The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 4

Remember the Beaver (you well know the fable) Who flying the hunters as long as he's able, When he finds that his efforts can nothing avail But death and the puppies are close at his tail, Instead of desponding at such a dead lift He bites off their object, and makes a free gift-- Since fortune all hope of escaping denies Better give them a little, than lose the whole prize."

But scarce had he spoke, when we came to a place Whose muddy condition concluded the chace, Down settled the cart--and old Ranger stuck fast Aha! (said the Saint) have I catch'd ye at last?

Caetera desunt.

[28] First published, as far as I can find, in the _Daily Advertiser_, March 16, 1790. It was there introduced as follows (italics): "In several parts of New England it is customary not to suffer travellers to proceed on a journey on the Sabbath day. If a person is obstinate on these occasions, he is either forcibly (and commonly to the ridicule of the whole Congregation) conducted to the Church door, led through the princ.i.p.al ile (_sic_), and placed in a conspicuous seat by the wardens, or must be detained till next day under guard, and submit to pay a fine, or be committed. The following lines commemorate an event of this sort, which some years ago really befel Mr. P. the noted performer in feats of horsemanship. The author, however, seems to have left his poem incomplete." Text from the 1809 edition.

ON THE SLEEP OF PLANTS[29]

When suns are set, and stars in view, Not only man to slumber yields; But Nature grants this blessing too, To yonder plants, in yonder fields.

The Summer heats and lengthening days (To them the same as toil and care) Thrice welcome make the evening breeze, That kindly does their strength repair.

At early dawn each plant survey, And see, revived by Nature's hand, With youthful vigour, fresh and gay, Their blossoms blow, their leaves expand.

Yon' garden plant, with weeds o'er-run, Not void of thought, perceives its hour, And, watchful of the parting sun, Throughout the night conceals her flower.

Like us, the slave of cold and heat, She too enjoys her little span-- With Reason, only less complete Than that which makes the boast of man.

Thus, moulded from one common clay, A varied life adorns the plain; By Nature subject to decay, By Nature meant to bloom again!

[29] Published in the _Daily Advertiser_, March 20, 1790. Text from the edition of 1809.

ON THE DEMOLITION OF AN OLD COLLEGE[30]

On New-Year's eve, the year was eighty-nine, All clad in black, a back-woods' college crew With crow-bar, sledge, and broad axe did combine To level with the dust their antique hall, In hopes the President would build a new: Yes, yes, (said they), this ancient pile shall fall, And laugh no longer at yon' cobbler's stall.

The clock struck seven--in social compact joined, They pledged their sacred honors to proceed: The number seventy-five this feat designed: And first some oaths they swore by candle light On Euclid' Elements--no bible did they need: One must be true, they said, the other might-- Besides, no bible could be found that night.

Now darkness o'er the plain her pinions spread, Then rung the bell an unaccustomed peal: Out rushed the brave, the cowards went to bed, And left the attempt to those who felt full bold To pull down halls, where years had seen them kneel: Where Wheelock oft at rakes was wont to scold, Or sung them many a psalm, in days of old.

Advancing then towards the tottering hall, (That now at least one hundred years had stood) They gave due notice that it soon should fall-- Lest there some G.o.dly wight might gaping stand; (For well they knew the world wants all its good To fright the st.u.r.dy sinners of the land, And shame old Satan, with his sooty band.)

The reverend man that college gentry awes, Hearing the bell at this unusual hour, Vext at the infringement of the college laws, With Indian stride out-sallied from his den, And made a speech (as being a man in power)-- Alas! it was not heard by one in ten-- No time to heed his speeches, or his pen.

"Ah, rogues, said he, ah, whither do ye run, "Bent on the ruin of this antique pile-- "That, all the war, has braved both sword and gun?

"Reflect, dear boys, some reverend rats are there, "That now will have to scamper many a mile, "For whom past time old Latin books did spare, "And Attic Greek, and ma.n.u.scripts most rare.

"Relent, relent! to accomplish such designs "Folks bred on college fare are much too weak; "For such attempts men drink your high-proof wines, "Not spiritless switchel[A] and vile hogo drams, "Scarcely sufficient to digest your Greek-- "Come, let the college stand, my dear black lambs-- "Besides--I see you have no battering rams."

