THE FIRST POETIC PERIOD

From a junto that labour with absolute power, Whose schemes disappointed have made them look sour, From the lords of the council, who fight against freedom, Who still follow on where delusion[62] shall lead them. From the group at St. James's, who slight our petitions, And fools that are waiting for further submissions— From a nation whose manners are rough and severe, From scoundrels and rascals,—do keep us all clear.[63] From pirates sent out by command of the king To murder and plunder, but never to swing. From Wallace and Greaves, and Vipers and Roses,[A] Whom, if heaven pleases, we'll give bloody noses.

From the valiant Dunmore, with his crew of banditti, Who plunder Virginians at Williamsburg city,[64] From hot-headed Montague, mighty to swear, The little fat man with his pretty white hair.[65] From bishops in Britain, who butchers are grown, From slaves that would die for a smile from the throne, From assemblies that vote against Congress proceedings, (Who now see the fruit of their stupid misleadings.) From Tryon[66] the mighty, who flies from our city, And swelled with importance disdains the committee: (But since he is pleased to proclaim us his foes, What the devil care we where the devil he goes.) From the caitiff,[67] lord North, who would bind us in chains, From a royal king Log, with his tooth-full of brains, Who dreams, and is certain (when taking a nap) He has conquered our lands, as they lay on his map.[68] From a kingdom that bullies, and hectors, and swears, We send up to heaven our wishes and prayers That we, disunited, may freemen be still, And Britain go on—to be damned if she will.

Once more Bellona, forc'd upon the stage, Inspires new fury, and awakes her rage, From North to South her thun'dring trumpet spreads Tumults, and war and death, and daring deeds. What breast but kindles at the martial sound? What heart but bleeds to feel its country's wound? For thee, blest freedom, to protect thy sway, We rush undaunted to the bloody fray; For thee, each province arms its vig'rous host, Content to die, e'er freedom shall be lost. Kind watchful power, on whose supreme command The fate of monarchs, empires, worlds depend, Grant, in a cause thy wisdom must approve, Undaunted valour kindled from above, Let not our souls descend to dastard fear, Be valour, prudence both united here, Now as of old thy mighty arm display; Relieve the opprest, and saving power convey. 'Tis done, and see th' omnipotent befriends, The sword of Gideon, and of God descends. Ah, see with grief fair Massachusetts' plains, The seat of war, and death's terrific scenes; Where darling peace with smiling aspect stood, Lo! the grim soldier stalks in quest of blood: What madness, heaven, has made Britannia frown? Who plans our schemes to pull Columbia[A] down? See Boston groan beneath the strong blockade, Her freedom vanish'd, and destroy'd her trade; Injur'd, opprest, no tyrant could exceed The cruel vengeance of so base a deed. New Albion's[B] sons whom honest freedom moves, (My heart admires them, and my verse approves), Tir'd of oppression in a Stuart's reign, A Popish faction, ministerial train; Bravely resolv'd to leave their native shore And some new world, they knew not where, explore, Far in the West, beyond where Poets said, The Sun retir'd, and Cynthia went to bed. Few then had seen the scarce discover'd Bourne, From whence like death yet fewer did return: Dire truths from thence the wand'ring sailor brought, Enlarg'd by terror, and the power of thought, With all the forms that pict'ring fancy gives, With all the dread that in idea lives; Fierce Cannibals that sought the blood of man, Vast cruel tribes that through the desart ran, Giants whose height transcends the tow'ring oak, Brutes with whose screams the trembling forest shook,— All these and more they held no cause of fear, Since naught but slavery, dreadful could appear. Ah, see the day, distressful to the view, Wives, husbands, fathers, bid a long adieu. Dear native land, how heav'd the heavy sigh, When thy last mountains vanish'd on the eye; Then their frail barks, just enter'd on the sea, Pursu'd the long, uncomfortable way: But pitying heav'n the just design surveys, Sends prosp'rous gales, and wafts them o'er the seas. Behold the shore; no rising cities there, To hail them welcome from the sea appear, In the wild woods the exil'd host were spread, The heavens their covering, and the earth their bed: What expectations but a life of woe? Unnumber'd myriads of the savage foe, Whose brutal fury rais'd, at once might sweep The adventurers all to death's destructive sleep; Yet 'midst this scene of horror and despair, Stout industry began his office here, Made forests bend beneath his sturdy stroke, Made oxen groan beneath the sweaty yoke, Till half the desart smil'd and look'd as gay As northern gardens in the bloom of May. But ah, review the sorrows interwove, How the fierce native with the stranger strove;— So heaven's bright lamp, the all-reviving sun, Just as his flaming journey is begun, Mists, fogs and vapours, sprung from damps of night, Mount up and strive to dim the approach of light; But he in triumph darts his piercing ray, Scatters their forces and pursues his way. Oft when the husband did his labour leave To meet his little family at eve, Stretch'd in their blood he saw each well known face, His dear companion and his youthful race; Perhaps the scalp with barbarous fury torn, The visage mangled, and the babe unborn Ripp'd from its dark abode, to view the sun, Ere nature finish'd half she had begun. And should we now when spread thro' ev'ry shore, Submit to that our fathers shunn'd before? Should we, just heaven, our blood and labour spent, Be slaves and minions to a parliament? Perish the thought, nor may one wretch remain, Who dares not fight and in our cause be slain; The cause of freedom daunts the hireling foe, And gives each Sampson's strength toward the blow, And each, like him whom fear nor force confines, Destroys a thousand modern Philistines. Who fights to take our liberty away, Dead-hearted fights and falls an easy prey; The cause, the cause, most cruel to enslave, Disheartens thousands, and unmans the brave: Who could have thought that Britons bore a heart, Or British troops to act so base a part? Britons of old renown'd, can they descend T' enslave their brethren in a foreign land? What oath, what oath, inform us if you can, Binds them to act below the worth of man? Can they whom half the world admires, can they Be advocates for vile despotic sway? Shall they, to every shore and clime renown'd, Enforce those acts that tyranny did found? 'Yet sure if this be their resolv'd design, 'Conquer they shall where'er the sun doth shine; 'No expedition prov'd unhappy yet, 'Can we Havanna's bloody siege forget,[70] 'Where British cannon the strong fortress tore, 'And wing'd whole legions to its infernal shore. 'Or does the voice of fame so soon forego 'Gibraltar's action, and the vanquish'd foe, 'Where art and nature both at once combin'd 'To baffle all our hardy troops design'd?— 'Yet there Britannia's arms successful sped, 'While haughty Spaniards trembled, felt and fled.' So say the pensioned fools of slavery, So say our traitors, but so say not I— (Tories or traitors, call them what you choose, Tories are rogues, and traitors imps broke loose). But know, ye few, the scandal of our land, On whom returns the blood that we expend, Those troops whose fears are told on every shore, Here lose their spirit and are brave no more; When armies fight to gain some cruel cause, Establish tyrants or destructive laws, True courage scorns to inspire the hateful crew, Recall past fame, or spur them on to new; Dark boding thoughts the heavy soul possess, And ancient valour turns to cowardice. Dark was the prospect, gloomy was the scene, When traitors join'd to break our union chain: But soon, by heaven inspir'd, arose the cry, Freedom or death, unite, unite or die. Now far and wide a manly spirit reigns, From Canada to Georgia's sun burnt plains; Few now insult with falsehood's shameless pen. Monsters from Tophet, driv'n in shapes of men: Few pension'd scribblers left the daring head, Some have turn'd lunatics and some have fled— Some, late converted, scarce their pensions hold. And from mere force disdain the charms of gold. What deep offence has fir'd a monarch's rage, What moonstruck madness seized the brain of Gage? Laughs not the soul, when an imprison'd few Affect to pardon those they can't subdue? Tho' twice repuls'd and hemm'd up to their stations, Yet issue pardons, oaths, and proclamations, As if at sea some desperate madman crew Should threat the tempest with what they could do, And like proud Xerxes lash the angry waves, At the same instant that they find their graves. But not the pomps and favours of a crown, A nation's anger, or a statesman's frown, Could draw the virtuous man from virtue's way, To chain by force what treach'ry can't betray. Virtue disdains to own tyrannic laws, Takes part with freedom, and assumes its cause; No part had she, her fiercest forces own, To bring so far this heavy vengeance on; She stood with Romans while their hearts were true, And so she shall, Americans, with you. Should heaven in wrath decree some nation's fall, Whose crimes from thence for sacred vengeance call, A monarch first of vulgar soul should rise, A sure fore-runner of its obsequies, Whose heart should glow with not one gen'rous thought, Born to oppress, to propagate, and rot. Whose lengthen'd reign no deed of worth should grace, None trusted but a servile pensioned race; Too dull to know what saving course to take, That heaven in time its purpose might forsake, Too obstinately will'd to bow his ear To groaning thousands or petitions hear, Dare break all oaths that bind the just like fate, Oaths, that th' Arch-Devil would blush to violate, And, foe to truth, both oaths and honour sell, To establish principles, the growth of hell,— Still those who aim to be his truest friends, Traitors, insidious rebels, madmen, fiends, Hoodwink'd and blind, deceived by secret foes, Whose fathers once with exil'd tyrants rose, Bless'd with as little sense as God e'er gave, Slave to wrong schemes, dupe to a noble knave. So odd a monarch heaven in wrath would plan, And such would be the fury of a man. See far and wide o'er long Canadia's plains, Old popish fraud and superstition reigns; The scarlet whore long hath heaven withstood, Who cries for murder and who thirsts for blood, Establish'd there, marks down each destined name, And plants the stake impatient for the flame, With sanguinary soul her trade begins, To doom her foes to hell or pardon sins; Her crafty priests their impious rites maintain, And crucify their Saviour once again; Defend his rights, who, scatt'ring lies abroad, With shameless front usurps the seat of God: Those are, we fear, who his vile cause assert, But half reform'd and papists at the heart. Bear me, some power, as far as the winds can blow, As ships can travel, or as waves can flow, To some lone island beyond the southern pole, Or lands round which pacific waters roll, There should oblivion stop the heaving sigh, There should I live at least with liberty. But honour checks my speed and bids me stay, To try the fortune of the well fought day. Resentment for my country's fate I bear, And mix with thousands for the willing war; See Washington New Albion's freedom owns, And moves to war with half Virginia's sons, Bold in the fight, whose actions might have aw'd A Roman Hero, or a Grecian God. He, he, as first his gallant troops shall lead, Undaunted man, a second Diomede; As when he fought at wild Ohio's flood, When savage thousands issu'd from the wood, When Braddock's fall disgrac'd the mighty day, And Death himself stood weeping o'er his prey, When doubting vict'ry chang'd from side to side, And Indian sod with Indian blood was dy'd, When the last charge repuls'd th' invenom'd foe, And lightnings lit them to the shades below. See where from various distant climes unites A generous council to protect our rights, Fix'd on a base too steadfast to be mov'd, Loving their country, by their country lov'd, Great guardians of our freedom, we pursue Each patriot measure as inspir'd by you, Columbia, nor shall fame deny it owes Past safety to the counsel you propose; And if they do not keep Columbia free, What will alas! become of Liberty? Great souls grow bolder in their country's cause, Detest enslavers, and despise their laws. O Congress fam'd, accept this humble lay, The little tribute that the muse can pay; On you depends Columbia's future fate, A free asylum or a wretched state. Fall'n on disastrous times we push our plea, Heard or not heard, and struggle to be free. Born to contend, our lives we place at stake, And grow immortal by the stand we make. O you, who, far from liberty detain'd, Wear out existence in some slavish land, Fly thence from tyrants, and their flatt'ring throng, And bring the fiery freeborn soul along. Neptune for you shall smooth the hoary deep, And awe the wild tumultuous waves to sleep; Here vernal woods, and flow'ry meadows blow, Luxuriant harvests in rich plenty grow, Commerce extends as far as waves can roll, And freedom, God-like freedom, crowns the whole. And you, brave men, who scorn the dread of death, Resolv'd to conquer to the latest breath, Soldiers in act, and heroes in renown, Warm in the cause of Boston's hapless town, Still guard each pass; like ancient Romans, you At once are soldiers, and are farmers too; Still arm impatient for the vengeful blow, And rush intrepid on the yielding foe; As when of late midst clouds of fire and smoke, Whole squadrons fell, or to the center shook, And even the bravest to your arm gave way, And death, exulting, ey'd the unhappy fray. Behold, your Warren bleeds, who both inspir'd To noble deeds, and by his actions fir'd; What pity, heaven!—but you who yet remain Affect his spirit as you lov'd the man: Once more, and yet once more for freedom strive, To be a slave what wretch would dare to live? We too to the last drop our blood will drain, And not till then shall hated slavery reign, When every effort, every hope is o'er, And lost Columbia swells our breasts no more. O if that day, which heaven avert, must come, And fathers, husbands, children, meet their doom, Let one brave onset yet that doom precede, To shew the world America can bleed, One thund'ring raise the midnight cry, And one last flame send Boston to the sky. But cease, foreboding Muse, not strive to see Dark times deriv'd by fatal destiny; If ever heaven befriended the distrest, If ever valour succour'd those opprest, Let America rejoice, thy standard rear, Let the loud trumpet animate to war: Thy guardian Genius, haste thee on thy way, To strike whole hosts with terror and dismay. Happy some land, which all for freedom gave, Happier the men whom their own virtues save; Thrice happy we who long attacks have stood, And swam to Liberty thro' seas of blood; The time shall come when strangers rule no more, Nor cruel mandates vex from Britain's shore; When Commerce shall extend her short'ned wing, And her free freights from every climate bring; When mighty towns shall flourish free and great, Vast their dominion, opulent their state; When one vast cultivated region teems, From ocean's edge to Mississippi's streams; While each enjoys his vineyard's peaceful shade, And even the meanest has no cause to dread; Such is the life our foes with envy see, Such is the godlike glory to be free.

