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JUVENILE POEMS, ON A DIVERSITY OF SUBJECTS.

BY JOSEPH HAZARD.

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PREFACE.

HAVING had a transient view of the follow­ing Poetic Compositions, composed by the Author at about twenty years of age, they appear to me to dis­play the traits of a genius propitiously fostered by the Muses; and give a specimen of what might be expected from the same Author, having arrived to riper years, under the cultivation of experience and reading, and especially the influence of a more serious and heavenly turn of mind; which tends not only to elevate and clarify the Parnassian Font, but to give its streams a more happy direction:—I can, therefore, recommend them to the public perusal.

A FRIEND of PARNASSUS.
June 15th, 1789.
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JUVENILE POEMS.

An Elegy on the death of the Rev. John Ogilvie, D. D. who departed this life the 26th Nov. 1774.

SAY, weeping Muse, what means that passing bell!
What breathless corse demands that solemn knell!
What soul, departed, moves in sad parade
To Death's cold mansions, and the gloomy shade?
But, ah! methinks the fatal news is spread,
And fame proclaims, that Ogilvie is dead.
The pious Ogilvie! is he no more!
Then Zion mourn, thy heavy loss deplore;
In solemn grief command thy tears to flow,
And bid each bosom swell with anxious woe:
Let all thy courts in sable robes be hung,
And fun'ral dirges sound from ev'ry tongue:
Thy faithful Pastor, from thy bosom torn,
His charge to keep, shall never more return.
(Yet, could our grief, or floods of tears, oh Death!
Restore him spirit, and his vital breath;
That frame inanimate, again should live,
And thou thy victim to existence give:
But vain is grief, when life's extinct and fled;
The sluggish mass returns not from the dead;
Nor sorrow, tears, or mourning, can retrieve
The clay-cold victim from the op'ning grave.)
Speak ye, his Fav'rite, once peculiar care,
How vast his worth, how great his virtues were:
Say, with what grace his heav'nly accents flow'd—
How much he lov'd, how much rever'd his God:
[Page 5]What strong conviction, to his precepts join'd,
Alarm'd each thoughtless, unbelieving mind:
Whilst harden'd sinners trembled as they sate,
Struck with the horrors of their dang'rous state,
Their past offences in contrition mourn'd,
And, sorrowing, sought the God they once had scorn'd.
This, happy Saint, was here thy great employ—
To serve thy God, thy sole, thy only joy:
But time, and sense, are now with thee no more;
Past are thy labours, and thy cares are o'er:
Thy soul, enlarg'd, mounts the celestial road,
And Seraphs safe conduct thee to thy God;
Myriads of Angels thy arrival wait,
And hail thy ent'rance in Jerus'lem's gate;
Whilst Heav'ns high arch with shouts of triumph rings,
And loud Hosannas to the King of kings:
There, full fruition is thy just reward,
And thou art happy in thy Saviour Lord;
With Saints made perfect, thou thy song shall raise,
And spend a whole eternity in praise.
New-York, Dec. 26th, 1774.

An Elegy on the death of Miss Polly Preston, who died December 26th, 1781.

YE sprightly fair, who form the sportive train,
And follow on in pleasure's flowery maze,
Permit the Muse to urge her plaintive strain,
And court your int'rest, tho' unmov'd by praise.
Hard is the task—experience speaks it hard—
Nor dare her fondest, warmest hopes presume
The moral lesson will ensure regard,
Or truths impress, tho' issuing from the tomb:
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Yet, o'er the counsels of Maria dwell,
Nor fiction this, from Poets' fancy penn'd;
These, from her lips, in fault'ring accents fell—
The dying tribute to her weeping friend.—
And art thou come, Eliza, to behold
The last sad struggle of her sinking frame,
Who soon shall be in death's long lists enroll'd,
And to the number, add Maria's name?
Swift speeds the time, when from its kindred clay
The soul, unloos'd, shall wing her rapid flight
To worlds unknown—explore the mystic way—
Launch'd in the vast abyss of infinite.
But, oh! e'er yet I to the world am lost,
And bid my final, long and sad adieu,
My lab'ring mind, 'midst various conflicts tost,
Still owns the friendship that it bore for you.
See the drear symptoms of the swift decay!
The languid eye-ball, and the nerve unstrung!
My feeble pulse almost forbears to play,
And speech, abortive, dies upon my tongue.
Mark well the solemn, the instructive scene!
View youth and vigour here enfeebled lie!
Oh! say, what less can the sad import mean—
Loud is the call,—Ye young! prepare to die!
Shun, then, my friend, each fond, delusive joy;
Give their full worth—and Vanity's the sum;
Let solemn themes the Heav'n-born mind employ,
And seek the pleasures of a world to come:
Flee the vain follies of the thoughtless age,
As far below the wise immortal's care;
Obey the precepts of the inspir'd page,
And learn to trace sublime enjoyment there.
The humble suppliant at the throne of grace,
In ardent breathings, let your suit arise;
[Page 7]Nor rest estranged from your Maker's face;—
So shall Eliza be sincerely wise.
She spake;—and scarce the solemn charge enjoin'd,
E'er gasping nature spent its feeble breath;
When the Fair Monitor her life resign'd,
And bow'd a victim to relentless death!
Ye youths, who bore the torpid Maid's remains,
The ghastly reliques of once ripening bloom,
In sad procession o'er your native plains,
And round her clos'd the deeply yawning tomb;
Where now the charms of the attractive fair!
The blushing cheek, and brightly sparkling eye!
She's gone—forever gone!—to moulder where
Youth, wit and beauty, unexampled lie.
Come, then, ye gay, forget the recent blow,
Exhaust your strength, your wonted sports pursue;
Indulge your mirth, and spend your prime; but know
There is a God—a God of judgment too.
Pardon the thought! Far hence be strains severe;
Let Reason urge her long unheeded claim;
With def'rence due the friendly voice revere,
Nor longer frustrate her ingenuous aim.
Could you convene to form the giddy throng,
And to the viol dance with airy tread?
Deaf to reflection, act the double wrong,
Degrade the living, and insult the dead?
Hence let not grov'ling sense the sceptre wield;
Ye young, be taught from this the Almighty's rod;
Let baseless joys to bliss substantial yield,
Aspire, and seek your happiness in God.
So shall your youth's be nobly crown'd indeed,
And years come fraught with wisdom's sweet increase;
[Page 8]To lives well spent the promis'd Heav'n succeed,
And death's kind summons waft your souls to peace.
Woodbury, 1781.

