Chapter VIII: Part IV: The Period of Editorship (5)

The builders had the ship prepared,
And near her stood a triple guard,
For fear of secret foes.
Some, tiptoe stood to see her start,
And would have said, with all their heart,
In raptures, there she goes!

The stubborn ship, do what they could,
Convinced them, she was made of wood
Though plann'd with art supreme;
All art, all force the ship defy'd--
Nor brilliant day, nor top of tide
Could urge her to the stream.

Some, with their airs aristocratic,
And some with honors diplomatic,
Advanced to see the show:
In vain the builder to her call'd--
In vain the shipwrights pull'd and haul'd--
She could not--would not go.

Each anti-federal, with a smile
Observed the yet unfloating pile
As if he meant to say,
Builder, no doubt, you know your trade,
A constitution you have made
But should her ways have better laid.

Well now to heave the ship afloat,
To move from this unlucky spot,
Take our advice, and give them soon,
What should have long ago been done,
Amendments--You Know What.

[129] Text from 1815 edition.

ON THE FREE USE OF THE LANCET[130]

In Yellow Fevers[A]

[A] A practice very prevalent at the time the above was
written.--_Freneau's note._

In former days your starch'd divines
From notes of twenty thousand lines
Held many a long dispute;
One argued this, one argued that,
And reverend wigs, as umpires sat,
All sophists to confute.

They dwelt on things beyond their ken
And teazed and puzzled simple men
To hold them in the dark;
But their long season now is past,
The churchman's horn has blown its blast,
Things take a different mark.

Physicians now to quiet pain
Stick lancet in the patient's vein
That burns with feverish heat:
The next contend, they're wholly wrong,
That life will leak away ere long
If thus the case they treat.

Meantime a practice gets about,
Perhaps to make some doctors pout:
Old Shelah, with her herbs and teas,
And scarce a shilling for her fees,
In many instances, at least,
When deaths and funerals increased,
Did more to dispossess the fever,
Did more from dying beds deliver
Than all the hippocratian host
Could by the lancet's virtue boast;
To which, I trow, full many a ghost
Will have a grudge forever.

[130] From the edition of 1815. The yellow fever epidemic of 1797 created more than usual consternation. It was supposed to be of a more deadly type than that of 1793. The medical profession was divided as to the treatment of the disease. "Two hostile schools sprang up. At the head of one was William Currie. Benjamin Rush led the other. The Currie men declared the fever was imported and contagious. The Rush school maintained that it was not. Filthy streets, they held, and loathsome alleys had much to do with the sickness, and they urged the use of mercurial purges and the copious letting of blood_."--McMaster._

THE BOOK OF ODES[131]

ODE I

"He that readeth not in the Book of Odes is like a man
standing with his face against a wall; he can neither move a
step forward, nor survey any object."--_Hau Kiou Choaan._

Blest is the man who shuns the place
Where Demo's love to meet,
Who scorns to gnaw their bread and cheese,
And hates their small beer treat:

But in the glare of splendid halls
Doth place his whole delight,
And there by day eats force-meat balls,
And roasted hogs by night.

He, like some thrifty pumpkin vine,
Near Hartford that doth grow,
Shall creep, and spread, and twist, and twine,
And shade the weeds below.

Puff'd by all dunces far and near
He'll swell to station high,
While Democrats confus'd appear
As he rides rattling by.

Not so the man of vulgar birth,
And Democratic phiz;
Want, toil, and every plague on earth,
Shall certainly be his.

Poor as a snake, and ever vile
Shall his condition be,
Who to the men of royal style
Neglects to bend the knee.

He, with the herd of little note,
May starve on bread and cheese,
And soon shall be without a coat
Or sent to pay jail-fees.

ODE II[132]

TO THE FRIGATE CONSTITUTION

"A ship carpenter being once asked, what sort of ships are the
_safest_, he answered, _those which are hauled up on dry land_."

Madam!--Stay where you are,
'Tis better, sure, by far
Than venturing on an element of danger,
Where heavy seas and stormy gales
May wreck your hulk and rend your sails,
Or Europe's black-guards treat you like a stranger,

When first you stuck upon your ways
(Where half New England came to gaze)
We antifederals thought it something odd
That where all art had been display'd,
And even the builder deem'd a little god,
He had your ways not better laid.

Omens, indeed, are now exploded,
But you have something dismal boded:
Say--must the navy-system go to rack,
And things advance at such a rate
That every wisely govern'd state
Will hold the author of the scheme a quack.

O frigate Constitution! stay on shore:
Why would you meet old Ocean's roar?
Was man design'd
To be confin'd
In those fire-spitting hells a navy nam'd,
Where Vice herself, abash'd, asham'd,
Turns from the horrid scene of blood and bones,
And mangled carcases of men; and grunts and groans.

Remaining on the stocks, in gloomy pride,
Without an anchor thou shalt safely ride;
No pumping there,
To make men swear,
Waves you'll despise,
Tho' fierce they rise
To heaven when storms and tempests blow:
Steady as fate, unmov'd will you appear
When other ships the foaming surges tear--
No fear of broaching to.

Nor useless need you be, if right we deem,
For harmless purposes you proper seem--
Scorn to be made a bloody, murdering den;
Let folks of sense
At less expense
Convert you into stores--to bring in rents;
Stow pumpkins there--or anything but Men.

ODE III[133]

TO DUNCAN DOOLITTLE

A "_half-starved_" Democrat

"Lodge where you must, drink small-beer where you can,
"But eat no roast pig, if no Federal man."