Why, let the stricken deer go weep, The hart, unwounded, play, For some must write, while some must speak; So runs the world away! —Shakespeare.

Destruction waits my call!—some demon say Why does destruction linger on her way! Charlestown is burnt, and Warren is deceased— Heavens! shall we never be from war released? Ten years the Greeks besieged the walls of Troy, But when did Grecians their own towns destroy? Yes, that's the point!—Let those who will, say, No; If George and North decree—it must be so. Doubts, black as night, disturb my loved repose— Men that were once my friends have turned my foes— What if we conquer this rebellious town, Suppose we burn it, storm it, tear it down— This land's like Hydra, cut off but one head, And ten shall rise, and dare you in its stead. If to subdue a league or two of coast Requires a navy, and so large a host, How shall a length of twice seven hundred miles Be brought to bend to two European Isles?— And that, when all their utmost strength unite, When twelve[A] dominions swear to arm and fight, When the same spirit darts from every eye, One fixed resolve to gain their point or die. As for myself—true—I was born to fight As George commands, let him be wrong or right, While from his hand I squeeze the golden prize,[72] I'll ask no questions, and he'll tell no lies;— But did I swear, I ask my heart again, In their base projects monarchs to maintain?—[73] Yes—when Rebellion her artillery brings And aims her arrows at the best of kings, I stand a champion in my monarch's cause— The men are rebels that resist his laws.[74] A viceroy I, like modern monarchs, stay Safe in the town—let others guide the fray: A life like mine is of no common worth, 'Twere wrong, by heaven, that I should sally forth![75] A random bullet from a rifle sent Might pierce my heart, and ruin North's intent: Let others combat in the dusty field, Let petty captains scorn to live or yield, I'll send my ships to neighbouring isles, where stray[76] Unnumb'red herds, and steal those herds away; I'll strike the women in this town with awe, And make them tremble at my martial law. Should gracious heaven befriend our troops and fleet, And throw this vast dominion at my feet, How would Britannia echo with my fame! What endless honours would await my name! In every province should the traveller see Recording marble, raised to honour me.—[77] Hard by the lakes, my sovereign lord would grant A rural empire to supply my want, A manor would but poorly serve my turn, Less than an empire from my soul I scorn![78] An ample kingdom round Ontario's lake, By heaven! should be the least reward I'd take. There might I reign, unrivalled and alone, An ocean and an empire of my own!— What though the scribblers and the wits might say, He built his pile on vanquished Liberty— Let others meanly dread the slanderous tongue, While I obey my king, can I do wrong? Then, to accomplish all my soul's desire, Let red-hot bullets set their towns on fire; May heaven, if so the righteous judgment pass,[79] Change earth to steel, the sky to solid brass, Let hosts combined, from Europe centering here,[80] Strike this base offspring with alarm and fear; Let heaven's broad concave to the center ring, And blackest night expand her sable wing, The infernal powers in dusky combat join, Wing the swift ball, or spring the deadly mine; (Since 'tis most true, tho' some may think it odd, The foes of England are the foes of God): Let bombs, like comets, kindle all the air, Let cruel famine prompt the orphan's prayer, And every ill that war or want can bring Be shower'd on subjects that renounce their king. What is their plea?—our sovereign only meant This people should be taxed without consent, Ten years the court with secret cunning tried To gain this point—the event their hopes belied: How should they else than sometimes miss the mark Who sleep at helm, yet think to steer the barque? North, take advice; thy lucky genius show, Dispatch Sir Jeffery[B] to the states below. That gloomy prince, whom mortals Satan call,[81] Must help us quickly, if he help at all— You strive in vain by force of bribes to tie; They see through all your schemes with half an eye; If open force with secret bribes I join, The contest sickens—and the day is mine. But hark the trumpet's clangor—hark—ah me! What means this march of Washington and Lee? When men like these such distant marches make, Fate whispers something—that we can't mistake;[82] When men like these defy my martial rule, Good heaven! it is no time to play the fool— Perhaps, they for their country's freedom rise; North has, perhaps, deceived me with his lies.— If George at last a tyrant should be found, A cruel tyrant, by no sanctions bound, And I, myself, in an unrighteous cause, Be sent to execute the worst of laws, How will those dead whom I conjured to fight— Who sunk in arms to everlasting night, Whose blood the conquering foe conspired to spill At Lexington and Bunker's fatal hill, Whose mangled corpses scanty graves embrace— Rise from those graves, and curse me to my face!— Alas! that e'er ambition bade me roam, Or thirst of power, forsake my native home— What shall I do?—there, crowd the hostile bands; Here, waits a navy to receive commands;— I speak the language of my heart—shall I Steal off by night, and o'er the ocean fly, Like a lost man to unknown regions stray, And to oblivion leave this stormy day?—[83] Or shall I to Britannia's shores again, And big with lies, conceal my thousands slain?— Yes—to some distant clime[84] my course I steer, To any country rather than be here, To worlds where reason scarce exerts her law,[85] A branch-built cottage, and a bed of straw.— Even Scotland's coast seems charming in my sight, And frozen Zembla yields a strange delight.— But such vexations in my bosom burn, That to these shores I never will return, 'Till fruits and flowers on Greenland's coast be known, And frosts are thawed in climates once their own. Ye souls of fire, who burn for chief command, Come! take my place in this disastrous land; To wars like these I bid a long good-night— Let North and George themselves such battles fight.

Small bliss is theirs whom Fate's too heavy hand Confines through life to some small square of land; More wretched they whom heaven inspires to roam, Yet languish out their lives and die at home. Heaven gave to man this wide extended round,5 No climes confine him and no oceans bound; Heaven gave him forest, mountain, vale, and plain, And bade him vanquish, if he could, the main; But sordid cares our short-lived race confine, Some toil at trades, some labour in the mine,10 The miser hoards, and guards his shining store, The sun still rises where he rose before— No happier scenes his earth-born fancy fill Than one dark valley, or one well-known hill. To other shores his mind, untaught to stray,15 Dull and inactive, slumbers life away. But by the aid of yonder glimmering beam The pole star, faithful to my vagrant dream, Wild regent of my heart! in dreams convey Where the herded Britons their bold ranks display;20 So late the pride of England's fertile soil, (Her grandeur heightened by successive toil) See how they sicken in these hostile climes, Themes for the stage, and subjects for our rhimes. What modern poet have the muses led25 To draw the curtain that conceals the dead? What bolder bard to Boston shall repair, To view the peevish, half-starved spectres there? O thou wronged country! why sustain these ills? Why rest thy navies on their native hills?30 See, endless forests shade the uncultured plain, Descend, ye forests, and command the main: A leafy verdure shades the mighty mast, And the tall oak bends idly to the blast, Earth's entrails teem with stores for your defence,35 Descend and drag the stores of war from thence: Your fertile soil the flowing sail supplies, And Europe's arts in every village rise— No want is yours—Disdain unmanly fear, And swear no tyrant shall reign master here;40 Know your own strength—in rocky desarts bred, Shall the fierce tiger by the dog be led, And bear all insults from that snarling race Whose courage lies in impudence of face?— No—rather bid the wood's wild native turn,45 And from his side the unfaithful guardian spurn. Now, pleased I wander to the dome of state Where Gage resides, our western potentate— Chief of ten thousand, all a race of slaves,[87] Sent to be shrouded in untimely graves;[88]50 Sent by our angry Jove, sent sword in hand To murder, burn, and ravage through the land.— You dream of conquest—tell me how or whence— Act like a man, and get you gone from hence; A madman sent you to this hostile shore55 To vanquish nations, that shall spill your gore.— Go, fiends, and in a social league combined Destroy, distress, and triumph o'er mankind!— 'Tis not our peace this murdering hand restrains, The want of power is made the monster's chains;60 Compassion is a stranger to his heart, Or if it came, he bade the guest depart; The melting tear, the sympathising groan Were never yet to Gage or Jefferies[A] known; The seas of blood his heart fore-dooms to spill65 Is but a dying serpent's rage to kill. What power shall drive these vipers from our shore, These monsters swoln with carnage, death, and gore! Twelve was the hour—congenial darkness reigned, And no bright star a mimic day-light feigned—70 First, Gage we saw—a crimson chair of state Received the honour of his Honour's weight; This man of straw the regal purple bound, But dullness, deepest dullness, hovered round. Next Graves, who wields the trident of the brine,75 The tall arch-captain of the embattled line, All gloomy sate—mumbling of flame and fire, Balls, cannon, ships, and all their damned attire; Well pleased to live in never-ending hum, But empty as the interior of his drum.80 Hard by, Burgoyne assumes an ample space, And seemed to meditate with studious face, As if again he wished our world to see Long, dull, dry letters, writ to General Lee— Huge scrawls of words through endless circuits drawn85 Unmeaning as the errand he's upon.— Is he to conquer—he subdue our land?— This buckram hero, with his lady's hand? By Cesars to be vanquished is a curse, But by a scribbling fop—by heaven, is worse![89]90 Lord Piercy seemed to snore—but may the Muse This ill-timed snoring to the peer excuse; Tired was the long boy of his toilsome day, Full fifteen miles he fled—a tedious way; How could he then the dews of Somnus shun,95 Perhaps not used to walk—much less to run. Red-faced as suns, when sinking to repose, Reclined the infernal captain of the Rose,[B] In fame's proud temple aiming for a niche, With those who find her at the cannon's breech;100 Skilled to direct the cannonading shot, No Turkish rover half so murdering hot, Pleased with base vengeance on defenceless towns, His heart was malice—but his words were, Zounds! Howe, vexed to see his starving army's doom,105 In prayer, besought the skies for elbow room—[90] Small was his stock, and theirs, of heavenly grace, Yet just enough to ask a larger place.— He cursed the brainless minister that planned His bootless errand to this hostile land,110 But, awed by Gage, his bursting wrath recoiled, And in his inmost bosom doubly boiled. These, chief of all the tyrant-serving train, Exalted sate—the rest (a pensioned clan), A sample of the multitude that wait,115 Pale sons of famine, at perdition's gate, North's friends down swarming (so our monarch wills), Hungry as death, from Caledonian hills; Whose endless numbers if you bid me tell, I'll count the atoms of this globe as well,—120 Knights, captains, 'squires—a wonder-working band, Held at small wages 'till they gain the land, Flocked pensive round—black spleen assailed their hearts, (The sport of plough-boys, with their arms and arts) And made them doubt (howe'er for vengeance hot)125 Whether they were invincible or not. Now Gage upstarting from his cushioned seat Swore thrice, and cried—"'Tis nonsense to be beat! Thus to be drubbed! pray, warriors, let me know Which be in fault, myself, the fates, or you—130 Henceforth let Britain deem her men mere toys— Gods! to be frightened thus by country boys; Why, if your men had had a mind to sup, They might have eat that scare-crow[91] army up— Three thousand to twelve hundred thus to yield,135 And twice five hundred stretched upon the field!—[92] O shame to Britain, and the British name, Shame damps my heart, and I must die with shame— Thus to be worsted, thus disgraced and beat!— You have the knack, Lord Piercy,[93] to retreat,140 The death you escaped my warmest blood congeals, Heaven grant me, too, so swift a pair of heels—[94] In Chevy-Chace, as, doubtless, you have read, Lord Piercy would have sooner died than fled— Behold the virtues of your house decay—145 Ah! how unlike the Piercy of that day!" Thus spoke the great man in disdainful tone To the gay peer—not meant for him alone— But ere the tumults of his bosom rise Thus from his bench the intrepid peer replies:150 "When once the soul has reached the Stygian shore, My prayer book says, it shall return no more— When once old Charon hoists his tar-blacked sail, And his boat swims before the infernal gale, Farewell to all that pleased the man above,155 Farewell to feats of arms, and joys of love! Farewell the trade that father Cain began, Farewell to wine, that cheers the heart of man; All, all farewell!—the pensive shade must go Where cold Medusa turns to stone below,160 Where Belus' maids eternal labours ply To drench the cask that stays forever dry, And Sysiphus, with many a weary groan, Heaves up the mount the still recoiling stone! "Since, then, this truth no mortal dares deny,165 That heroes, kings—and lords, themselves, must die, And yield to him who dreads no hostile sword, But treats alike the peasant and the lord; Since even great George must in his turn give place And leave his crown, his Scotchmen, and his lace,—170 How blest is he, how prudent is the man Who keeps aloof from fate—while yet he can; One well-aimed ball can make us all no more Than shipwrecked scoundrels on that leeward shore. "But why, my friends, these hard reflections still175 On Lexington affairs—'tis Bunker's hill— O fatal hill!—one glance at thee restrains My once warm blood, and chills it in my veins— May no sweet grass adorn thy hateful crest That saw Britannia's bravest troops distrest—180 Or if it does—may some destructive gale The green leaf wither, and the grass turn pale— All moisture to your brow may heaven deny, And God and man detest you, just as I;— 'Tis Bunker's hill, this night has brought us here,185 Pray question him who led your armies there, Nor dare my courage into question call, Or blame Lord Piercy for the fault of all." Howe chanced to nod while heathenish Piercy spoke, But as his Lordship ceased, his Honour awoke,190 (Like those whom sermons into sleep betray) Then rubbed his eyes, and thus was heard to say: "Shall those who never ventured from the town, Or their ships' sides, now pull our glory down? We fought our best—so God my honour save!—195 No British soldiers ever fought so brave— Resolved I led them to the hostile lines, (From this day famed where'er great Phœbus shines) Firm at their head I took my dangerous stand, Marching to death and slaughter, sword in hand,200 But wonted Fortune halted on her way, We fought with madmen, and we lost the day— Putnam's brave troops, your honours would have swore Had robbed the clouds of half their nitrous store, With my bold veterans strewed the astonished plain,205 For not one musquet was discharged in vain.— But, honoured Gage, why droops thy laurelled head?— Five hundred foes we packed off to the dead.—[95] Now captains, generals, hear me and attend! Say, shall we home for other succours send?210 Shall other navies cross the stormy main?— They may, but what shall awe the pride of Spain? Still for dominion haughty Louis pants— Ah! how I tremble at the thoughts of France.— Shall mighty George, to enforce his injured laws,215 Transport all Russia to support the cause?— That allied empire countless shoals may pour Numerous as sands that strew the Atlantic shore; But policy inclines my heart to fear They'll turn their arms against us when they're here—220 Come, let's agree—for something must be done Ere autumn flies, and winter hastens on— When pinching cold our navy binds in ice, You'll find 'tis then too late to take advice." The clock strikes two!—Gage smote upon his breast,225 And cried,—"What fate determines, must be best— But now attend—a counsel I impart That long has laid the heaviest at my heart— Three weeks—ye gods!—nay, three long years it seems Since roast-beef I have touched except in dreams.230 In sleep, choice dishes to my view repair, Waking, I gape and champ the empty air.— Say, is it just that I, who rule these bands, Should live on husks, like rakes in foreign lands?—[96] Come, let us plan some project ere we sleep,235 And drink destruction to the rebel sheep. "On neighbouring isles uncounted cattle stray, Fat beeves and swine, an ill-defended prey— These are fit visions for my noon day dish, These, if my soldiers act as I would wish,240 In one short week should glad your maws and mine; On mutton we will sup—on roast beef dine." Shouts of applause re-echoed through the hall, And what pleased one as surely pleased them all; Wallace was named to execute the plan,245 And thus sheep-stealing pleased them to a man. Now slumbers stole upon the great man's eye, His powdered foretop nodded from on high, His lids just opened to find how matters were, Dissolve, he said, and so dissolved ye are,250 Then downward sunk to slumbers dark and deep,— Each nerve relaxed—and even his guts asleep.[97]

What are these strangers from a foreign isle, That we should fear their hate or court their smile?— Pride sent them here, pride blasted in the bud,255 Who, if she can, will build her throne in blood, With slaughtered millions glut her tearless eyes, And bid even virtue fall, that she may rise. What deep offence has fired a monarch's rage? What moon-struck madness seized the brain of Gage?260 Laughs not the soul when an imprisoned crew Affect to pardon those they can't subdue, Though thrice repulsed, and hemmed up to their stations, Yet issue pardons, oaths, and proclamations!— Too long our patient country wears their chains,265 Too long our wealth all-grasping Britain drains. Why still a handmaid to that distant land? Why still subservient to their proud command? Britain the bold, the generous, and the brave Still treats our country like the meanest slave,270 Her haughty lords already share the prey, Live on our labours, and with scorn repay;— Rise, sleeper, rise, while yet the power remains, And bind their nobles and their chiefs in chains: Bent on destructive plans, they scorn our plea,275 'Tis our own efforts that must make us free— Born to contend, our lives we place at stake, And rise to conquerors by the stand we make.— The time may come when strangers rule no more, Nor cruel mandates vex from Britain's shore,280 When commerce may extend her shortened wing, And her rich freights from every climate bring, When mighty towns shall flourish free and great, Vast their dominion, opulent their state, When one vast cultivated region teems285 From ocean's side to Mississippi streams, While each enjoys his vineyard's peaceful shade, And even the meanest has no foe to dread. And you, who, far from Liberty detained, Wear out existence in some slavish land—290 Forsake those shores, a self-ejected throng, And armed for vengeance, here resent the wrong: Come to our climes, where unchained rivers flow, And loftiest groves, and boundless forests grow. Here the blest soil your future care demands;295 Come, sweep the forests from these shaded lands, And the kind earth shall every toil repay, And harvests flourish as the groves decay. O heaven-born Peace, renew thy wonted charms— Far be this rancour, and this din of arms—300 To warring lands return, an honoured guest, And bless our crimson shore among the rest— Long may Britannia rule our hearts again, Rule as she ruled in George the Second's reign, May ages hence her growing grandeur see,305 And she be glorious—but ourselves as free!

Subjected to despotic sway, Compelled all mandates to obey, Once in this dome I humbly bowed, A member of the murmuring crowd, Where Pedro Blanco held his reign, The tyrant of a small domain. By him a numerous herd controuled, The smart, the stupid, and the bold, Essayed some little share to gain Of the vast treasures of his brain; Some learned the Latin, some the Greek, And some in flowery style to speak; Some writ their themes, while others read, And some with Euclid stuffed the head; Some toiled in verse, and some in prose, And some in logick sought repose; Some learned to cypher, some to draw, And some began to study law. But all is ruined, all is done, The tutor to the shades is gone, And all his pupils, led astray, Have each found out a different way. Some are in chains of wedlock bound, And some are hanged and some are drowned; Some are advanced to posts and places, And some in pulpits screw their faces; Some at the bar a living gain, Perplexing what they should explain; To soldiers turned, a bolder band Repel the invaders of the land; Some to the arts of physic bred, Despatch their patients to the dead; Some plough the land, and some the sea, And some are slaves, and some are free; Some court the great, and some the muse, And some subsist by mending shoes— While others—but so vast the throng, The Cobblers shall conclude my song.

So long harassed by winds and seas, 'Tis time, at length, to take your ease, Change ruffian waves for quiet groves[100] And war's loud blast for sylvan loves. In all your rounds, 'tis passing strange No fair one tempts you to a change— Madness it is, you must agree, To lodge alone 'till forty-three. Old Plato said, no blessing here Could equal Love—if but sincere; And writings penn'd by heaven, have shown That man can ne'er be blest alone. O'er life's meridian have you pass'd; The night of death advances fast! No props you plant for your decline, No partner soothes these cares of thine. If Neptune's self, who ruled the main, Kept sea-nymphs there to ease his pain; Yourself, who skim that empire o'er, Might surely keep one nymph on shore. Myrtilla fair, in yonder grove, Has so much beauty, so much love, That, on her lip, the meanest fly Is happier far than you or I.

The blast of death! the infernal guns prepare— "Rise with the storm and all its dangers share."

Rebels you are—the British champion[103] cries— Truth, stand thou forth!—and tell the wretch, He lies:— Rebels!—and see this mock imperial lord Already threats these rebels with the cord.[104] The hour draws nigh, the glass is almost run, When truth will shine, and ruffians[105] be undone; When this base miscreant[106] will forbear to sneer, And curse his taunts and bitter insults here.[107] If to controul the cunning of a knave, Freedom respect, and scorn the name of slave; If to protest against a tyrant's laws, And arm for vengeance in a righteous cause, Be deemed Rebellion—'tis a harmless thing: This bug-bear name, like death, has lost its sting. Americans! at freedom's fane adore! But trust to Britain, and her flag,[108] no more; The generous genius of their isle has fled, And left a mere impostor in his stead. If conquered, rebels (their Scotch records show),[109] Receive no mercy from the parent [A]foe;[110] Nay, even the grave, that friendly haunt of peace, (Where Nature gives the woes of man to cease,) Vengeance will search—and buried corpses there Be raised, to feast the vultures of the air— Be hanged on gibbets, such a war they wage— Such are the devils that swell our souls with rage![111] If Britain conquers, help us, heaven, to fly: Lend us your wings, ye ravens of the sky;— If Britain conquers—we exist no more; These lands will redden with their children's gore, Who, turned to slaves, their fruitless toils will moan, Toils in these fields that once they called their own! To arms! to arms! and let the murdering sword Decide who best deserves the hangman's cord: Nor think the hills of Canada too bleak When desperate Freedom is the prize you seek; For that, the call of honour bids you go O'er frozen lakes and mountains wrapt in snow:[112] No toils should daunt the nervous and the bold, They scorn all heat or wave-congealing cold. Haste!—to your tents in iron fetters bring These slaves, that serve a tyrant and a king;[113] So just, so virtuous is your cause, I say, Hell must prevail if Britain gains the day.

Where the pheasant[114] roosts at night, Lonely, drowsy, out of sight,[115] Where the evening breezes sigh Solitary, there stray I. Close along the shaded stream, Source of many a youthful dream, Where branchy cedars dim the day, There I muse, and there I stray. Yet, what can please amid this bower, That charmed the eye for many an hour! The budding leaf is lost to me, And dead the bloom on every tree. The winding stream, that glides along, The lark, that tunes her early song, The mountain's brow, the sloping vale, The murmuring of the western gale, Have lost their charms!—the blooms are gone! Trees put a darker aspect on, The stream disgusts that wanders by, And every zephyr brings a sigh. Great guardian of our feeble kind! Restoring Nature, lend thine aid! And o'er the features of the mind Renew those colours, that must fade, When vernal suns forbear to roll, And endless winter chills the soul.

Compassion!—'tis a stranger to my heart, Or if it comes—unwelcome guest depart,— Boston, farewell, thy final doom is pass'd, North hears my prayers, and I'm recall'd at last;[117] Sailor on high thy canvas wings display, Howl, ye west winds, and hurry me away; Rise, boisterous clouds, and bellowing from on high, Whisk me along, ye tyrants of the sky— Quick! let me leave these friendless shores that shed Ten thousand curses on my hated head.— But why so swift, why ask I gales so strong, Since conscience, cruel conscience, goes along? Must conscience rack my bosom o'er the deep? I live in hell while she forbears to sleep; Come, Father Francis, be my heart display'd, My burden'd conscience asks thy pious aid; Come, if confession can discharge my sin, I will confess till hell itself shall grin, And own the world has found in me again A second Nero; nay, another Cain. Friar Why swells thy breast with such distressing woe? Your honour surely has the sense to know Your sins are venial—trust me when I say Your deepest sins may all be purged away.— But if misfortunes rouse this nightly grief, Sure Friar Francis can afford relief: I thought e're this that leaders of renown Would scorn to bow to giddy fortune's frown; See yon bright star (the dewy eve begun) Walks his gay round and sparkles in the sun; Faints not, encircled by the ambient blaze, Tho' pestering clouds may sometimes blunt his rays; But come, confession makes the conscience light, Confess, my son, and be absolv'd this night. Gage First of the first, I tell it in your ear (For tho' we whisper, heaven, you know, can hear) This faultless country ne'er deserv'd my hate; Just are its pleas; unmerited its fate. When North ordained me to this thankless place, My conscience rose and star'd me in the face, And spite of all I did to quench its flame, Convinc'd me I was wrong before I came.— But what, alas, can mortal heroes do, They are but men, as sacred writings shew,— Tho' I refus'd, they urged me yet the more, Nay, even the king descended to implore, And often with him in his closet pent, Was plagu'd to death to rule this armament; Who could a monarch's favourite wish deny? I yielded just for peace—ay, faith did I— If this be sin, O tell me, reverend sage, What will, alas, become of guilty Gage? Friar If this be sin—'tis sin, I make no doubt, But trust me, honour'd sir, I'll help you out, Even tho' your arms had rag'd from town to town, And mow'd like flags these rebel nations down, And joyful bell return'd the murdering din, And you yourself the master butcher been,— All should be well—from sins like this, I ween, A dozen masses shall discharge you clean; Small pains in purgatory you'll endure, And hell, you know, is only for the poor, Pay well the priest and fear no station there, For heaven must yield to vehemence of prayer. Gage Heaven grant that this may be my smallest sin; Alas, good friar, I'm yet deeper in— Come round my bed, with friendly groans condole, To gratify my paunch, I've wrong'd my soul; Arms I may wield and murder by command, Spread devastation thro' a guiltless land, Whole ranks to hell with howling cannon sweep— But what had I to do with stealing sheep?[118] I've read my orders, conn'd them o'er with care, But not a word of stealing sheep is there; Come, holy friar, can you make a shift To help a sinner at so dead a lift? Or must I onward to perdition go, With theft and murder to complete my woe? Friar Murder—nay, hold!—your honour is too sad, Things are not yet, I hope, become so bad, Murder, indeed—you've stole, and that I know, But, sir, believe me, you've not struck a blow; Some few Americans have bled, 'tis true, But 'twas the soldiers killed them, and not you. Gage Well said, but will this subtile reasoning stand? Did not the soldiers murder by command, By my command?—Friar, they did, I swear, And I must answer for their deeds, I fear. Friar Let each man answer for his proper deed, From sins of murder I pronounce you freed, And this same reasoning will your honour keep From imputations of purloining sheep: Wallace for this to Rome shall post away, And for this crying sin severely pay, And tho' his zeal may think his penance slight, Hair cloth and logs shall be his bed at night, Coarse fare by day—till his repeated groans Convince the world he for this sin atones. Gage Alas, poor Wallace, how I pity thee!— But let him go—'tis better him than me; Yes, let him harbour in some convent there, And fleas monastic bite him till he swear; But, friar, have you patience for the rest? Half my transgressions are not yet confest. Friar Not half!—you are a harmless man, I'm told— Pray, cut them short—the supper will be cold. Gage Some devil, regardless of exalted station, In evil hour assail'd me with temptation, To issue forth a damned proclamation, What prince, what king, from Belzebub is free, He tempted Judas, and has tempted me! This, this, O friar, was a deadly flaw, This for the civil founded martial law,[119] This crime will Gage to Lucifer consign, And purgatory must for this be mine. Next—and for this I breathe my deepest sigh, Ah cruel, flinty, hard, remorseless I!— How could I crowd my dungeons dark and low With wounded captives of our injur'd foe? How could my heart, more hard than hardened steel, Laugh at the pangs that mangled captives feel? Why sneer'd I at my fellow men distrest, Why banished pity from this iron breast! O friar, could heaven approve my acting so, Heaven still to mercy swift, to vengeance slow?— O no—you say, then cease your soothing chat, Cowards are cruel, I can instance that.— But hold! why did I, when the fact was done, Deny it all to gallant Washington? Why did I stuff the epistolary page With vile invectives only worthy Gage?[120] Come, friar, help—shall I recant and say I writ my letter on a drunken day? How will it sound, if men should chance to tell A drunken hero can compose so well? Friar Your fears are groundless, give me all the blame, I writ the letter, you but sign'd your name, Nor let the proclamation cloud your mind, 'Twas I compos'd it and you only sign'd.— I, Friar Francis—papist tho' I be, You private papists can't but value me; Your sins in Lethe shall be swallowed up, I'll clear you, if you please, before we sup. Gage Nay, clear me not—tho' I should cross the brine, And pay my vows in distant Palestine, Or land in Spain, a stranger poor and bare, And rove on foot a wretched pilgrim there, And let my eyes in streams perpetual flow, Where great Messiah dy'd so long ago, And wash his sacred footsteps with my tears, And pay for masses fifty thousand years, All would not do—my monarch I've obey'd, And now go home, perhaps to lose my head;— Pride sent me here, pride blasted in the bud, Which, if it can, will build its throne in blood, With slaughter'd millions glut its tearless eyes, And make all nature fall that it may rise;— Come, let's embark, your holy whining cease, Come, let's away, I'll hang myself for peace: So Pontius Pilate for his murder'd Lord In his own bosom sheath'd the deadly sword— Tho' he confess'd and wash'd his hands beside, His heart condemn'd him and the monster dy'd.