TO MR. JOSIAH MINOR. A Hymn on Communion with God.

FAR hence away my fears,
Let ev'ry gloom depart;
Forbear to flow, ye briny tears,
Or throb this aching heart.
Jesus displays his grace;
I feel his glories shine;
And the sweet vision of his face
Yields ecstacies divine.
Beneath his gracious smiles,
My soul o'erflows with bliss;
And sorrows, sins, cares, guilt and toils,
Are lost in happiness.
When I can call thee mine—
Of thee, my God, possest;
For greater joys I'd ne'er repine,
For I am truly blest.
Here let me ever dwell,
And o'er thy beauties gaze;
To the wide world thy glories tell,
And spread thro' earth thy praise.
Creations ample round
Can no such joys afford;
Supreme delight alone is found—
Alone in thee, my Lord.
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Increase the sacred view,
Nor let my sins controul;
With ev'ry look transform anew
Thy servant's thirsting soul.
My God! for thee I pant—
To thee, my God! I cry—
'Tis Heav'n, if thou thy presence grant,
'Tis death, if thou deny.
Lo! at thy feet I fall,
And prostrate in the dust;
Jesus, to thee commend my all,
My hope, my only trust.
I'll praise my God and King,
While life and breath remains—
'Till death consigns this soul to sing
In more angelic strains.
Then to the worlds on high
I'll soar, on wings of love,
Join in the anthems of the sky,
And aid the songs above.
Woodbury, Oct. 19th, 1782.

An Elegy on the death of Mrs. Ann Platt, who died January 17th, 1788, in the 74th year of her age.

SHE's gone! she's wing'd her flight from earth to Heav'n;
But, oh! thy virtues yield a rich perfume;
Blest saint! of these thy native plains the flow'r,
And but transplanted in yon Heav'n to bloom.
Of softest manners, and affections mild,
Grace was in thee conspicuous to be seen;
Kindness, the language of thy heav'n-born soul,
Thy ev'ry action, gentle and serene:
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Calm as the bosom of the op'ning morn—
Thy countenance, with wisdom mark'd, divine;
Blest wisdom, mild descending from above,
By thy meek Master taught, thy face did shine.
From thee, the needy had their calls supply'd;
Each child of Want was welcome to thy store:
Thy lib'ral hands the gen'rous alms bestow'd,
And Indigence went smiling from thy door.
The tatter'd Orphan claim'd thy constant care;
Thy kind relief made glad the Widow's heart;
And Wand'rers fed, left blessings at thy door—
Griev'd from such undeserved worth to part.
The num'rous Houshold, but of slender board,
From thee, a grateful competency drew;
The Mother, o'er the meal, spoke forth thy praise,
And Prattlers small, their Benefactress knew.
Thy counsel kind, drawn from the sacred page,
Oft from thy God receiv'd the pray'd success;
Reviv'd the Child of Woe, to whom address'd,
And calm'd the heaving bosom of distress.
In holy Prudence, pattern reach'd by none—
Unequall'd continence of Speech was thine;
Oh grant, Great Source! whence all her worth she drew,
Thy Suppliant's prayer, and make her silence mine.
Where the diseas'd, on beds of sickness lay,
And wasting pains wore out the less'ning frame;
O'er them thou stood, with unremitted care,
To heal, or mitigate their iils, thy aim.
From converse oft, with sacred writ inspir'd▪
Fraught with its truths, with grace teem'd forth thy mind;
Canaan's mild heav'nly dialect was thine,
And spoke thee just, prepar'd to bliss consign'd.
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With solemn joy, thou hail'd the sacred day
When saints, conven'd before their God, appear;
And, at each hallow'd season, there was seen,
Treading the courts of Zion's King, with fear:
Eager each precept heard, and with delight
Each word, as from the preacher's lips it fell,
With sweet avidity of soul devour'd,
And then ador'd with bliss ineffable.
But, ripe for Heav'n, full ripe thou quit our sphere,
And, from thy mansion to thy tomb, was borne;
A solemn death, felt blank prevails around,
While all the neighb'ring village adds, we mourn:
While bright Coelestials, in yon shining realms,
The calm, pure regions of eternal day;
Welcome thy heav'n-born spirit to the skies,
To dwell beneath thy God's unveiled ray.
There, from thy seat, with ever ceaseless view,
Upon thy God, thy friend, 'tis thine to gaze;
While all thy soul, absorb'd in love divine,
O'erflows with endless and adoring praise!
Smith-Town, (Long-Island) July 1788.

