The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 44

ON SENIORA JULIA

Leaving a Dance, under Pretence of Drowsiness[185]

She, at the soul enlivening, ball, And in the lamp illumined hall But small amus.e.m.e.nt found; She shunn'd the cards' bewitching play, She shunn'd the noisy and the gay, Nor cared for music's sound.

No nymph discover'd so much spleen, Was so reserved as Julia, seen On that enchanting night: And yet she had her part to say When young Almagro shared the play, Then cards were her delight.

But he retired, amid the dance; He heard, he said, of news from France, And of a serious cast: He wish'd to know beyond all doubt, What Bonaparte was now about, How long his sway would last.

Then, Julia made a good retreat, But left the a.s.sembly incomplete; She was with sleep oppress'd.-- Who shall the midnight dance prolong Who lead the minuet, raise the song Where Julia is no guest?

Yet, love declared her judgment right, And whisper'd, when she bade good night And feign'd an aching head, "While some retreat and some advance, Let them enjoy the festive dance, You, Julia, go to bed."

[185] From the edition of 1815.

LINES ON SENIORA JULIA

of Port Oratave[186]

Adorn'd with every charm that beauty gives, That nature lends, or female kind receives, Good sense and virtue on each feature shine; She is--she is not--yes, she is divine.

She speaks, she moves with all attracting grace, And smiles display the angel on the face; Her aspect all, what female would not share?

What youth but worship, with a mind so fair?

In this famed isle, the cloud-capp'd Teneriffe, Where health abounds and languor finds relief; In this bright isle, where Julia treads the plain, What rapture fires the bosom of the swain!

At her approach, the breast untaught to glow, Like the vast peak, retains eternal snow.

Feels not the first, best ardors of the mind; Respect and awe, to love and friendship join'd.

When to Laguna's[A] heights she deigns to stray, To myrtle bowers, and gardens ever gay, Where spring eternal on the fragrant grove Breathes the bright scenes of harmony and love; All eyes, attracted, by her graceful mein View her, the unrivall'd favorite of the green, And when, too soon, she would the garden leave, See Paradise forsaken by its Eve.

[A] An ancient town once the capital. Four miles from the sea.--_Freneau's note._

Return bright nymph, attractive as admired, And be what Plato from your s.e.x required; Mild as your clime, that rarely knows a storm, The angelic nature in a female form.

Canary's[B] towns their splendid halls prepare, But all is dark, when Julia is not there.

Not Oratava, on the sea-beat sh.o.r.e, In her gay circles finds one Julia more, Not high Lavelia[C] boasts so sweet a face; Not Garrachica could yourself replace; Not old Laguna can supply your loss, Nor yet the city of the holy-cross.[D]

[B] Canary, a large island south eastward of Teneriffe.--_Ibid._

[C] An old city in the mountains.--_Ibid._

[D] Santa Cruz, the Capital; on the southeast quarter of the island.--_Ibid._

Where love and pa.s.sion, from the world conceal'd: Devotion's winter has to frost congeal'd; Yet beauty, there, adorns the brilliant dome, Invites her loves, and bids her votaries come; Fair Santa-Cruz her beauty, too, commands, And, was but Julia there, unrivall'd stands.

Flush'd with the blessings of the generous vine, The island bards, to honor you, combine; The stranger guest, all tongues, when you appear, Confess you, lovely, charming, all things dear; Among the rest, accept my homely lay: The last respect I can to Julia pay: A different subject soon my verse awaits, Contending powers, or disunited states; Yet shall remembrance renovate the past, And, when you die, your name unfading last: Though mists obscure, or oceans round me swell, To the deep seas I go, the world to tell That Julia, foremost, does this isle engage, And moves the first, bright Venus of my page.

[186] From the edition of 1815.

ON A RURAL NYMPH

Descending from one of the Madeira mountains, with a bundle of fuel wood, on her head[187]

Six miles, and more, with nimble foot She came from some sequestered spot, A handsome, swarthy, rustic maid With furze and fern, upon her head: The burthen hid a bonnet blue, The only hat, perhaps, she knew, No slippers on her feet were seen; Yet every step display'd a mein As if she might in courts appear, Though placed by wayward fortune here.

An english man, who saw her, said, Your burthen is too heavy laid, Dear girl your lot is rather hard, And, after all, a poor reward: This is not labor suiting you, Come with me home to England go, And you shall have a coach and four, A silken gown--and something more.

'Disturb me not (the girl replied) 'I choose to walk--let others ride: 'I would not leave yond' rugged hill 'To have your London at my will-- 'You are too great for such as I:--'

When thus the briton made reply:

'Had I but thirty years to spare, 'And you precisely what you are, 'Had seen you thirty years ago 'In style of living, high or low, 'You should have been a lady gay, 'And dizzen'd out as fine as May: 'Why stay you here, to face the sun, 'And drudging till the day is done, 'While little to the purse it brings 'But little store of little things?'

She said, 'before the sun was up 'I finish'd with my chocolate cup: 'A hank of yarn I fairly spun, 'And, when the hank of yarn was done, 'To have a fire, and cook our mess 'I travell'd yonder wilderness; 'I climb'd a mountain very tall, 'Unwearied, and without a fall, 'And gather'd up this little pack 'Which now you see me carrying back;-- 'Your northern girls at this might laugh, 'But such a jaunt would kill them half-- 'Disturb me not, I must go on; 'Ten minutes, while I talk, are gone.'--

If she grew rich by hanks of yarn, Is more than we shall ever learn; If thrive she did by climbing hills, No history or tradition tells; But this we know, and this we say, That where a despot holds the sway, To pay the tax of king and queen The common herd are poor and mean.

The slaves of lords the slaves of priests, And nearly saddled, like the beasts.-- Where liberty erects her reign Dulcina would have had her swain, With horse and cow--which she had not, Nor ever to possess them thought: She would have had, to save her feet, A pair of shoes and suit complete.

A decent dress, and not of rags, A state above the rank of hags; A language if not over fine, At least above the beggar's whine.

Yet such attend on fortune's frowns, And such support the pride of crowns.

[187] From the edition of 1815.

ON GENERAL MIRANDA'S EXPEDITION

Towards the Caraccas, Spanish Provinces in South America, February--1805[188]

To execute a vast design, The soul, Miranda, was not thine: With you the fates did not combine To make an empire free.

We saw you spread Leander's sail, We saw the adverse winds prevail, Sad omen that the cause would fail That led you to the sea.

By feeble winds the sail was fill'd By feebler hands the helm was held-- We saw you from the port repell'd[A]

You might have made your own.

We saw you leave a manly crew To the base spaniard, to imbrue His hands in blood--and not a few Were on his mercy thrown: