Which gold, nor gems, nor purple buys!

No treasur'd hoards, from India trade,
No doctor's, or the lawyer's aid
Can ease the tumults of the mind,
Or cares to gilded roofs assign'd.

The end of life he, best, completes
Whose board is spread with frugal treats,
Whose sleep no fears, no thirst of gain,
Beneath his homely shed, restrain.

Why, then, with wasting cares engage,
Weak reptiles of so frail an age--
Why, thus, to far-off climates run,
And lands beneath another sun?

For, though to China's coasts we roam,
Ourselves we ne'er can leave at home:
Care, swift as deer--as tempests strong,
Ascends the prow, and sails along.

The mind that keeps an even state,
And all the future leaves to fate,
In every ill shall pleasure share,
As every pleasure has it's care.

Fate early seal'd Montgomery's doom,
In youth brave Laurens found a tomb;
While Arnold spends in peace and pride
The years, that heaven to them denied.

A host of votes are at your call;
A seat, perhaps, in Congress-Hall;[359]
And vestments, soak'd in Stygian dye,
Where'er you go, alarm the eye:

On me, a poor and small domain,
With something of a poet's vein
The muse bestow'd--and share of pride
To spurn a scoundrel from my side.

[358] Published in the _Freeman's Journal_, Sept. 5, 1787. In the 1788 edition it was entitled "Horace, Lib. II, Ode 16, Imitated and addressed to Governor Parr. _Otium divos rogat in patenti_, &c." The poem seems to have been occasioned by the return of General Arnold to Nova Scotia from England. Text from the edition of 1795.

[359]

"An hundred _slaves_ before you fall,
A coach and six attends your call."--_Ed. 1788._

SLENDER'S JOURNEY[A][360]

_Sit mihi fas audita loqui._--Virg.

[A] Mr. Robert Slender, of Philadelphia (Stocking Weaver).
_Freneau's note._

I. PRELIMINARY REFLECTIONS

Tormented with landlords and pester'd with care,
This life, I protest, is a tedious affair;
And, since I have got a few dollars to spare,
I'll e'en take a jaunt, for the sake of fresh air.
Since the day I return'd to this king-hating shore
Where George and his cronies are masters no more,
And others are plac'd at the helm of affairs,
Relieving the weight of his majesty's cares;
For many long weeks, it has still been my doom
To sit like a mopus, confin'd to my loom,[B]
Whose damnable clatter so addles my brain,
That, say what they will, I am forc'd to complain.
Our citizens think, when they sit themselves down
In the gardens that grow in the skirts of the town,
They think they have got in some rural retreat,
Where the nymphs of the groves, and the singing birds meet
When only a fence shuts them out from the street;
With the smoke of the city be-clouding their eyes
They sit in their boxes, and look very wise,
Take a sip of bad punch, or a glass of sour wine;
Conceiting their pleasures are equal to mine,
Who rove where I will, and wherever I roam,
In spite of new faces, am always at home.
Poor Richard, the reel-man, had nothing to say;
He knew very well I would have my own way;--
When I said, "My dear Richard, I'm sick of the town,
"And Dutchmen that worry me, upstairs and down,
"A book of bad debts, and a score of bad smells,
"The yelping of dogs, and the chiming of bells;
"I am sick of the house, and the sight of small beer,
"And the loom may be going, tho' I am not here;
"I therefore shall leave you, and that, to be plain,
"'Till I feel in a humour to see you again."--
Poor Richard said nothing to all that I spoke,
But kindled his pipe, and redoubled his smoke.
Yet it would have been nothing but friendship in him
To have said,--"Robert Slender, 'tis only a whim:--
A trip to the Schuylkill, that nothing would cost,
Might answer your ends, and no time would be lost;
But if you are thinking to make a long stay,
Consider, good Robert, what people will say:
His rent running on, and his loom standing still--
The man will be ruin'd!--he must, if he will--!
If tradesmen will always be flaunting about,
They may live to repent it--before the year's out!"