What madness compell'd my dear shepherd to go To the siege of Quebec, and distract me with woe! My heart is so full, it would kill me to tell How he died on the banks of the river Sorel. O river Sorel! Thou didst hear him complain, When dying he languish'd, and called me in vain! When, pierc'd by the Briton he went to repel, He sunk on the shores of the river Sorel. O cruel misfortune, my hopes to destroy: He has left me alone with my Colin, his boy; With sorrow I see him, with tears my eyes swell; Shall we go, my sweet babe, to the river Sorel? But why should I wander, and give him such pain? My Damon will ne'er see his Colin again: To wander so far where the wild Indians dwell, We should faint ere we came to the river Sorel. But even to see the pale corpse of my dear Would give me such rapture, such pleasure sincere! I'll go, my dear boy, and my grief I will tell To the willows that grow by the river Sorel. How shall I distinguish my shepherd's dear grave Amidst the long forest that darkens the wave:— Perhaps they could give him no tomb when he fell; Perhaps he is sunk in the river Sorel. He was a dear fellow!—O, had he remain'd! For he was uneasy whene'er I complain'd; He call'd me his charmer, and call'd me his belle, What a folly to die on the banks of Sorel! Then let me remain in my lonely retreat; My shepherd departed I never shall meet— Here's Billy O'Bluster—I love him as well, And Damon may stay at the river Sorel.

Damon Why do we talk of shaded bowers, When frosts, my fair one, chill the plain, And nights are cold, and long the hours That damp the ardour of the swain, Who, parting from his rural fire, All pleasure doth forego— And here and there, And everywhere, Pursues the invading foe. Yes, we must rest on frosts and snows! No season shuts up our campaign! Hard as the rocks, we dare oppose The autumnal, or the wintery reign. Alike to us, the winds that blow In summer's season, gay, Or those that rave On Hudson's wave, And drift his ice away. Winter and war may change the scene! The ball may pierce, the frost may chill; And dire misfortunes intervene, But freedom must be powerful still, To drive these Britons from our shore, Who come with sail, who come with oar, So cruel and unkind, With servile chain, who strive in vain, Our freeborn souls to bind. [Exit] Lucinda (two months after) They scold me, and tell me I must not complain, To part a few weeks with my favourite swain! He goes to the battle!—and leaves me to mourn— And tell me—and tell me—and will he return?[123] When he left me, he kiss'd me—and said, My sweet dear, In less than a month I again will be here; But still I can hardly my sorrows adjourn— You may call me a witch—if ever I return.[124] I said, My dear soldier, I beg you would stay; But he, with his farmers,[125] went strutting away— With anguish and sorrow my bosom did burn, And I wept—for I thought he would never return.[126] Thyrsis Fairest of the female train, You must seek another swain, Damon will not come again! All his toils are over! As you prized him, to excess, Your loss is great, I will confess, But, lady, yield not to distress— I will be your lover. Lucinda Not all the swains the land can shew, (If Damon is not living now)[127] Can from my bosom drive my woe, Or bid a second passion glow;— For Damon has possession; Not all the gifts that wealth can bring, Nor all the airs that you can sing, Nor all the music of the string Can banish his impression. Thyrsis Wedlock and death too often prove Pernicious to the fires of Love: With equal strength they both combine Hearts best united[128] to disjoin: Hence ardent loves too soon remit; Thus die the fires that Cupid lit. Female tears and April snow Sudden come and sudden go. Since his head is levelled low, Cease remembrance of your woe. Can it be in reason found To be crazy for Love's wound?[129] Must you live in sorrows drowned For a lover under ground? Lucinda What a picture have I seen! What can all these visions mean! Wintry groves and vacant halls, Coffins hid by sable palls, Monuments and funerals! Forms terrific to the sight, Ghastly phantoms clad in white; Streams that ever seemed to freeze, Shaded o'er by willow trees,[130] Ever drooping—hardly green— What a vision have I seen! One I saw of angel kind, From the dregs of life refined; On her visage such a smile,[131] And she talk'd in such a style! All was heaven upon her brow;— Yes, I think I see her now! All in beams of light arrayed; And these cheering words she said: Fair Lucinda, come to me; What has grief to do with thee? O forsake your wretched shore, Crimsoned with its children's gore![132] Could you but a moment stray In the meadows where I play, You would die to come away. Come away, and speed your wing—[133] Here we love, and here we sing! Thyrsis You will not yet forget your glooms, The heavy heart, the downcast eye, The cheek that scarce a smile assumes, The never-ending sigh![134] Lucinda Had you the secret cause to grieve— That in this breast doth lie, Instead of wishing to relieve You would be just as I. Thyrsis What secret cause have you to grieve?— A lover gone astray?—[135] If one was able to deceive, Perhaps another may. Lucinda My lover has not me deceived, An act he would disdain; Oh! he is gone—and I am grieved— He'll never come again! He'll never come again! Thyrsis The turtle on yon' withered bough Who lately moaned her murdered mate, Has found another partner now,— Such changes all await. Again her drooping plume is dress'd, Again she wishes to be bless'd, And takes a husband to her nest. If nature has decreed it so With some above, and all below, Let us, Lucinda, banish woe,[136] Nor be perplext with sorrow: If I should leave your arms this night, And die before the morning light, I would advise you—and you might Wed again to-morrow. Lucinda The turtle on yon' withered tree!— That turtle never felt like me! Her grief is but a moment's date, Another day, another mate: And true it is, the feathered race Hold many a partner no disgrace. How would the world my fault display, What would censorious Sally[137] say? Would say, while grinning malice sneers,—[138] She made a conquest by her tears! Thyrsis My Polly!—once the pride of all, That shepherd lads their charmers call, Too early parted with her bloom, And sleeps in yonder sylvan tomb: Her death has set me free— Fair as the day, and sweet as May, But what is that to me! Since all must bow to fate's arrest,[139] No love deceased shall rack my breast— Come, then, Lucinda, and be blest. Lucinda My Damon! Oh, can I forget The hour you left these moistened eyes, O'er northern lakes to wander far To colder climes and dreary skies! There, vengeful, in their wastes of snow The Britons guard the frozen shore, And Damon there is perished now, The swain that shall return no more! Thyrsis Weep, weep no more, my Jersey lass,[140] The pang is past that fixed his doom— They, too, shall to destruction pass, Perhaps—and hardly find a tomb. Refrain your tears—enough are shed— They, too, shall have their share of woe: Fled is their fame, their honours fled; And Washington shall lay them low. Lucinda If you had but yon' sergeant's size, His mien and looks, so debonaire, You might seem lovely in my eyes, Nor should you quite despair.[141] There's something in your looks, I find, Recalling Damon to my mind— He is dead, and I must be resigned! His lively step, his sun-burnt face, His nervous arm in you I trace— Indeed,—I think you no disgrace.[142] Thyrsis On this dismal, cloudy day,[143] In these fighting times, I say, Will you Yea, or will you Nay? Lucinda Oh! I will not tell you Nay, You have such a coaxing way! Thyrsis Call the music!—half is done That my heart could count upon— From the grave I seize a prize! Here she is, and where he lies, She or I but little care! O, what animals we are! For you!—I would forego all ease,[144] And traverse sands or travel seas. Of all they sent us from above, Nothing, nothing is like love! Happiest passion of the mind, Sent from heaven to bless mankind, Though at variance with your charms, Fate's eternal mandate stands; Hymen, come!—unite our hands, And give Lucinda to my arms!

