Chapter XI: Part V: The Final Period of Wandering (3)

In such a grand master all masons were blessed;
The world and all masons his merits confessed;
But now he is gone in new orbits to move
And join the first builder of all things above.

[194] From the edition of 1809.

ON THE DEATH OF A MASONIC GRAND SACHEM[195]

This day we unite
And all Brethren invite
To honour a man of our nation;
Who, honest as brave,
Is gone to his grave
And takes an unchangeable station.

In our subject we view
(To Liberty true)
The officer firm in all danger;
Who stood to his post
At the head of a host
His country to save, and avenge her.

By compass and square
This artisan rare
Defeated all foreign invasion,
Then returned to his farm
When no longer alarm
Distracted the mind of the nation.

In all that he did,
In all that he said
The bliss of mankind was intended;--
He rose for their good,
To support them he stood,
And Liberty ever defended.

The foundation he laid,
And the fabric he made
No mason but he could pretend to;
It will stand, we foresee,
'Till that era shall be
When the globe of the world there's an end to.

So, fame to the man
Who the building began,
Whose model all nations will take
When kingdoms are fled,
Standing armies are dead,
And monarchs--no longer awake.

[195] From the edition of 1809.

ON A HONEY BEE

Drinking from a Glass of Wine and Drowned Therein[196]

(By Hezekiah Salem.)

Thou, born to sip the lake or spring,
Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come on vagrant wing?--
Does Bacchus tempting seem--
Did he, for you, this glass prepare?--
Will I admit you to a share?

Did storms harass or foes perplex,
Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay--
Did wars distress, or labours vex,
Or did you miss your way?--
A better seat you could not take
Than on the margin of this lake.

Welcome!--I hail you to my glass:
All welcome, here, you find;
Here, let the cloud of trouble pass,
Here, be all care resigned.--
This fluid never fails to please,
And drown the griefs of men or bees.

What forced you here, we cannot know,
And you will scarcely tell--
But cheery we would have you go
And bid a glad farewell:
On lighter wings we bid you fly,
Your dart will now all foes defy.

Yet take not, oh! too deep a drink,
And in this ocean die;
Here bigger bees than you might sink,
Even bees full six feet high.
Like Pharoah, then, you would be said
To perish in a sea of red.

Do as you please, your will is mine;
Enjoy it without fear--
And your grave will be this glass of wine,
Your epitaph--a tear--
Go, take your seat in Charon's boat,
We'll tell the hive, you died afloat.

[196] From the edition of 1809.

ON THE FALL OF AN ANCIENT OAK TREE[197]

While onward moves each circling year
Thy mandates, Nature, all obey,
As with this moving, changeful sphere
The seasons change and never stay;
Old Oak, I to your place return,
Where late you stood, and viewing mourn,

For the great loss my heart sustained
When you declined, long will I sigh,
That hour when you no more remained
To cheer the summer, passing by;
No longer blessed my eager view,
But like some dying friend withdrew.

Though frequent, by that nipping frost,
The blast which cold November sends,
I saw your leafy honours lost;
Hope, for such losses, made amends:
The spring again beheld them grow,
And we were pleased, and so was you.

Since I your fatal fall survive,
Remembrance long shall hold you dear,
And bid some young successor live;
By sad Amyntor planted here;
Its buds to swell, its leaves to spread,
And shade the place when he is dead.

A prince among your towering race,
What more your vanished form endears
Is that your presence in this place
Had been at least one hundred years;
And men that long in dust have laid,
When boys, beneath your shadow played.

You had your time to feel the sun,
To wanton in his cheering ray;--
That time is past, your race is run,
And we have nothing more to say,
Than, may your oaken spirit go
Among Elysian oaks below.

[197] From the edition of 1809.

STANZAS ON THE DECEASE OF THOMAS PAINE

Who died at New-York, on the 8th of June, 1809[198]

Princes and kings decay and die
And, instant, rise again:
But this is not the case, trust me,
With men like Thomas Paine.

In vain the democratic host
His equal would attain:
For years to come they will not boast
A second Thomas Paine.

Though many may his name assume;
Assumption is in vain;
For every man has not his plume--
Whose name is Thomas Paine.

Though heaven bestow'd on all its sons
Their proper share of brain,
It gives to few, ye simple ones,
The mind of Thomas Paine.

To tyrants and the tyrant crew,
Indeed, he was the bane;
He writ, and gave them all their due,
And signed it,--Thomas Paine.

Oh! how we loved to see him write
And curb the race of Cain!
They hope and wish that Thomas P----
May never rise again.

What idle hopes!--yes--such a man
May yet appear again.--
When they are dead, they die for aye:
--Not so with Thomas Paine.

[198] From the edition of 1815.