Duncan, with truth it may be said,
Your mouth was made for rye or barley bread;
What claim have you to halls of state,
Whose business is to stand and wait,
Subserviant to command?
What right have you to white-bread, superfine,
Who were by nature destin'd for "a _swine_"--
As said good Edmund Burke,
The drudge of Britain's dirty work,
Whose mighty pamphlets rous'd the royal band!

When passing by a splendid dome of pride
By speculation built (and built so vast
That there a standing army might reside)
Say, Duncan, stood you not aghast,
When gazing up (like fox that look'd for grapes)
You saw so many things in curious shapes,
Trees rang'd along the table,
And sugar-columns, far above the rabble,
With roses blooming in October,
And wisdom's figure--dull and sober.
Ah! how you smack'd your lips, and look'd so wishful
When pigs and poultry--many a lovely dish-full,
Imparted to your nose the savoury scent
For royal noses--not for Duncan's--meant.

For things like these you, caitiff, were not born--
A pewter spoon was for your chops intended;
Some shins of beef, and garlands made of thorn--
On things like these has Freedom's feast depended.
Though in the days of fight you musquet carried,
Or wandered up and down, a cannon-hauling,
Better you might in Jericho have tarried
And rebel-starving made your loyal calling.
Among our far-fam'd chieftains that are dead
(Like beer set by in mug without a lid,
And sure, a half-gill glass I'll put it all in)
I'll toast your health--yes, to the very brim
And to the little gaping world proclaim
You are a Hero fallen:
One of the wights who dar'd all death, or wound,
And warr'd for two and sixpence in the pound.

Of public virtue you're a rare example--
Go, mind your hoe, your pick-ax, or your spade;
A hut of six foot square shall be your "temple,"
And all your honour--strutting on parade.
But pray, beware of public good;
It will not always find you food,
And if your son should anything inherit,
Bequeath him not your public spirit,
But sixpence, to be train'd to sawing wood.

ODE IV[134]

TO PEST-ELI-HALI

A Democratic Printer on the Western Banks of the Hudson

No easy task that press assumes
Which takes the lead in Freedom's band,
And scatters in nocturnal glooms
The blaze of Reason through our land:
Each empty bellows would, no doubt,
Rise, and aspire to put it out.

Blamed though you are, pursue your way;
Night evermore precedes the sun;
Whate'er some angry king's-men say,
You play a game that must be won:
The bliss of man--is the great prize
That yet at stake with tyrants lies.

When first a mean, designing few
Their poisonous dregs by Herald spread;
An antidote, by such as you,
Was at the root of mischief laid;
With a simple herb from Reason's plains
You kept all right in Freedom's veins.

Now hostile views, and low design
Are busy to annoy your page,
Controul its strength, its fires confine,
And war with sense and reason wage:
They hope, with fogs to quench the sun,
They hope your useful race is run.

But though some narrow hearts contrive
To shove you from your mounted car;
Right pleasantly we see you drive,
And hardly heed their little war:
Like insects, creeping in the dirt,
They merely serve to make you sport.

Who looks at Kings, a court, a queen,
With childish pomp, and borrowed fame,
But wonders from what genius mean
Their chaos of confusion came--
Yet those on little things depend,
And every reptile is their friend.

ODE V[135]

TO PETER PORCUPINE

"That one may write--and write--and be a villain,
"At least, I'm sure it may be so in--Denmark."--_Hamlet._

"While with the loss of blood and spirits some faint,
"Others are seen to rise, triumphant,
"O'er slaughter'd thousands sent to Pluto's shores,
"Where Stygian water in dull torrent roars--
"What hosts, what myriads fell,
"By lancet and by calomell,
"All gone, in Philadelphia's epidemic,
"And sent the substance of mankind to mimic."

So said that Man divine
Bold Peter Porcupine,
Who through these climes his vast subscription spread,
And rais'd four thousand ghosts; and struck with dread,
All Democratic knaves,
Disorganizing slaves--
He with bold wit,
And spirit and spit,
From Nova Scotia to the woods of Maine,
True federalism did maintain;
And through those mighty thriving states,
Distributed his dainty, blackguard bits.

Ah--Peter!--Thou, poor lousy numps
Who loadest little horses' rumps,
And mak'st them trot and sweat,
On sandy road
Beneath the load
Of trash call'd _Peter Porcupine's Gazette_.
What have you done to claim Columbia's love
That she--like some base--
Should court a scoundrel from a foreign shore
And make him tool to--some apostate Jove,

Ah! now I see poor Carolina's horses,
With pedlar's pack,
Pil'd high on back,
Pursuing their mean, blackguard courses,
Through solitary groves and woods of pine
Transporting Goods, like thine,
--------Damned stuff!
Of which Columbia, sure, has had--enough--
There Pickens, Sumpter, Greene, for freedom fought,
And Liberty her wonders wrought.

What do I hear? And have we lent thee wings
To waft thy poison into Eutaw Springs?
Those, clearer than Castalia's waters, found,
For many a hero, dead, who might have claim'd
Life--but for brutish George,
Who, having robb'd and plunder'd half the east,
Came here to close his Vulture's feast.

Now, Peter! take advice from Doctor Rush;
And--convert to the system you would crush;
Pray, let him draw your blackguard blood;
(And calomell might, also, do some good.)
Four thousand drops exhausted from your veins
Will save the future exercise of canes:
And, tell him to be speedy with his lancet,
For 'tis a truth; and many dare advance it,
That howe'er in life well fed,
No Doctor bleeds a man--when dead.