Long have I sat on this disast'rous shore, And, sighing, sought to gain a passage o'er To Europe's towns, where, as our travellers say, Poets may flourish, or, perhaps they may; But such abuse has from your coarse pen fell I think I may defer my voyage as well; Why should I far in search of honour roam, And dunces leave to triumph here at home? Great Jove in wrath a spark of genius gave. And bade me drink the mad Pierian wave, Hence came these rhimes, with truth ascrib'd to me, That swell thy little soul to jealousy:[146] If thus, tormented at these flighty lays, You strive to blast what ne'er was meant for praise, How will you bear the more exalted rhime, By labour polish'd, and matur'd by time? Devoted madman! what inspir'd thy rage, Who bade thy foolish muse with me engage? Against a wind-mill would'st thou try thy might, Against a giant[147] would a pigmy fight? What could thy slanderous pen with malice arm To injure him, who never did thee harm?[148] Have I from thee been urgent to attain The mean ideas of thy barren brain? Have I been seen in borrowed clothes to shine, And, when detected, swear by Jove they're mine? O miscreant, hostile to thine own repose, From thy own envy thy destruction flows! Bless'd be our western world—its scenes conspire To raise a poet's fancy and his fire, Lo, blue-topt mountains to the skies ascend! Lo, shady forests to the breezes bend! See mighty streams meandering to the main! See lambs and lambkins sport on every plain! The spotted herds in flowery meadows see! But what, ungenerous wretch, are these to thee?— You find no charms in all that nature yields, Then leave to me the grottoes and the fields: I interfere not with your vast design— Pursue your studies, and I'll follow mine, Pursue, well pleas'd, your theologic schemes, Attend professors, and correct your themes, Still some dull nonsense, low-bred wit invent, Or prove from scripture what it never meant, Or far through law, that land of scoundrels, stray, And truth disguise through all your mazy way; Wealth you may gain, your clients you may squeeze, And by long cheating, learn to live at ease; If but in Wood or Littleton well read, The devil shall help you to your daily bread. O waft me far, ye muses of the west— Give me your green bowers and soft seats of rest— Thrice happy in those dear retreats to find A safe retirement from all human kind. Though dire misfortunes every step attend, The muse, still social, still remains a friend— In solitude her converse gives delight, With gay poetic dreams she cheers the night, She aids me, shields me, bears me on her wings, In spite of growling whelps, to high, exalted things, Beyond the miscreants that my peace molest, Miscreants, with dullness and with rage opprest. Hail, great Mac Swiggen![149] foe to honest fame,[150] Patron of dunces, and thyself the same, You dream of conquest—tell me, how, or whence? Act like a man and combat me with sense— This evil have I known, and known but once,[151] Thus to be gall'd and slander'd by a dunce, Saw rage and weakness join their dastard plan To crush the shadow, not attack the man. What swarms of vermin from the sultry south Like frogs surround thy pestilential mouth— Clad in the garb of sacred sanctity, What madness prompts thee to invent a lie? Thou base defender of a wretched crew, Thy tongue let loose on those you never knew, The human spirit with the brutal join'd, The imps of Orcus in thy breast combin'd, The genius barren, and the wicked heart, Prepar'd to take each trifling scoundrel's part, The turn'd up nose, the monkey's foolish face, The scorn of reason, and your sire's disgrace— Assist me, gods, to drive this dog of rhime Back to the torments of his native clime, Where dullness mingles with her native earth,[152] And rhimes, not worth the pang that gave them birth! Where did he learn to write or talk with men?— A senseless blockhead, with a scribbling pen— In vile acrostics thou may'st please the fair,[153] Not less than with thy looks and powder'd hair, But strive no more with rhime to daunt thy foes, Or, by the flame that in my bosom glows, The muse on thee shall her worst fury spend, And hemp, or water, thy vile being end. Aspers'd like me, who would not grieve and rage! Who would not burn, Mac Swiggen to engage? Him and his friends, a mean, designing race, I, singly I, must combat face to face— Alone I stand to meet the foul-mouth'd train,[154] Assisted by no poets of the plain, Whose timerous Muses cannot swell their theme Beyond a meadow or a purling stream.— Were not my breast impervious to despair, And did not Clio reign unrivall'd there, I must expire beneath the ungenerous host, And dullness triumph o'er a poet lost. Rage gives me wings, and fearless prompts me on To conquer brutes the world should blush to own; No peace, no quarter to such imps I lend, Death and perdition on each line I send; Bring all the wittlings that your host supplies, A cloud of nonsense and a storm of lies— Your kitchen wit—Mac Swiggen's loud applause, That wretched rhymer with his lanthorn jaws— His deep-set eyes forever on the wink, His soul extracted from the public sink— All such as he, to my confusion call— And tho' ten myriads—I despise them all. Come on, Mac Swiggen, come—your muse is willing, Your prose is merry, but your verse is killing— Come on, attack me with that whining prose, Your beard is red, and swine-like is your nose, Like burning brush your bristly head of hair, The ugliest image of a Greenland bear— Come on—attack me with your choicest rhimes, Sound void of sense betrays the unmeaning chimes— Come, league your forces; all your wit combine, Your wit not equal to the bold design— The heaviest arms the Muse can give, I wield, To stretch Mac Swiggen floundering on the field, 'Swiggen, who, aided by some spurious Muse, But bellows nonsense, and but writes abuse, 'Swiggen, immortal and unfading grown,[155] But by no deeds or merits of his own.— So, when some hateful monster sees the day, In spirits we preserve it from decay, But for what end, it is not hard to guess— Not for its value, but its ugliness. Now, by the winds which shake thy rubric mop, (That nest of witches, or that barber's shop) Mac Swiggen, hear—Be wise in times to come, A dunce by nature, bid thy muse be dumb, Lest you, devoted to the infernal skies, Descend, like Lucifer, no more to rise.— Sick of all feuds, to Reason I appeal[156] From wars of paper, and from wars of steel, Let others here their hopes and wishes end, I to the sea with weary steps descend, Quit the mean conquest that such swine might yield, And leave Mac Swiggen to enjoy the field— In distant isles some happier scene I'll choose, And court in softer shades the unwilling Muse, Thrice happy there, through peaceful plains to rove, Or the cool verdure of the orange grove, Safe from the miscreants that my peace molest, Miscreants, with dullness and with rage opprest.

1 Trembling I write my dream, and recollect A fearful vision at the midnight hour; So late, Death o'er me spread his sable wings, Painted with fancies of malignant power! 2 Such was the dream the sage Chaldean saw5 Disclos'd to him that felt heav'n's vengeful rod, Such was the ghost, who through deep silence cry'd, Shall mortal man—be juster than his God? 3 Let others draw from smiling skies their theme, And tell of climes that boast unfading light,10 I draw a darker scene, replete with gloom, I sing the horrors of the House of Night. 4 Stranger, believe the truth experience tells, Poetic dreams are of a finer cast Than those which o'er the sober brain diffus'd,15 Are but a repetition of some action past. 5 Fancy, I own thy power—when sunk in sleep Thou play'st thy wild delusive part so well You lift me into immortality, Depict new heavens, or draw the scenes of hell.20 6 By some sad means, when Reason holds no sway, Lonely I rov'd at midnight o'er a plain Where murmuring streams and mingling rivers flow Far to their springs, or seek the sea again. 7 Sweet vernal May! tho' then thy woods in bloom25 Flourish'd, yet nought of this could Fancy see, No wild pinks bless'd the meads, no green the fields, And naked seem'd to stand each lifeless tree: 8 Dark was the sky, and not one friendly star Shone from the zenith or horizon, clear,30 Mist sate upon the woods, and darkness rode In her black chariot, with a wild career. 9 And from the woods the late resounding note Issued of the loquacious Whip-poor-will,[A] Hoarse, howling dogs, and nightly roving wolves35 Clamour'd from far off cliffs invisible.

10 Rude, from the wide extended Chesapeke I heard the winds the dashing waves assail, And saw from far, by picturing fancy form'd, The black ship travelling through the noisy gale.40 11 At last, by chance and guardian fancy led, I reach'd a noble dome, rais'd fair and high, And saw the light from upper windows flame, Presage of mirth and hospitality. 12 And by that light around the dome appear'd45 A mournful garden of autumnal hue, Its lately pleasing flowers all drooping stood Amidst high weeds that in rank plenty grew. 13 The Primrose there, the violet darkly blue, Daisies and fair Narcissus ceas'd to rise,50 Gay spotted pinks their charming bloom withdrew, And Polyanthus quench'd its thousand dyes. 14 No pleasant fruit or blossom gaily smil'd, Nought but unhappy plants or trees were seen, The yew, the myrtle, and the church-yard elm,55 The cypress, with its melancholy green. 15 There cedars dark, the osier, and the pine, Shorn tamarisks, and weeping willows grew, The poplar tall, the lotos, and the lime, And pyracantha did her leaves renew.60 16 The poppy there, companion to repose, Display'd her blossoms that began to fall, And here the purple amaranthus rose With mint strong-scented, for the funeral. 17 And here and there with laurel shrubs between65 A tombstone lay, inscrib'd with strains of woe, And stanzas sad, throughout the dismal green, Lamented for the dead that slept below. 18 Peace to this awful dome!—when strait I heard The voice of men in a secluded room,70 Much did they talk of death, and much of life, Of coffins, shrouds, and horrors of a tomb. 19 Pathetic were their words, and well they aim'd To explain the mystic paths of providence, Learn'd were they all, but there remain'd not I75 To hear the upshot of their conference. 20 Meantime from an adjoining chamber came Confused murmurings, half distinguish'd sounds, And as I nearer drew, disputes arose Of surgery, and remedies for wounds.80 21 Dull were their feuds, for they went on to talk Of Anchylosis,[B] and the shoulder blade, Os Femoris,[B] Trochanters[B]—and whate'er Has been discuss'd by Cheselden or Meade:

22 And often each, to prove his notion true,85 Brought proofs from Galen or Hippocrates— But fancy led me hence—and left them so, Firm at their points of hardy No and Yes. 23 Then up three winding stairs my feet were brought To a high chamber, hung with mourning sad,90 The unsnuff'd candles glar'd with visage dim, 'Midst grief, in ecstacy of woe run mad. 24 A wide leaf'd table stood on either side, Well fraught with phials, half their liquids spent, And from a couch, behind the curtain's veil,95 I heard a hollow voice of loud lament. 25 Turning to view the object whence it came, My frighted eyes a horrid form survey'd; Fancy, I own thy power—Death on the couch, With fleshless limbs, at rueful length, was laid.100 26 And o'er his head flew jealousies and cares, Ghosts, imps, and half the black Tartarian crew, Arch-angels damn'd, nor was their Prince remote, Borne on the vaporous wings of Stygian dew. 27 Around his bed, by the dull flambeaux' glare,105 I saw pale phantoms—Rage to madness vext, Wan, wasting grief, and ever musing care, Distressful pain, and poverty perplext. 28 Sad was his countenance, if we can call That countenance, where only bones were seen110 And eyes sunk in their sockets, dark and low, And teeth, that only show'd themselves to grin. 29 Reft was his scull of hair, and no fresh bloom Of chearful mirth sate on his visage hoar: Sometimes he rais'd his head, while deep-drawn groans115 Were mixt with words that did his fate deplore. 30 Oft did he wish to see the daylight spring, And often toward the window lean'd to hear, Fore-runner of the scarlet-mantled morn, The early note of wakeful Chanticleer.120 31 Thus he—But at my hand a portly youth Of comely countenance, began to tell, "That this was Death upon his dying bed, "Sullen, morose, and peevish to be well; 32 "Fixt is his doom—the miscreant reigns no more125 "The tyrant of the dying or the dead; "This night concludes his all-consuming reign, "Pour out, ye heav'ns, your vengeance on his head. 33 "But since, my friend (said he), chance leads you here, "With me this night upon the sick attend,130 "You on this bed of death must watch, and I "Will not be distant from the fretful fiend. 34 "Before he made this lofty pile his home, "In undisturb'd repose I sweetly slept, "But when he came to this sequester'd dome,135 "'Twas then my troubles came, and then I wept: 35 "Twice three long nights, in this sad chamber, I, "As though a brother languish'd in despair, "Have 'tended faithful round his gloomy bed, "Have been content to breathe this loathsome air.140 36 "A while relieve the languors that I feel, "Sleep's magic forces close my weary eyes; "Soft o'er my soul unwonted slumbers steal, "Aid the weak patient till you see me rise. 37 "But let no slumbers on your eye-lids fall,145 "That if he ask for powder or for pill "You may be ready at the word to start, "And still seem anxious to perform his will. 38 "The bleeding Saviour of a world undone "Bade thy compassion rise toward thy foe;150 "Then, stranger, for the sake of Mary's son, "Thy tears of pity on this wretch bestow. 39 "'Twas he that stole from my adoring arms "Aspasia, she the loveliest of her kind, "Lucretia's virtue, with a Helen's charms,155 "Charms of the face, and beauties of the mind. 40 "The blushy cheek, the lively, beaming eye, "The ruby lip, the flowing jetty hair, "The stature tall, the aspect so divine, "All beauty, you would think, had center'd there.160 41 "Each future age her virtues shall extol, "Nor the just tribute to her worth refuse; "Fam'd, to the stars Urania bids her rise, "Theme of the moral, and the tragic Muse. 42 "Sweet as the fragrance of the vernal morn,165 "Nipt in its bloom this faded flower I see; "The inspiring angel from that breast is gone, "And life's warm tide forever chill'd in thee! 43 "Such charms shall greet my longing soul no more, "Her lively eyes are clos'd in endless shade,170 "Torpid, she rests on yonder marble floor; "Approach, and see what havock Death has made. 44 "Yet, stranger, hold—her charms are so divine, "Such tints of life still on her visage glow, "That even in death this slumbering bride of mine175 "May seize thy heart, and make thee wretched too. 45 "O shun the sight—forbid thy trembling hand "From her pale face to raise the enshrouding lawn,— "Death claims thy care, obey his stern command, "Trim the dull tapers, for I see no dawn!"180 46 So said, at Death's left side I sate me down, The mourning youth toward his right reclin'd; Death in the middle lay, with all his groans, And much he toss'd and tumbled, sigh'd and pin'd. 47 But now this man of hell toward me turn'd,185 And strait, in hideous tone, began to speak; Long held he sage discourse, but I forebore To answer him, much less his news to seek. 48 He talk'd of tomb-stones and of monuments, Of Equinoctial climes and India shores,190 He talk'd of stars that shed their influence, Fevers and plagues, and all their noxious stores. 49 He mention'd, too, the guileful calenture,[C] Tempting the sailor on the deep sea main, That paints gay groves upon the ocean floor,195 Beckoning her victim to the faithless scene.

50 Much spoke he of the myrtle and the yew, Of ghosts that nightly walk the church-yard o'er, Of storms that through the wint'ry ocean blow And dash the well-mann'd galley on the shore,200 51 Of broad-mouth'd cannons, and the thunderbolt, Of sieges and convulsions, dearth and fire, Of poisonous weeds—but seem'd to sneer at these Who by the laurel o'er him did aspire. 52 Then with a hollow voice thus went he on:205 "Get up, and search, and bring, when found, to me, "Some cordial, potion, or some pleasant draught, "Sweet, slumb'rous poppy, or the mild Bohea.

53 "But hark, my pitying friend!—and, if you can, "Deceive the grim physician at the door—210 "Bring half the mountain springs—ah! hither bring "The cold rock water from the shady bower. 54 "For till this night such thirst did ne'er invade, "A thirst provok'd by heav'n's avenging hand; "Hence bear me, friends, to quaff, and quaff again215 "The cool wave bubbling from the yellow sand. 55 "To these dark walls with stately step I came, "Prepar'd your drugs and doses to defy; "Smit with the love of never dying fame, "I came, alas! to conquer—not to die!"220 56 Glad, from his side I sprang, and fetch'd the draught, Which down his greedy throat he quickly swills, Then on a second errand sent me strait, To search in some dark corner for his pills. 57 Quoth he, "These pills have long compounded been,225 "Of dead men's bones and bitter roots, I trow; "But that I may to wonted health return, "Throughout my lank veins shall their substance go." 58 So down they went.—He rais'd his fainting head And oft in feeble tone essay'd to talk;230 Quoth he, "Since remedies have small avail, "Assist unhappy Death once more to walk." 59 Then slowly rising from his loathsome bed, On wasted legs the meagre monster stood, Gap'd wide, and foam'd, and hungry seem'd to ask,235 Tho' sick, an endless quantity of food. 60 Said he, "The sweet melodious flute prepare, "The anthem, and the organ's solemn sound, "Such as may strike my soul with ecstacy, "Such as may from yon' lofty wall rebound.240 61 "Sweet music can the fiercest pains assuage, "She bids the soul to heaven's blest mansions rise, "She calms despair, controuls infernal rage "And deepest anguish, when it hears her, dies. 62 "And see, the mizzling, misty midnight reigns,245 "And no soft dews are on my eye-lids sent!— "Here, stranger, lend thy hand; assist me, pray, "To walk a circuit of no large extent."— 63 On my prest shoulders leaning, round he went, And could have made the boldest spectre flee,250 I led him up stairs, and I led him down, But not one moment's rest from pain got he. 64 Then with his dart, its cusp unpointed now, Thrice with main strength he smote the trembling floor; The roof resounded to the fearful blow,255 And Cleon started, doom'd to sleep no more. 65 When thus spoke Death, impatient of controul, "Quick, move, and bring from yonder black bureau "The sacred book that may preserve my soul "From long damnation, and eternal woe.260 66 "And with it bring—for you may find them there, "The works of holy authors, dead and gone, "The sacred tome of moving Drelincourt, "Or what more solemn Sherlock mus'd upon: 67 "And read, my Cleon, what these sages say,265 "And what the sacred Penman hath declar'd, "That when the wicked leaves his odious way, "His sins shall vanish, and his soul be spar'd." 68 But he, unmindful of the vain command, Reason'd with Death, nor were his reasonings few:270 Quoth he—"My Lord, what frenzy moves your brain, "Pray, what, my Lord, can Sherlock be to you, 69 "Or all the sage divines that ever wrote, "Grave Drelincourt, or heaven's unerring page; "These point their arrows at your hostile breast,275 "And raise new pains that time must ne'er assuage. 70 "And why should thus thy woe disturb my rest? "Much of Theology I once did read, "And there 'tis fixt, sure as my God is so, "That Death shall perish, tho' a God should bleed.280 71 "The martyr, doom'd the pangs of fire to feel, "Lives but a moment in the sultry blast; "The victim groans, and dies beneath the steel, "But thy severer pains shall always last. 72 "O miscreant vile, thy age has made thee doat—285 "If peace, if sacred peace were found for you, "Hell would cry out, and all the damn'd arise "And, more deserving, seek for pity too. 73 "Seek not for Paradise—'tis not for thee, "Where high in heaven its sweetest blossoms blow,290 "Nor even where, gliding to the Persian main, "Thy waves, Euphrates, through the garden flow! 74 "Bloody has been thy reign, O man of hell, "Who sympathiz'd with no departing groan; "Cruel wast thou, and hardly dost deserve295 "To have Hic Jacet stampt upon thy stone. 75 "He that could build his mansion o'er the tombs, "Depending still on sickness and decay, "May dwell unmov'd amidst these drowsier glooms, "May laugh the dullest of these shades away.300 76 "Remember how with unrelenting ire "You tore the infant from the unwilling breast— "Aspasia fell, and Cleon must expire, "Doom'd by the impartial God to endless rest: 77 "In vain with stars he deck'd yon' spangled skies,305 "And bade the mind to heaven's bright regions soar, "And brought so far to my admiring eyes "A glimpse of glories that shall blaze no more! 78 "Even now, to glut thy devilish wrath, I see "From eastern realms a wasteful army rise:310 "Why else those lights that tremble in the north? "Why else yon' comet blazing through the skies? 79 "Rejoice, O fiend; Britannia's tyrant sends "From German plains his myriads to our shore. "The fierce Hibernian with the Briton join'd—315 "Bring them, ye winds!—but waft them back no more. 80 "To you, alas! the fates in wrath deny "The comforts to our parting moments due, "And leave you here to languish and to die, "Your crimes too many, and your tears too few.320 81 "No cheering voice to thee shall cry, Repent! "As once it echoed through the wilderness— "No patron died for thee—damn'd, damn'd art thou "Like all the devils, nor one jot the less. 82 "A gloomy land, with sullen skies is thine,325 "Where never rose or amaranthus grow, "No daffodils, nor comely columbine, "No hyacinths nor asphodels for you. 83 "The barren trees that flourish on the shore "With leaves or fruit were never seen to bend,330 "O'er languid waves unblossom'd branches hang, "And every branch sustains some vagrant fiend. 84 "And now no more remains, but to prepare "To take possession of thy punishment; "That's thy inheritance, that thy domain,335 "A land of bitter woe, and loud lament. 85 "And oh that He, who spread the universe, "Would cast one pitying glance on thee below! "Millions of years in torments thou might'st fry, "But thy eternity!—who can conceive its woe!"340 86 He heard, and round with his black eye-balls gaz'd, Full of despair, and curs'd, and rav'd, and swore: "And since this is my doom," said he, "call up "Your wood-mechanics to my chamber door: 87 "Blame not on me the ravage to be made;345 "Proclaim,—even Death abhors such woe to see; "I'll quit the world, while decently I can, "And leave the work to George my deputy." 88 Up rush'd a band, with compasses and scales To measure his slim carcase, long and lean—350 "Be sure," said he, "to frame my coffin strong, "You, master workman, and your men, I mean: 89 "For if the Devil, so late my trusty friend, "Should get one hint where I am laid, from you, "Not with my soul content, he'd seek to find355 "That mouldering mass of bones, my body, too! 90 "Of hardest ebon let the plank be found, "With clamps and ponderous bars secur'd around, "That if the box by Satan should be storm'd, "It may be able for resistance found."360 91 "Yes," said the master workman, "noble Death, "Your coffin shall be strong—that leave to me— "But who shall these your funeral dues discharge? "Nor friends nor pence you have, that I can see." 92 To this said Death—"You might have ask'd me, too,365 "Base caitiff, who are my executors, "Where my estate, and who the men that shall "Partake my substance, and be call'd my heirs. 93 "Know, then, that hell is my inheritance, "The devil himself my funeral dues must pay—370 "Go—since you must be paid—go, ask of him, "For he has gold, as fabling poets say." 94 Strait they retir'd—when thus he gave me charge, Pointing from the light window to the west, "Go three miles o'er the plain, and you shall see375 "A burying-yard of sinners dead, unblest. 95 "Amid the graves a spiry building stands "Whose solemn knell resounding through the gloom "Shall call thee o'er the circumjacent lands "To the dull mansion destin'd for my tomb.380 96 "There, since 'tis dark, I'll plant a glimmering light "Just snatch'd from hell, by whose reflected beams "Thou shalt behold a tomb-stone, full eight feet, "Fast by a grave, replete with ghosts and dreams. 97 "And on that stone engrave this epitaph,385 "Since Death, it seems, must die like mortal men; "Yes—on that stone engrave this epitaph, "Though all hell's furies aim to snatch the pen. 98 "Death in this tomb his weary bones hath laid, "Sick of dominion o'er the human kind—390 "Behold what devastations he hath made, "Survey the millions by his arm confin'd. 99 "Six thousand years has sovereign sway been mine, "None, but myself, can real glory claim; "Great Regent of the world I reign'd alone,395 "And princes trembled when my mandate came. 100 "Vast and unmatch'd throughout the world, my fame "Takes place of gods, and asks no mortal date— "No; by myself, and by the heavens, I swear, "Not Alexander's name is half so great.400 101 "Nor swords nor darts my prowess could withstand, "All quit their arms, and bowd to my decree, "Even mighty Julius died beneath my hand, "For slaves and Cæsars were the same to me! 102 "Traveller, wouldst thou his noblest trophies seek,405 "Search in no narrow spot obscure for those; "The sea profound, the surface of all land "Is moulded with the myriads of his foes." 103 Scarce had he spoke, when on the lofty dome Rush'd from the clouds a hoarse resounding blast—410 Round the four eaves so loud and sad it play'd As though all musick were to breathe its last. 104 Warm was the gale, and such as travellers say Sport with the winds on Zaara's barren waste; Black was the sky, a mourning carpet spread,415 Its azure blotted, and its stars o'ercast! 105 Lights in the air like burning stars were hurl'd, Dogs howl'd, heaven mutter'd, and the tempest blew, The red half-moon peeped from behind a cloud As if in dread the amazing scene to view.420 106 The mournful trees that in the garden stood Bent to the tempest as it rush'd along, The elm, the myrtle, and the cypress sad More melancholy tun'd its bellowing song. 107 No more that elm its noble branches spread,425 The yew, the cypress, or the myrtle tree, Rent from the roots the tempest tore them down, And all the grove in wild confusion lay. 108 Yet, mindful of his dread command, I part Glad from the magic dome—nor found relief;430 Damps from the dead hung heavier round my heart, While sad remembrance rous'd her stores of grief. 109 O'er a dark field I held my dubious way Where Jack-a-lanthorn walk'd his lonely round, Beneath my feet substantial darkness lay,435 And screams were heard from the distemper'd ground. 110 Nor look'd I back, till to a far off wood, Trembling with fear, my weary feet had sped— Dark was the night, but at the inchanted dome I saw the infernal windows flaming red.440 111 And from within the howls of Death I heard, Cursing the dismal night that gave him birth, Damning his ancient sire, and mother sin, Who at the gates of hell, accursed, brought him forth. 112 [For fancy gave to my enraptur'd soul445 An eagle's eye, with keenest glance to see, And bade those distant sounds distinctly roll, Which, waking, never had affected me.] 113 Oft his pale breast with cruel hand he smote, And tearing from his limbs a winding sheet,450 Roar'd to the black skies, while the woods around, As wicked as himself, his words repeat. 114 Thrice tow'rd the skies his meagre arms he rear'd, Invok'd all hell, and thunders on his head, Bid light'nings fly, earth yawn, and tempests roar,455 And the sea wrap him in its oozy bed. 115 "My life for one cool draught!—O, fetch your springs, "Can one unfeeling to my woes be found! "No friendly visage comes to my relief, "But ghosts impend, and spectres hover round.460 116 "Though humbled now, dishearten'd and distrest, "Yet, when admitted to the peaceful ground, "With heroes, kings, and conquerors I shall rest, "Shall sleep as safely, and perhaps as sound." 117 Dim burnt the lamp, and now the phantom Death465 Gave his last groans in horror and despair— "All hell demands me hence,"—he said, and threw The red lamp hissing through the midnight air. 118 Trembling, across the plain my course I held, And found the grave-yard, loitering through the gloom,470 And, in the midst, a hell-red, wandering light, Walking in fiery circles round the tomb. 119 Among the graves a spiry building stood, Whose tolling bell, resounding through the shade, Sung doleful ditties to the adjacent wood,475 And many a dismal drowsy thing it said. 120 This fabrick tall, with towers and chancels grac'd, Was rais'd by sinners' hands, in ages fled; The roof they painted, and the beams they brac'd, And texts from scripture o'er the walls they spread:480 121 But wicked were their hearts, for they refus'd To aid the helpless orphan, when distrest, The shivering, naked stranger they mis-us'd, And banish'd from their doors the starving guest. 122 By laws protected, cruel and prophane,485 The poor man's ox these monsters drove away;— And left Distress to attend her infant train, No friend to comfort, and no bread to stay. 123 But heaven look'd on with keen, resentful eye, And doom'd them to perdition and the grave,490 That as they felt not for the wretch distrest, So heaven no pity on their souls would have. 124 In pride they rais'd this building tall and fair, Their hearts were on perpetual mischief bent, With pride they preach'd, and pride was in their prayer,495 With pride they were deceiv'd, and so to hell they went. 125 At distance far approaching to the tomb, By lamps and lanthorns guided through the shade, A coal-black chariot hurried through the gloom, Spectres attending, in black weeds array'd,500 126 Whose woeful forms yet chill my soul with dread, Each wore a vest in Stygian chambers wove, Death's kindred all—Death's horses they bestrode, And gallop'd fiercely, as the chariot drove. 127 Each horrid face a grizly mask conceal'd,505 Their busy eyes shot terror to my soul As now and then, by the pale lanthorn's glare, I saw them for their parted friend condole. 128 Before the hearse Death's chaplain seem'd to go, Who strove to comfort, what he could, the dead;510 Talk'd much of Satan, and the land of woe, And many a chapter from the scriptures read. 129 At last he rais'd the swelling anthem high, In dismal numbers seem'd he to complain; The captive tribes that by Euphrates wept,515 Their song was jovial to his dreary strain. 130 That done, they plac'd the carcase in the tomb, To dust and dull oblivion now resign'd, Then turn'd the chariot tow'rd the House of Night, Which soon flew off, and left no trace behind.520 131 But as I stoop'd to write the appointed verse, Swifter than thought the airy scene decay'd; Blushing the morn arose, and from the east With her gay streams of light dispell'd the shade. 132 What is this Death, ye deep read sophists, say?—525 Death is no more than one unceasing change; New forms arise, while other forms decay, Yet all is Life throughout creation's range. 133 The towering Alps, the haughty Appenine, The Andes, wrapt in everlasting snow,530 The Apalachian and the Ararat Sooner or later must to ruin go. 134 Hills sink to plains, and man returns to dust, That dust supports a reptile or a flower; Each changeful atom by some other nurs'd535 Takes some new form, to perish in an hour. 135 Too nearly join'd to sickness, toils, and pains, (Perhaps for former crimes imprison'd here) True to itself the immortal soul remains, And seeks new mansions in the starry sphere.540 136 When Nature bids thee from the world retire, With joy thy lodging leave, a fated guest; In Paradise, the land of thy desire, Existing always, always to be blest.