[B] The stocking-loom was invented by a young man who paid his
addresses to a handsome stocking-knitter, and being
rejected, in revenge contrived this curious machine,
which, it is said, consists of no less than six thousand
different pieces. _Freneau's note, 1788 edition._

II. _Characters of the_ TRAVELLERS

WILLIAM SNIP, _Merchant Taylor_

As I never could relish to travel alone,
I look'd round about, but could hit upon none
Whom Satan was tempting to leave their own houses
And ramble to York with their daughters and spouses;
At last, by repeating my trouble and care,
And preaching a month on the sweets of fresh air,
And the curse and the plague of remaining in town,
Where the heat was sufficient to melt a man down,
I got a few friends to consent to the trip;
And the first I shall mention was honest Will. Snip,
Philadelphia the famous had own'd to his birth,
The gravest of towns on the face of the earth;
Where saints of all orders their freedom may claim,
And poets, and painters, and girls of the game:
To him all its streets and its alleys were known,
But his travels had never exceeded the town:--
A salesman by trade (and a dabster was he
To make a silk knee-band set snug to the knee)
With his wife (and he says I may mention her name)
Susanna Snipinda--so charming a dame,
The sun had with pleasure look'd down on her head,
So freckled was she, and her tresses so red.
To wait on the will of so handsome a lady
A youngster was order'd to hold himself ready,
A sly looking lad that was 'prentice to Snip,
And long had been learning to cabbage and clip;--
When Snip was in sight, he was mild as a lamb;
When absent, old Satan could hardly rule Sam.

III. O'KEEF, _a Swaggering Captain_

The next I describe is bold captain O'Keef,
A killer of men, and a lover of beef:
With the heroes of old he had put in his claim,
And catch'd at their mantles, and rose into fame:
To the sound of a fife and the tune of no song
With his Andra Ferrara[C] he paddled along:
From his manners so rough, and his dealing in ruin,
He was known thro' the town by the name of Sir Bruin;
He was, among women, a man of great parts,
A captain of foot, and a master of arts:
He had, a sweet creature put under his care,
(Whose style of address was, my dear, and my dear)
A Milliner's girl, with a bundle of lace,
Whom Cynthia[D] he call'd, for the sake of her face,
At a ball or a frolic how glib his tongue ran,
He was, I may say, an unparallell'd man,
Very apt to harangue on the hosts he has slain
Of people--perhaps that may meet him again:
Yet so kind to the sex of the feminine make,
By his words, he would venture to die for their sake,
Whence some have suspected, that some he ador'd
Have more than made up for the wastes of his sword.

[C] A large kind of sword, in use among the Italians.--_Freneau's
note, 1795 edition._

[D] Cynthia is also a poetical name for the Moon.--_Freneau's
note, 1788 edition._

IV. TOUPPEE: _a French Hair Dresser_

The third in succession was Monsieur Touppee,
A barber from Paris, of royal degree,
(For oft when he takes up his razor, to strap it,
He tells his descent from the house of Hugh Capet[E])
Tho' soft in the head, his discourses were long,
Now counting his honours, and now his l'argent.
This barber, tho' meaning for pleasure to stray,
Yet had some pomatum to sell by the way,
Perfumes, and fine powders, and essence of myrrh,
A bundle of brooms, and a firkin of beer:--
His merits are great (he would have us suppose)
For Louis (it seems) he has had by the nose,
Has bid him, when drooping, to hold up his chin,
And handled a tongs--at the head of the Queen.

[E] A popular French nobleman, who, A. D. 987, usurped the
crown of France, and was the first of a new race of
monarchs.--_Freneau's note, 1788 edition._

V. BOB: _a Ballad Singer_

A singer of ballads was next in our train,
Who long had been dealing in ballads in vain;
He sometimes would sing in a musical tone,
And sometimes would scribble a song of his own:
Yet never was seen with his brethren to mix--
And laugh'd at your poets in coaches and six;
Who sing, like the birds, when the weather is fine;
Whose verses the ladies pronounce "so divine;"
Who ride with Augustus, wherever he goes,
And, meeting old Homer, would turn up the nose--
As to those, like himself, that were held to the ground,
He knew it was folly to feed them with sound--
He knew it was nonsense to crown them with bays,
And was too much their friend to insult them with praise.
For a dozen long years he had liv'd by the mob:
On the word of a weaver, I pitied poor Bob![361]
He had sung for the great and had rhym'd for the small,
But scarcely a shilling had got by them all--
So bad was his luck, and so poor was the trade,
And the Muses, he thought, were so sneakingly paid,
That if times didn't alter, and that very soon,
He said and he swore, he must sing his last tune.
Some devil had put it, somehow, in his head
If he took a short journey his fortune was made:
Some devil had told him (but whether in dreams
Or waking, I know not) some devil, it seems,
Had made him believe that the nymphs and the swains
Were fairly at war with their old fashion'd strains,
That the tunes which the kirk or the curates had made
(And which always had ruin'd the balladman's trade)
Were wholly disus'd, and that now was the time
For singers of catches and dealers in rhyme
To step from their stalls, where they long were disgrac'd,
Reform the old music, and fix a new taste.

VI. O'BLUSTER: _a Seaman_

A mate of a schooner, bespatter'd with tar,
Who had lately come in from Savanna-la-Mar,[F]
For, the sake of an airing had stept from his deck
And ventur'd a jaunt, at the risque of his neck,
His name and his nation no soul could mistake.--
He was Bryan O'Bluster, and much of a rake;
From morning till night he was still on the move,
Was always in taverns, or always in love:
His life was sustain'd by the virtues of grog,
And many long miles he had sail'd by the log.--
Of battles and storms he had known a full share,
And his face, it was plain, was the worse for the wear;
To see a mean fellow, lord how it would fret him;
And he hated a puppy, wherever he met him--
He was ready to bleed for the good of each State,
But since they had left the poor seamen to fate;
Themselves in the dumps, and their fair ones in tears,
And many brave fellows detain'd in Algiers!--
Had spirit sufficient to make themselves free,
But not to resent their affronts on the sea!
As this was the case--he must bid us good night,
And sail with a flag that would do itself right.
At cursing and swearing he play'd a good hand,
But never was easy a minute on land;
If the wind was a-head, or his Kitty untrue,
Why, patience was all the relief that he knew:--
In the midst of misfortune he still was serene,
And Kitty, he said, was a feeble machine:
His heart was too hard for a lady to sigh,
Yet I guess'd him a rogue by the leer in his eye:
"The world (he would say) is a whimsical dance--
And reason had taught him to leave it to chance.
In chace of dame Fortune his prime he had pass'd,
And now was beginning to fail very fast,
But thought it was folly his heart to perplex,
As Fortune was just like the rest of her sex;--
Designing, and fickle, and taken with show,
Now fond of a monkey, and now of a beau:--
Yet, still, as the goddess was made up of whim,
He meant to pursue 'till she smil'd upon him."
And tho' he was always deceiv'd in the chace,
He smooth'd up his whiskers, and wore a bold face.
On horseback he first had attempted to go,
But the horse was no fool, and had give him a throw;
He fell in a pond, and with not a dry rag on
The horse brought him back to the sign of the waggon,
Where three times he call'd for a dram of their best,
And three times the virtues of brandy confess'd;
Then took some tobacco, and soberly said,
"De'il take such a vessel; she's all by the head,
Broach'd to on a sudden, and then, d'ye see,
Myself and the saddle went over the lee."
His head was so full of his ragged command
He could scarcely believe he was yet on dry land;
He would rise in his sleep; call the watch up at four,
Ask the man at the helm how the Eddystone bore;
Then, rubbing his eyes, bawl out, "By my soul,
"We are bearing right down on the Hatteras shoal;
"The devil may trust to such pilots as you:
"We are close on the breakers--the breakers--halloo!"

[F] A seaport town in the S. W. quarter of Jamaica.--_Freneau's
note, 1788 edition._

VII. EZEKIEL: _a Rhode-Island Lawyer_

The sixth, and the last, that attended our journey,
Was a man of the law, a Rhode-Island attorney,
As cunning as Satan to argue or plead,
To break an entailment, or get himself fee'd
They call'd him Ezekiel--I cannot tell what--
Perhaps I forget it--perhaps I do not--
He had once been a parson, and studied at Yale,[G]
But took to the law, when his preaching grew stale;
In his system of thinking, not well understood,
I wander'd about, like a man in a wood;
From morning 'till night he was nothing but whim,
Not a man in the town held opinions, like him:
In regard to the vulgar, he argued that Law
Was better than preaching, to keep them in awe:
That the dread of a gallows had greater effect,
And a post or a pillory claim'd more respect
From a knave--and would sooner contribute to mend,
Than all the grave precepts that ever were penn'd.

[G] Yale College in New-Haven.--_Freneau's note, 1788 edition._

VIII. _The Chapter of_ DEBATES

Having pitch'd on our party, there rose a dispute
On the mode of conveyance--in waggon or boat?
For my part, said Snip, I was always afraid
Of sailors, and sloops and the shallopman's trade,
And the reason thereof I will candidly tell,
My grandmother, Mopsy, was drown'd in a well;
I therefore intreat you, and fervently pray
We may go with the waggons the Burlington way.
"Hold, master," the sailor replied in a fret,
"The devil's not ready to bait for you yet:
Even this way, you know, there is water to pass,
And twenty long miles we should sail with an ass;--
But, gentlemen all, will you take my advice?
Here's Albertson's[H] sloop; she's so new and so nice,
Her bottom so sleek, and her rigging so trim,
Not Bailey[H] or Hyde[H] can be mentioned with him;
In her cabbin and steerage is plenty of room,
And how clever she looks with her flying jib-boom,
A topsail aloft, that will stand by the wind,
And a yard rigg'd athwart, for a squaresail design'd.
"Odds fish! I would sooner some little delay
Than go, like a booby, the fresh-water way
Where your cream-colour'd captains ne'er swear a bad word,
And sail without compass or quadrant on board,
Catch catfish and sturgeons, but never a whale,
Nor balance a mizen, to fight with the gale:
But Albertson goes by the route of Cape May,
Salt-water, and sees the bold porpusses play:
Where the shore of the coast the proud ocean controuls
He travels, nor strikes on the Barnegat shoals."
"You tar-smelling monster! (Snipinda rejoin'd)
Your jargon has almost distracted my mind.
If Snip should be drownded, and lost in the sea,
You never once think what a loss it would be!
I should then be a widow, dejected and sad
And where would I find such another sweet lad!
And Doctor Sangrado a letter has wrote,
And how, in three weeks he will want a new coat."--
Snip's heart, at her answer, seem'd ready to break:
"Snipinda," said he, "I would live for your sake!
If I should be drownded, indeed, it is true,
It would be a bad journey for Sam and for you!"--
For fear they should hear him, Sam whisper'd, "In troth
I would give my new hat that the devil had both."
"If Snip should be drown'd," said the valiant O'Keef,
"Poor woman! already I guess at her grief--
However, for aught that a stranger can see,
There are dozens as brisk at the needle as he,
And, tho' it were hard that the sea-fish should tear him,
I'm fully convinc'd that his brethren can spare him:
"But were I to mention the very best way,
And the quickest to boot (for they go in a day)
I would sleep over night at the sign of the Queen,[I]
(Where the wine is so good, and the beds are so clean)
Then starting by day-break, and riding in state,
Arriving in Bristol--we breakfast at eight,
Then push on our way, with a rapid career,
With nothing to hinder, and nothing to fear,
Till Trenton, and Princeton, and Brunswick are pass'd,
And safe on the Hudson they drop us at last."
When the captain had finish'd, the Frenchman arose,
And smoothing his whiskers, and squaring his toes,
With a bend of his back, and a swing of his head
Thus expressing his wish, with a flourish, he said:
"Wherever pomatums are most in demand
That route has my vote, be it water or land:
Wherever I travel, through sun-shine or glooms,
May fortune direct me to powders and plumes!--
So, gentlemen, choose, I beseech you, that road
Where ladies prefer to be dress'd in the mode."
"Hold, varlet, be still"--said the Yankee attorney,
"Are you to decide on the route of our journey?
These run-about fellows, I cannot but hate 'em,
With their rings, and their ruffles, and rolls of pomatum:
But, gentlemen, (if I may venture to speak
In the stile I was wont when I dabbled in Greek,
When I blew on my trumpet, and call'd up my pack,
Who thought I was holy because I was black;
Or, if you allow me a moral to draw
From some words that were frequent with Doctor Magraw);--
"We all have in view to arrive at one town,
"Yet each one would find out a way of his own;
"What a pity it is that we cannot agree
"To march all together to Zion"--said he--
But, since I'm convinc'd that it cannot be so,
(For his journey resembles our journey below)
Like the sects in religion, I heartily pray
That each, as he pleases, may have his own way,
Let Snip, and the captain, adventure by land,
The sailor by sea--he can reef, steer, and hand;
Let the Frenchman set out in a gaudy balloon,
(He'll either be there, or be dead, very soon,)
For my own part, I'm fond of the Burlington boat,
But still, if you're willing, I'll put it to vote:
The hint was sufficient--he put it to vote,
And fate bade us go with the Burlington boat.

[H] Commanders of Philadelphia and New-York packets.--_Ib._

[I] Indian Queen.--_Freneau's note, 1788 edition._

IX. _The Passage to_ BURLINGTON

The morning was fair, and the wind was at west,
The flood coming in, and the ladies were drest;
At the sign of the Billet we all were to meet,
And Snip was the first that appear'd in the street;
He strutted along with a mighty brisk air,
While Sam and Snipinda walked slow in the rear.
Dress'd, booted, and button'd, and "cutting a shine"
The captain came next, with his loaded carbine;
Then handed on board the milliner's maid:
The barber and ballad-man longer delay'd
For one had his ballads to sing and to play,
And the other some beards to take off by the way:
At last they arriv'd, and the sailor along,
(But he was besotted--his dram had been strong--)
The lawyer, Ezekiel, was last to appear,
With a cane in his hand and a quill at his ear.
But, just as we all were prepar'd to embark,
The wind came a-head, and the weather look'd dark:
So, whilst they were busy in hoisting the sails
And trimming close aft' to encounter the gales,
Our seaman advis'd them to take in a reef
As the vessel was light--but the skipper was deaf:
"His boat was his own"--and he knew to a hair
The "worth of her freight," and the "sail she could bear."
Then a storm coming on, we stow'd away snug,
Some link'd with a lady, and some with a jug:
Snipinda and Sam were inclining to sleep,
And the lawyer harangu'd on the risques of the deep.
O'Bluster was busy in looking for squalls,
And Cynthia discours'd upon dances and balls,
And while the poor ballad-man gave us a song
The Frenchman complain'd that his stomach felt wrong.
Arriving, at length at the end of this stage,
We quitted our cabbin (or rather our cage)
To the sign of the Anchor we then were directed,
Where captain O'Keef a fine turkey dissected;
And Bryan O'Bluster made love to egg-nog,
And pester'd the ladies to taste of his grog:
Without it (said Bryan) I never can dine,
'Tis better, by far, than your balderdash wine,
It braces the nerves and it strengthens the brain,
A world--and no grog--is a prison of pain,
And Man, the most wretched of all that are found
To creep in the dust, or to move on the ground!
It is, of all physic, the best I have seen
To keep out the cold, and to cut up the spleen--
Here, madam--miss Cynthia--'tis good--you'll confess--
Now taste--and you'll wish you had been in my mess--
With grog I'm as great as a king on his throne;
The worst of all countries is--where there is none,
New Holland, New Zealand--those islands accurs'd--
Here's health to the man that invented it first.

X. VEXATIONS _and_ DISASTERS