ODE VI[136]

ADDRESS TO A LEARNED PIG

Of Particular Eminence, who, in a certain Great City, was
visited by Persons of the First Taste and Distinction

O thou, marked out by Fate from vulgar swine,
Among the learned of our age to shine,
On whom 'squires, ladies, parsons, come to gaze,
Bold, science-loving pig,
Who, without gown or wig
Can force your way through learning's thorny maze
--How many high learned wights in days of old
(Whom Fame has with the great enrolled)
Starved by their wits--were banished, hanged, or sold;
--While you, on better ages fallen, O lucky swine!
Can by your wit on pyes and sweetmeats dine--

When house and lands are gone and spent,
Then learning is most excellent--
(So says a proverb through the world well known)--
You, that were pigged to grovel in a stye,
Have left your swill for science high:--
Without a rival of your race,
You hold a most distinguished place--
All that the heart can wish flows in to you,
Who real happiness pursue,
And are well fed, on whate'er hog stye thrown.

Now, if one had the chance to choose one's state
On this world's stage, and not controuled by Fate,
Who would not wish to have his little brains
Lodged in the head of Learned Pig,
Rather than be a man, and toil, and sweat, and dig
With all the sense the human scull contains.

With Us, we all are wise, we all things know,
But every pig--inferior is to you--
The rest are fools and simpletons--and so--
What, next, will be the science You attain?
Science!--to You, that opens all her store?--
Already have you in your sapient brain
More than most aldermen--and gumption more
Than some, who capers cut on Congress floor.

May we not hope, in this improving age
Of human things--to see on Terra's stage
Hogs take the lead of men, and from their styes
To honours, riches, office, rise!
Adepts in Latin, Commerce, Physick, Law?--
From what is seen, such inference we draw--

ODE VII[137]

ON THE FEDERAL CITY

"Thus Cain of old, poor Abel slain,
"Departing from his native plain,
"In land of Nod, beneath the heaven's frowns,
"Built sky-topt towers and federal towns."

Enough of learned pigs,
Pigg'd for immense designs,
And shame our men of mighty wigs--
Enough of Peter Porcupines,
Whose quills, like pop-guns shooting at a fort,
Be sure have done the Demos mighty hurt,
A subject now of real weight inspires,
That soon will kindle every muse's fires,
No less than federal town,
Immortal in renown,
Which in her district--ten miles square
The center fills, like spider in her web
Catching all silly flies that venture near,
And fattening on the folly of the tribe.

When fates decreed,
Or nature said
"This spot is destin'd for a future town,"
Between them both they so contriv'd the matter
(Altho' perhaps not wholly wrong the latter)
That this should be a town of silent halls
And like Palmyra famous in the east,
Erect her columns huge and lofty walls--
Yet there in vain for men do travellers seek,
And hardly meet a townsman once a week!

Virginia's sons, as through this town they pass
Each cries, "Alas,
No sound of fiddle here,
All dull and drear,
No merry bells that jingle on the ear,
No glittering females, balls, or billiards dear--
No fighting cocks, no gallant steeds for racing:
Well-stap my vitals--is it not distressing?
No gallant ship with canvas swelling high
Engag'd in war or commerce passes by;
But corn-boats mean from Alleghany hills,
Or buck-wheat laden hulks from country mills!"

Amidst these huge hotels and regal domes
Frequent some townsman walks, as midst the tombs,
And cries, "The founders of this city blundered
In rearing up such piles for eighteen hundred:
Waiting for that must Congress absent stay?--
Ah! curse the Law's delay!
Rather than hold them there,
(Though, doubtless, it may sadly grieve her)
May Philadelphia twelve months every year
Be plagu'd and blooded for the yellow fever!"

ODE VIII[138]

ON THE CITY ENCROACHMENTS ON THE RIVER HUDSON

Where Hudson, once, in all his pride
In surges burst upon the shore
They plant amidst his flowing tide
Moles, to defy his loudest roar;
And lofty mansions grow where late
Half Europe might discharge her freight.

From northern lakes and wastes of snow
The river takes a distant rise,
Now marches swift, now marches slow,
And now adown some rapid flies
Till join'd the Mohawk, in their course
They travel with united force.

But cease, nor with too daring aim
Encroach upon this giant flood;
No rights reserved by nature, claim,
Nor on his ancient bed intrude:--
The river may in rage awake
And time restore him all you take.

The eastern stream, his sister, raves
To see such moles her peace molest
A London built upon her waves,
The weight of mountains on her breast:
With quicken'd flow she seeks the main
As on her bed new fabrics gain.

Bold streams! and may our verse demand
Is there not coast for many a mile,
And soils, as form'd by nature's hand
That border all Manhattan's isle:
Then why these mounds does avarice raise
And build the haunts of pale disease.

Yet in your aim to clip their wing
(It asks no wizard to descry,)
That time the woful day will bring
When Hudson's passion, swelling high,
May in a foam his wrongs repay
And sweep both house and wharf away.

ODE IX[139]

ON THE FRIGATE CONSTITUTION

"And in those days men settled themselves on the waters, and
lived there, not because land was wanting, but that they
wished to be slaves to such as were great and mighty on the
land."--_Modern History._

Thus launch'd at length upon the main
And soon prepar'd the seas to roam,
In your capacious breast ere long
Will many an idler find a home
That sells his freedom for a song,
Quits fields and trees
For boisterous seas,
To tread his native soil no more,
And see--but not possess the shore.

Well! let them go--can there be loss
In those who Nature's bounty slight,
From rural vales and freedom's shades
To this dull cage who take their flight,
The axe, the hoe,
The plough forego,
The buxom milk-maid's simple treat,
The bliss of country life forget,
For tumult here
And toil severe,
A gun their pillow when they sleep,
And when they wake, are wak'd to weep.

Dick Brothers said, "The time will come,
"When war no more shall prowl the sea,
"Nor men for pride or plunder roam,
"And my millenium brings them home,
"How'eer dispers'd through each degree."
If Richard proves a prophet true,
Why may not we be quiet too,
And turn our bull-dogs into lambs,
Saw off the horns of battering rams
As well as Europe's sons?
Ye Quakers! see with pure delight,
The times approach when men of might,
And squadrons roving round the ball,
Shall fight each other not at all,
Or fight with wooden guns.

And yet that Being you address
Who shaped old Chaos into form,
May speak--and with a word suppress
The tryant and the storm.

ODE X[140]

TO SANTONE SAMUEL

The Millennial Prophet, on his System of Universal Pacification

With aspect wild, in ranting strain
You bring the brilliant period near,
When monarchy will close her reign
And wars and warriors disappear;
The lion and the lamb will stray,
And, social, walk the woodland way.

I fear, with superficial view
You contemplate dame nature's plan:--
She various forms of being drew,
And made the common tryant--man:
She form'd them all with wise design,
Distinguish'd each, and drew the line.

Observe the lion's visage bold
His iron tooth, his murderous claw,
His aspect cast in anger's mould;
The strength of steel is in his paw:
Could he be meant with lambs to stray
Or feed along the woodland way?

Since first his race on earth began
War was his trade and war will be:
And when he quits that ancient plan
With milder natures to agree,
He will be changed to something new
And have some other part to do.

One system see through all this frame,
Apparent discord still prevails;
The forest yields to active flame,
The ocean swells with stormy gales;
No season did the God decree
When leagued in friendship these should be.

And do you think that human kind
Can shun the all-pervading law--
That passion's slave we ever find--
Who discord from their nature draw:--
Ere discord can from man depart
He must assume a different heart.

Yet in the slow advance of things
A time may come our race may rise,
By reason's aid to stretch their wings,
And see the light with other eyes;
And when the ancient mist is pass'd;
To find their nature changed at last,

The sun himself, the powers ordain,
Should in no perfect circle stray;
He shuns the equatorial plane,
Prefers an odd serpentine way,
And lessens yearly, sophists prove,
His angle in the voids above.

When moving in his ancient line,
And no oblique ecliptic near,
With some new influence he may shine
But you and I will not be here
To see the lion shed his teeth
Or kings forget the trade of death.

ODE XI[141]

TO THE PHILADELPHIA DOCTORS

"And the Angel Michael disputed with the Devil about the body
of Moses."--_Ancient History._

"To bleed or not to bleed--that is the question!
Whether 'tis better in our beds to suffer
The slights and snufflings of outrageous doctors,
Or by the Lancet--quit them."

In ancient days divines, in dismal humour,
With disputation kept the presses going;
Wrangled about some wonderous mighty things
The difference "'twixt a shadow and a shade,"
And scribbled much of "way of man with maid."
At length, as fades the crown
Their bludgeons they lay down;
And you, wise doctors, take the wrangle up,
Each cursing all who will not drink his cup.

Ah, Philadelphians! still to knaves a prey,
Take your old philosophic way;
When from the native spring you seiz'd your draught,
Health bloom'd on every face, and all was gay--
Dejection was remote--and Nature laugh'd.
A question now, of mighty weight is put,
Whether, to bleed a man is best, or not,
When scarce three drops (or not one drop) remains
In the poor devil's veins!--

Well! you decide, who are in Galen read--
Take Boorhaave's, if you please--whatever system--
(Why are men such that doctors can enlist 'em?)
Whether your methods be the right or wrong,
And man's existence shorten or prolong,
We feverish fellows, must be--put to bed.

The secret has leak'd out--be cautious doctors
(The whole shall be disclos'd in room with lock'd doors)
Old women, with their simple herbs and teas
(And asking hardly two-pence for their fees)
Disarm this dreadful epidemic fever;
Make it as tame and innocent,
(Whether home-bred or from West Indies sent)
As Continental soldier, turn'd to Weaver.

ODE XII[142]

THE CROWS AND THE CARRION

A Medical Story

If Ephraim on his bed complains
Of feverish pulse and boiling veins,
And throbs and pulses in his brains,

Then round him flock a ghastly crew
Of doctors old and doctors new,
And doctors, some--the Lord knows who.

Hoping the men had learned their trade,
Poor Ephraim begs them for their aid,
And promises they shall be paid.

Each quotes some book, by way of sham,
Or reads some text from Sydenham,
Which some approve, and some condemn.

At once he hears a barbarous noise,
Like that from herds of butchers' boys,
That ever hope of life destroys.

He promises all bills to pay,
But they proceed in angry fray--
Poor Ephraim frets--and well he may.

Each looks at each with vengeful eyes,
As if contending for a prize
He wants his share--when Ephraim dies.

One talks of cure by Calomel;
But his wise brother, Sydrophel,
Swears, 'tis the readiest way to hell.

While one the lancet recommends,
Another for a blister sends,
And each his every cure defends.

Weary of all they have to say,
At last the patient faints away:
Poor Ephraim swoons--and well he may.

In Fancy's dreams, he thinks he roams
In realms where doctor Satan foams,
With Sydrophels and Curry-combs.

Revived at length, he begs release,
And whines, "Do let your quarrels cease,
Do, doctors, let me die in peace.

"Oh! had I sent for doctress Nan,
Or anything but cruel man,
To put me on my legs again:

"She, with her cooling tamarind tea,
At least would not have murdered me--
Come! if you love me, do agree.

"She would have held my dizzy head--
She would have something to me read--
Or would have somewhat cheering said.

"Good heavens! you cannot all be right--
O do not scratch!--O do not bite!--
Good doctors, do not, do not fight!"--

Here they began a louder fray--
Oh! Ephraim's dead!--to them all play--
Poor Ephraim dies!--and well he may.

ODE XIII[143]

A Soldier should be made of Sterner Stuff

ON DEBORAH GANNET

The American heroine, who on Tuesday last presented a petition
to Congress for a pension, in consideration of services
rendered during the whole of the late war, in the character
of a common follower in the regular armies of America

Ye congress men and men of weight,
Who fill the public chairs,
And many a favor have conferr'd
On some, unknown to Mars;
And ye, who hold the post of fame,
The helmsmen of our great affairs,
Afford a calm, attentive ear
To her who handled sword and spear,
A heroine in a bold career,
Assist a war-worn dame.

With the same vigorous soul inspired
As Joan of Arc, of old,
With zeal against the Briton fired,
Her spirit warm and bold,
She march'd to face her country's foes
Disguised in male attire:
Where'er they prowl'd through field or town
With steady step she follow'd on;
Resolved the conflict to sustain,
She met them on the hill, the plain,
And hostile to the English reign,
She hurl'd the blasting fire.

Now for such generous toils endured,
Her day of warfare done,
In life's decline at length reward
This faithful amazon:
She asks no thousands at your hands,
Though mark'd with many a scar;
She asks no share of indian lands,
Though lands you have to spare:

But something in the wane of days
To make her snug, and keep her warm,
A cottage, and the cheery blaze,
To shield her from the storm;
And something to the pocket too,
Your bounty might afford,
Of her, who did our foes pursue
With bayonet, gun, and sword.

Reflect how many tender ties
A female must forego
Ere to the martial camp she flies
To meet the invading foe:
How many bars has nature placed,
And custom many more,
Lest slighted woman should be graced
With trophies gain'd in war.
All these she nobly overcame,
And scorn'd a censuring age,
Join'd in the ranks, her road to fame,
Despis'd the Briton's rage;
And men, who, with contracted mind,
All arrogant, condemn
And make disgrace in womankind
What honor is in them.

[131] These odes first appeared in the _Time-Piece_, where they were published in rapid succession between October 16 and November 13, 1797. Three of them--the fourth, sixth, and eleventh--were republished, greatly revised, in the edition of 1809. The eighth, tenth, and thirteenth were used in revised form in the 1815 edition. The others are here republished for the first time.

The first ode, which is manifestly an adaptation of Dr. Watts' well-known hymn, seems to have been objected to in some quarters, for in the _Time-Piece_ for December 22 appeared the following:

"Some serious animadversions appear in the Connecticut Courant on the first number of the _Book of Odes_, published in the Time-Piece of the 14th ult. being a profane parody, as the writer insinuates, on the first Psalm of David--where the _aristocrat_ corresponds with the _saint_ in the psalm, and the _democrat_ with the _impenitent sinner_. These gentlemen writers ought to consider that the parody in question (as they choose to call it) was not meant to be sung through a deacon's nose, to the sound of the organ: nor yet to the timbrel of seven strings: it was merely intended to be _harped_ upon _out of doors_, for the benefit of all good democrats, and the utter astoundment and confusion of _the contrary character_. In the name of common sense how did the printers of the Connecticut Courant _dare_ to act so _irreverantly_ as to place the parody before the psalm? Are they trampling on all sanctity; or what do they mean? Let them beware--serious times are coming on, gentlemen:

'Your life is but a vapour, sure,
A mere old woman's qualm--
And good king David's lyric harp,
May close it--with a psalm.'"

[132] _Time-Piece_, October 18, 1797.

[133] The _Time-Piece_, October 20, 1797.

[134] From the edition of 1809, the text of which I have followed in all but the title which is "To a Democratic Editor." This poem first appeared in the _Time-Piece_, October 23, 1797, with the following introduction: "'He that first put a real mark upon the forehead of the BEAST was the inventor of Printing. This mark was impressed deeply, and becomes deeper from day to day.'--_Erasmus._"

[135] The _Time-Piece_, October 25, 1797. William Cobbett, an English adventurer, settled in Philadelphia in 1792. Under the signature "Peter Porcupine" he wrote many political pamphlets, and edited a paper called _Porcupine's Gazette_. He left America in 1800 after having been convicted of libel. His works in twelve volumes, including many selections from the _Gazette_, were published in 1801, in London. He was an avowed enemy to the Democrats of America; he opposed the French interests, and abused roundly Dr. Priestly, Benjamin Franklin, and Dr. Rush.

[136] Text from the edition of 1809. Originally in the _Time-Piece_, October 27, 1797, with the following introduction:

"Let but a dancing bear arrive,
A pig that counts you four or five,
And Cato, with his moral strain,
Shall strive to mend the town--in vain."

[137] From the _Time-Piece_, October 31, 1797.

[138] From the 1815 edition. The _Time-Piece_ version, November 1, 1797, bore the title "To Thos. Swawgum, a Wharf Builder," with the following introduction:

"'And Alexander built a solid mole from the coast, even unto the isle of Tyre, through the deep waters of the channel between: and people said it would be everlasting; and yet at this day it is overwhelmed, and few vestiges left thereof.'--_Modern Travels._"

[139] From the Time-Piece, October 31, 1797. The following account of the launch is given in the same issue:

"BOSTON, _October 23_, The Launch! On Saturday last at fifteen minutes P. M. the frigate CONSTITUTION was launched into the adjacent element, on which she now rides an elegant and superb specimen of American naval architecture, combining the unity of wisdom, strength, and beauty. On a signal being given from on board, her ordnance, on shore, announced to the neighboring Country, that the CONSTITUTION WAS SECURE."

[140] From the edition of 1815, with the exception of the title, which is, "The Millennium--To a Ranting Field Orator."

[141] From the _Time-Piece_, November 13, 1797.

[142] Text from the edition of 1809. The title of the newspaper version was "To the Philadelphia Doctors," with the following motto: "And he said unto him, Physician Heal Thyself."

[143] Published in the _Time-Piece_, December 4, 1797, and reprinted in the edition of 1815, the text of which I have used, though I have retained the title of the newspaper version. In the 1815 edition the title is "The Heroine of the Revolution. _To the men in power_," with the note "On December 23, 1797, Deborah Gannet presented a petition to congress for a pension, in consideration of services rendered during the whole of the American Revolutionary war, in the rank of a common soldier in the regular armies of the United States. The above lines were written on this occasion, at the request of the heroine. It is needless to say, she had a competency bestowed on her during her natural life." Freneau's daughter has thus recounted the circumstances under which the affair became known to the poet:

"While editor of the _Time-Piece_ his office was thronged with visitors mostly wanting favors of one kind or another. One day he came into dinner and told Mrs. Freneau that there had been rather an eccentric character in the office that morning, telling him that she had served through the Revolutionary War in man's attire and had received several wounds and showed the scars. All he could do for her was to send her to Washington with a petition, which he did. Her name was Deborah Gannet. She went to Congress, presented her petition, and received her pension. Though he put not his name to it, it was immediately known, as many of the members were his correspondents, also Thomas Jefferson, the President."

ON THE FEDERAL CITY[144]

1797

All human things must have their rise,
And Rome advanced from little size
Till future ages saw her grown
The mistress of the world, then known.

So, bounding on Potowmac's flood,
Where ancient oaks so lately stood
An infant city grows apace
Intended for a ruling race.

Here capitols of awful height--
Already burst upon the sight,
And buildings, meant for embryo kings
Display their fronts and spread their wings.

This city bodes no common fate--
All other towns, as books relate,
With huts at first were thinly spread,
With hovels mean, or humble shed.

But matters here are quite reversed,
Here, palaces are built the first,
And late will common rustics come
In such abodes to find a home.

Meantime, it will be fair and just
(Nor will our congress fret, we trust)
If while the poor at distance lurk--
Themselves do their own dirty work.

Rome's earliest citizens were thieves,
So history tells, and man believes,
May matters be again reversed,
May they who here inhabit first
Instruct the late historians pen
To write--that they were honest men.

[144] From the 1815 edition. A young Englishman, Thomas Twining, who visited Washington in 1796, describes it as follows: "Having crossed an extensive tract of level country somewhat resembling an English heath, I entered a large wood through which a very imperfect road had been made, principally by removing the trees or the upper parts of them in the usual manner. After some time this indistinct way assumed more the appearance of a regular avenue, the trees having been cut down in a straight line although no habitation of any kind was visible. I had no doubt but I was now riding along one of the streets of the metropolitan city. I continued in this spacious avenue for half a mile and then came out upon a large spot cleared of wood, in the center of which I saw two unfinished buildings and men at work on one of them. Advancing and speaking to these workmen, they informed me that I was in the center of the city and that the building was the Capitol. Looking from where I stood I saw on every side a thick wood pierced with avenues in a more or less perfect state."

THE ROYAL COCKNEYS IN AMERICA[145]

1797

Why travel so far from your insular home,
Ye cockneys of London, and all in a foam,
To talk, and to talk, with coxcombical phiz,
And tell what a nuisance democracy is:
Twas a lesson we learn'd
When you were concern'd
In wishing success to the vast preparations
To conquer and pillage the royal-plantations.

We Americans far from your king-ridden isle
Do humbly beseech you, all democrat haters,
For fear that your bodies or souls you defile,
Would fairly go off, with your lies and your satires:
The monarch you worship requests your assistance,
And how can you help him at such a long distance?
Tis an Englishman's creed,
And they all have agreed
That, out of old England, there's nothing, they swear,
That can with old England--dear England--compare;
So, away to old England, or we'll send you there.

A swarm is arrived from the hives of the east,
Determined to sap the republic's foundation;
And who is their leader, their scribe, and their priest?
Why, Porcupine Peter,
The democrat-eater,
Transported by Pitt, at the charge of the nation,
To preach to the demos a new revelation.

His patrons in England, and some who are here,
Consented to join in his sink of scurrility,
And gave him, tis certain, four thousand a year
To print a damn'd libel, to please our nobility:
Where I--is the hero of all that is said
I--Corporal Cobbett[A]-a man of the blade!
If his countrymen thought
That for nothing we fought
And they mean to regain, by the aid of his press,
A country they lost, to their shame and disgrace,
Let them fairly engage
In some liberal page:
We can give them an answer, not relish'd by some,
Who will see their friend Peter go, whimpering, home.

