The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 17

Some a-writing, some a-shooting.

Nature's poisons here collected, Water, earth, and air infected-- O, what pity, Such a City, Was in such a place erected!

[75] Published in the 1795 edition. In the index of the 1809 edition, the text of which I have used, it bears the t.i.tle "Pestilence: written during the Prevalence of a yellow fever." It refers to the well-known epidemic in Philadelphia during the late summer and early autumn of 1793.

ON DR. SANGRADO'S FLIGHT[76]

From Philadelphia, in the Time of the Yellow Fever--1793

On prancing steed, with spunge at nose, From town behold Sangrado fly; Camphor and Tar where'er he goes Th' infected shafts of death defy-- Safe in an atmosphere of scents, He leaves us to our own defence.

'Twas right to fly! for well, I ween, In Stygian worlds, all scribes agree, No blushing blossom e'er was seen, Or running brook, or budding tree: No splendid meats, no flowing bowls, Smile on the meagre feast of souls:

No sprightly songs, to banish grief, No b.a.l.l.s, the Elysian beaus prepare, And he that throve on rounds of beef, On onion sh.e.l.ls shall famish there-- Monarchs are there of little note, And Caesar wears a shabby coat.

Chloes on earth, of air and shape, Whose eyes destroy'd poor love-lorn wights, There lower their topsails to the cap, Rig in their booms and furl their kites:-- Where Cupid's bow was never bent, What lover asks a maid's consent?

All this, and more, Sangrado knew, (In Lucian is the story told) Took horse--clapped spurs--and off he flew, Leaving his Sick to fret and scold; Some soldiers, thus, to honour lost, In day of battle quit their post.

[76] First published in the _National Gazette_, September 4, 1793, under the t.i.tle "Orlando's Flight." Text from the 1809 edition.

ELEGY[77]

On the Death of a Blacksmith

With the nerves of a Sampson, this son of the sledge, By the anvil his livelihood got; With the skill of old Vulcan could temper an edge; And struck--while his iron was hot.

By forging he lived, yet never was tried, Or condemned by the laws of the land; But still it is certain, and can't be denied, He often was burnt in the hand.

With the sons of St. Crispin no kindred he claimed, With the last he had nothing to do; He handled no awl, and yet in his time Made many an excellent shoe.

He blew up no coals of sedition, but still His bellows was always in blast; And we will acknowledge (deny it who will) That one Vice, and but one, he possessed.

No actor was he, or concerned with the stage, No audience, to awe him, appeared; Yet oft in his shop (like a crowd in a rage) The voice of a hissing was heard.

Tho' steelling[78] was certainly part of his cares, In thieving he never was found; And, tho' he was constantly beating on bars, No vessel he e'er ran aground.

Alas and alack! and what more can I say Of Vulcan's unfortunate son?-- The priest and the s.e.xton have borne him away, And the sound of his hammer is done.

[77] Published in the _National Gazette_, September 18, 1793. Text from the 1809 edition.

TO SYLVIUS[79]

On his Preparing to Leave the Town

Can love of fame the gentle muse inspire Where he that h.o.a.rds the most has all the praise; Where avarice, and her tribe, each bosom fire, All heap the enormous store for rainy days; Proving by such perpetual round of toil That man was born to grovel on the soil?

Expect not, in these times of rude renown That verse, like your's, will have the chance to please: No taste for plaintive elegy is known, Nor lyric ode--none care for things like these-- Gold, only gold, this n.i.g.g.ard age delights, That honours none but money-catching wights.

Sink not beneath the mean abusive strain Of puny wits, dull sycophants in song, Who, post, or place, or one poor smile to gain, Besiege Mambrino's door, and round him throng Like insects creeping to the morning sun To enjoy his heat--themselves possessing none.

All must applaud your choice, to quit a stage Where knaves and fools in every scene abound; Where modest worth no patron can engage-- But boisterous folly walks her noisy round; Some narrow-hearted demi-G.o.d adores, And Fortune's path with servile step explores.

[78] "Tho' steelling of axes was part of his cares."--_1795 Ed._

[79] Text from the 1809 edition. This was Freneau's valedictory on leaving Philadelphia after the failure of the _National Gazette_.

THE BLESSINGS OF THE POPPY[80]

--_Opifer per Orbem dicor._ "In this the G.o.d, benevolent to man, Lulls every woe, and deadens every pain."

When the first men to this world's climates came Smit by the winter's rude inclement blast, Unskilled to raise the wall, or wake the fire, Badly, in narrow huts, their lives they pa.s.sed.

Conscious of pains they knew not how to cure, In vain they sighed, and sighing begged relief, No druggist came, by art or reason taught With strength of potent herbs, to calm their grief.

Fierce tortures to allay, some reverend sage Preach'd Patience to the pangs, that could not hear; For restless anguish doomed her victim still To groan thro' life, and sigh from year to year,

At length from Jove, and heaven's etherial dome Sky-walking Hermes came to view these plains: He looked--and saw what fate or G.o.ds had done, And gave the Poppy, to relieve all pains.

Then to the sons of grief his speech addressed, "Through this dull flower is shed such potent dew, "When pain distracts--drink this--and drown in sleep "All ills, that Nature sent to torture you.

"From other worlds, by other beings trod, "To these bleak climes this plundered plant I bore; "Receive a gift, all worthy of a G.o.d, "Since pain, when hushed to sleep,--is pain no more."

[80] Text from the 1809 edition.