[A] A mixture of mola.s.ses and water.--_Freneau's note._

Thus he--but sighs, and tears, and prayers were lost-- So, to it they went with broad-axe, spade, and hammer-- One smote a wall, and one dislodged a post, Tugged at a beam, or pulled down pigeon-holes Where Indian lads were wont to study grammar-- Indeed, they took vast pains and dug like moles, And worked as if they worked to save their souls.

Now to its deep foundation shook the dome: Farewell to all its learning, fame and honor!

So fell the capitol of heathen Rome, By Goths and Vandals levelled with the dust-- And so shall die the works of Neal O'Connor, (Which he himself will even outlive, we trust:) But now our story's coming to the worst--

Down fell the Pile!--aghast these rebels stood, And wondered at the mischiefs they had done To such a pile, composed of white-oak wood; To such a pile, so antique and renowned, Which many a prayer had heard and many a pun-- So, three huzzas they gave, and fired a round, Then homeward trudged--half drunk--but safe and sound.

[30] Published in the _Daily Advertiser_, March 22, 1790, under the t.i.tle "On the Demolition of Dartmouth College." This earliest version was introduced thus (italics): "On December the 31st last, the old College at Dartmouth in New-Hampshire, was entirely demolished by the Students, notwithstanding every endeavour of the Rev. President to persuade them to desist from their unwarrantable undertaking. It stood the shock of their united efforts about 20 minutes, and then fell to the ground." The facts as given by Freneau are in the main true. During the absence of the second Wheelock in Europe to secure funds for the college "Professor Woodward," according to Chase's _History of Dartmouth College_, "acted as chief executive and Professor Ripley resided with the family in the presidential mansion. The students, it seems, took advantage of the opportunity to rid themselves and the faculty of the little log hut, 'the first sprout of the college,' that stood near the mansion house. Being remitted to the occupancy of servants, it was by this time in a deplorable state of neglect and decay, and obnoxious to everybody. On a December evening in 1782 or 1783 Professor Ripley in the President's house happened to be entertaining a friend from Connecticut, and dilating with much satisfaction upon the orderly behaviour of the students and the freedom from noise and disturbance. In the midst of it they became aware of an unusual commotion without, and on going to see about it, discovered a body of students a.s.sailing the log house in such a manner that in a very short time little was left of it. The professor made an effort to stay the work but the noise overpowered his voice." In the edition of 1795 the t.i.tle was "On the Demolition of a Log-College,"

and in the index of the edition of 1809, the text of which I have used, the t.i.tle was given "On the Demolition of an ancient New-England College."

ON THE DEATH OF DR. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN[31]

Thus, some tall tree that long hath stood The glory of its native wood, By storms destroyed, or length of years, Demands the tribute of our tears.

The pile, that took long time to raise, To dust returns by slow decays: But, when its destined years are o'er, We must regret the loss the more.

So long accustomed to your aid, The world laments your exit made; So long befriended by your art, Philosopher, 'tis hard to part!--

When monarchs tumble to the ground, Successors easily are found: But, matchless Franklin! what a few Can hope to rival such as you, Who seized from kings their sceptred pride, And turned the lightning's darts aside![A]

[A] Eripuit coelo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis!--_Freneau's note._

[31] First published in the _Daily Advertiser_, April 28, 1790. Text from the 1809 edition. Franklin died April 17.

EPISTLE[32]

From Dr. Franklin [deceased] to his Poetical Panegyrists, on some of their Absurd Compliments

"Good Poets, why so full of pain, Are you sincere--or do you feign?

Love for your tribe I never had, Nor penned three stanzas, good or bad.

At funerals, sometimes, grief appears, Where legacies have purchased tears: 'Tis folly to be sad for nought, From me you never gained a groat.

To better trades I turned my views, And never meddled with the muse; Great things I did for rising States, And kept the lightning from some pates.

This grand discovery, you adore it, But ne'er will be the better for it: You still are subject to those fires, For poets' houses have no spires.