[A] Alluding to the egotistical style of his
writings.--_Freneau's note._

[145] From the edition of 1815.

TO THE SCRIBE OF SCRIBES[146]

By the gods of the poets, Apollo and Jove,
By the muse who directs me, the spirits that move,
I council you, Peter, once more, to retire
Or satire shall pierce, with her arrows of fire.

Be careful to stop in your noisy career,
Or homeward retreat, for your danger is near:
The clouds are collecting to burst on your head,
Their sulphur to dart, or their torrents to shed.

Along with the tears, I foresee you will weep,
In the cave of oblivion I put you to sleep;--
This dealer in scandal, this bladder of gall,
This sprig of Parnassus must go to the wall.

From a star of renown in the reign of night
He has dwindled away to a little rush-light:
Then snuff it, and snuff it, while yet it remains
And Peter will leave you the snuff for your pains.--

[146] From the edition of 1815.

TO THE AMERICANS OF THE UNITED STATES[147]

First published November, 1797

Men of this passing age!--whose noble deeds
Honour will bear above the scum of Time:
Ere this eventful century expire,
Once more we greet you with our humble rhyme:
Pleased, if we meet your smiles, but--if denied,
Yet, with Your sentence, we are satisfied.

Catching our subjects from the varying scene
Of human things; a mingled work we draw,
Chequered with fancies odd, and figures strange,
Such, as no courtly poet ever saw;
Who writ, beneath some Great Man's ceiling placed;
Travelled no lands, nor roved the watery waste.

To seize some features from the faithless past;
Be this our care--before the century close:
The colours strong!--for, if we deem aright,
The coming age will be an age of prose:
When sordid cares will break the muses' dream,
And Common Sense be ranked in seat supreme.

Go, now, dear book; once more expand your wings:
Still in the cause of Man severely true:
Untaught to flatter pride, or fawn on kings;--
Trojan, or Tyrian,[A]--give them both their due.--
When they are right, the cause of both we plead,
And both will please us well,--if both will read.

[A] Tros, Tyriusque mihi nullo discrimine
agetur.--Virg_.--Freneau's note._

[147] This was used as the introductory poem to Volume II of the 1809 edition.

TO A NIGHT-FLY[148]

Approaching a Candle

Attracted by the taper's rays,
How carelessly you come to gaze
On what absorbs you in its blaze!

O Fly! I bid you have a care:
You do not heed the danger near;
This light, to you a blazing star.

Already you have scorch'd your wings:
What courage, or what folly brings
You, hovering near such blazing things?

Ah me! you touch this little sun--
One circuit more and all is done!--
Now to the furnace you are gone!--

Thus folly with ambition join'd,
Attracts the insects of mankind,
And sways the superficial mind:

Thus, power has charms which all admire,
But dangerous is that central fire--
If you are wise in time retire.--

[148] First published in the _Time-Piece_, December 8, 1797. Text from the edition of 1815.

THE INDIAN CONVERT[149]

An Indian, who lived at Muskingum, remote,
Was teazed by a parson to join his dear flock,
To throw off his blanket and put on a coat,
And of grace and religion to lay in a stock.

The Indian long slighted an offer so fair,
Preferring to preaching his fishing and fowling;
A sermon to him was a heart full of care,
And singing but little superior to howling.

At last by persuasion and constant harassing
Our Indian was brought to consent to be good;
He saw that the malice of Satan was pressing,
And the means to repel him not yet understood.

Of heaven, one day, when the parson was speaking,
And painting the beautiful things of the place,
The convert, who something substantial was seeking,
Rose up, and confessed he had doubts in the case.--

Said he, Master Minister, this place that you talk of,
Of things for the stomach, pray what has it got;
Has it liquors in plenty?--If so I'll soon walk off
And put myself down in the heavenly spot.

You fool (said the preacher) no liquors are there!
The place I'm describing is most like our meeting,
Good people, all singing, with preaching and prayer;
They live upon these without eating or drinking.

But the doors are all locked against folks that are wicked;
And you, I am fearful, will never get there:--
A life of Repentance must purchase the ticket,
And few of you, Indians, can buy it, I fear.

Farewell (said the Indian) I'm none of your mess;
On victuals, so airy, I faintish should feel,
I cannot consent to be lodged in a place
Where's there's nothing to eat and but little to steal.

[149] First published in the _Time-Piece_, December 11, 1797, under the title, "Thomas Swagum, an Oneida Indian and a Missionary Parson." Text from the 1809 edition.

THE PETTIFOGGER,[150]

or Fee Simple, Esquire

In a town I could mention, a lawyer resided
As cunning as Satan, and fond of disputes;
In wrangles and quarrels he ever confided,
To keep on his docquet a long string of suits.

Of little importance, nay, paltry and mean,
The matter contested, a pig or a hen;
But one thing he stuck to, he ever was seen
To have for his pleading just one pound ten.

With pleasure he saw that the quarrels increased,
Each day he had business from wranglesome men,
But all to the 'squire was a holiday feast
While he got his dear Fee, the one pound ten.

A parchment, Caveto, hung up in his hall
Which cautioned the reader to read and attend,
That for one pound ten he would quibble and brawl,
Twist, lie, and do all things a cause to defend.

Sometimes when the limits of lots were disputed
He would put all to rights in the turn of a straw;
From the tenth of an inch he his pocket recruited
Till he made the two parties curse lawyer and law.

Thus matters went on, and the lawyer grown rich
Fed high, and swilled wine 'till the dropsy began
To bloat up his guts to so monstrous a pitch,
You would hardly have known him to be the same man.
At last he departed, and when he had died,
His worship arriving at Beelzebub's den;
How much is the entrance (demanded the guide?--)
Old Devil made answer, 'Tis One Pound Ten.

[150] First published in the _Time-Piece_, December 13, 1797. Text from the 1809 edition.

ON A CELEBRATED PERFORMER ON THE VIOLIN[151]

Who, as it was said, went out, in the year 1797, to excite discontents and insurrections in the western country, particularly, in Ohio, Kentucky, and Tennessee

Musician of the west! whose vast design
Schemes our new states with England to combine;
How vain the hope, with violin and bow,
Such feeble arms, to work internal wo!
How weak the attempt our union to divide
With not a sword or pistol at your side!
Not even a drum your engineer employs:--
He's right--a drum would blast the plot, by noise:
All must be done in midnight silence, all
Your plans must ripen or your projects fall.
Unknown, unseen, till in the destined hour
Descends the stroke of trans-atlantic power!

By music's note to sway the western wild
Indeed is new;--we heard it and we smiled.
In cold December's iron-hearted reign
Would you with blushing blossoms deck the plain;
Would you with sound immure the Thirteen Stars,
Or plant a garland on the front of Mars?
To sound, not sense, once brutes, they say, advanced,
When Orpheus whistled, fauns and satyrs danced--
You are no Orpheus--and it may be true
He play'd some tunes that are unknown to you.
Hopes, such as yours, on cat-gut who would place;
On tenor, treble, counter, or the bass:

Who arm'd with horse-hair, hopes a world to win
Who gains dominion from a violin?
Such if there was, in times, the lord knows when,
He must have been at least the first of men--
But now--the world would have not much to prize
In such a warfare where no soldier dies:
Thus would it say--by sad experience taught,
'Oh! may we never fight as these have fought!
'These to the charge with Thespian arms advanced,
'And when they should have fought, the soldiers danced;
'They had no drums, they felt no martial flame,
'But, cold as Christmas, to the conflict came!'

My dreams present you thrumming on your string
Playing at proper stands, God save the king!
I see you march, a pedlar with his pack,
And that poor fiddle swung athwart your back,
(Like Reynard from some hen-roost hurrying home
With plunder'd poultry for the feast to come)
Trudging the wilds, on bold adventures bent,
The woods at once your coverlet and tent,
To fierce rebellions our back-woods to call--
The attempt how mighty! and the means how small.

Amphion once, the classic stories say,
When on his organ he began to play,
So soft, so sweet, so melting were his tunes
That even the savage rocks danced rigadoons,
The trees, themselves, with frantic passions fired
Leap'd from their roots and every note admired:
Quitting the spot, where many a year they grew
Quick to the music sprung the enchanted crew,
Form'd o'er his head a sun-repelling power
And bow'd their shadowy heads to music's power.
If what, this moment, some relate be true
Still greater wonders are reserved for you.

Your music, far, all Amphion's art exceeds,
Not trees and rocks, but provinces it leads.
All Alleghany capers to the sound,
And southward moves to meet the iberian bound;
Kentucky hears the soul-enlivening notes
And on the artist and his music doats;
Remote Sanduskie spreads her eager wings,
And wild Miami with the concert rings;
Tiptoe, for flight, stands every hill and tree
From Huron's shores to savage Tennessee;
Arthur St. Clair might soon its influence feel;
But Arthur knows no music--but of steel:
Arthur St. Clair attends, with listening ears,
And when the purpose of your march appears,
Such music only will excite his rage,
He'll come, and drive you from your dancing stage;
Cut every string, the bridge, and sound-board seize,
By your own cat-gut hang you to the trees,
And bid you know, too late, It is no jest
To play rebellion's music to the west.

[151] From the edition of 1815.

NEW YEAR'S VERSES[152]

The Carrier of the Time-Piece, presents the following Address to His Patrons, with the Compliments of the Season

Fellow Citizens:

The glass has run--see ninety-seven has fled,
And ninety-eight comes on with equal speed;
While safe from harm, beneath their spreading vine,
Columbia's sons in virtuous actions shine:
Their generous contributions feed the poor,
And sends them smiling from their patron's door;

Sweet Peace and Plenty crowns the festive board,
Where man reveres no domineering lord;
But free from scenes of desolating war,
Where kingdoms clash and mighty empires jar,
He lives secure from all the dread alarms
Of fell invaders and the din of arms:--
Such scenes now past have once defil'd our shore
And drench'd Columbia in her children's gore,
Let man exult, the raging storm is o'er.

To you, my customers, I bring the news
Of feuds domestic and of foreign woes;
Of Liberty extending her domain,
And Truth triumphant in her glorious reign.

Consider, patrons through the storm and snow
With constant care I am oblig'd to go;
Shivering and cold, I want the lively cup
To cheer my heart and keep my spirits up:
To stern winter's gloom can joy inspire;
Now social circles grace the Hickory fire;
And on your board, for friends and neighbors spread,
The turkey smokes the industrious peasant fed:
But not to me these blessings are dispos'd,
Fortune's capricious hand to me is clos'd;
I am condemn'd to labour long and hard,
Unknown my troubles, scanty my reward.

Such is the humble German's life of toil,
Who now solicits your approving smile;
My grateful heart still let your bounty share,
And Peace and Freedom reign from year to year.

_New-York, January 1, 1798._

[152] This was published as a broadside, and distributed with the paper. As far as I can discover Freneau never reprinted it.