To a Student, at the Academy at East-Hampton.

TO scan with care the scientific page,
Where Knowledge does her various stores unfold,
Our only inmost wish to improve the age,
And form the mind to Virtue's softest mould.
For this, our studious hours to employ;
For this, to urge the penetrating thought;
Conscious to foster the ingenuous joy,
While we peruse the Tomes with learning fraught.
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Oh, thou Great Parent! whose unbounded sight
At one wide view includes th' Eternal sum
Of what e'er has, or ne'er has seen the light!
Of all that's past, or present, or to come!
Be thou his guide, where useful Science winds
Her hidden paths, and follows Wisdom's lead;
Grant him those aims that fir'd coelestial minds,
His fondest hopes, and ev'ry wish, succeed:
With deep Humility adorn his soul,
And in profound prostration may he lie;
For thee, each act perform, 'till years shall roll
Round him his date, and call him to the sky.
While you scan o'er the regions of the East,
And from the hemisphere of breaking day,
Where morning smiles the circling Heav'ns invest,
Trace blushing Ganges silent sliding way:
Or wander o'er Arabia's sultry plain,
And view the interminable burning sand,
Where the rapacious Moor holds his domain,
And deals wide terror thro' the distant land:
Or ruminate where Egypt's richer soil
Heaves from her breast the aromatic store;
Or search, where to the lab'ring miner's toil,
Peru unfolds her latent, massy ore:
Or from the caverns, to th' aerial pile,
Where pyramidic walls their charge contains,
And reliques sleep, for cent'ries, with a smile,
Entire, and promulgate the artists pains.
Hence, then, from Nature's wise constructed frame,
Your soul ascends to God, the Great First Cause,
Whose ev'ry work his glorious skill proclaims,
And gave to Nature, Nature's steady laws.
Oh thou! (say you) whose knowledge without bound,
Bids man to his own Nothingness retire,
[Page 13]Teach me to lie in lowest dust profound—
In all my Science, thee alone admire.
Smith-Town, (Long-Island) June 26th, 1788.

ELEGIES,—MORAL AND SENTIMENTAL.

ELEGY 1st. On Rural Retirement.

FOR rural scenes, and soft umbrageous bowr's,
I bid the town, and emp [...]y joys adieu;
The regal roof, and cloud envelop'd towr's,
Delight no more, but pall my sick'ning view.
Let servile souls for sordid gain contend,
The pomp of lucre captivates not me;
Serene I rest, where gelid shades descend,
And like the warblers of my grove am free.
Gay, simple nature, uncontroul'd by art,
Thro'out the varied length'ning landscape reigns;
Empurpled meads their fragran [...] [...]s impart,
And balmy Zephyrs waft 'em o'er the plains.
Far in a devious, unfrequented spot,
Where slowly steals the gently murm'ring stream,
My frugal tenement, and decent cot,
Affords me shelter from the noon-tide beam.
What tho' my walls, with no wrought canvass hung,
Admit no visits in my humble vale;
Here Slander shews not her envenom'd tongue,
Nor livid Envy taints the springing gale.
Not luscious grapes, for me their juice distill,
Nor aromatic dainties grace my board:
Pleas'd, I refresh me at the bub'ling rill,
And feed on fruits my fertile plains afford.
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The birds' shrill carols, call me forth at dawn,
The dew-bespangled hills reflecting light;
The shrubby woodland, and protracted lawn,
With vivid beauties charm the enraptur'd sight.
O'er pendant cliff, or sterile heath I rove,
With random step, incautious where I stray;
Or through the solemn recess of the grove,
Still plodding onward, bend my pathless way.
Say, tho' no sumptuous, rich, ensculptur'd dome,
Welcomes me, weary'd, and invites to rest;
With me Content takes up her humble home,
And in my lowly shed, decrees me blest.
Thanks be to Fate, that pointed this retreat;
To fate, in chorus with the feather'd throng,
My voice exulting, shall her praise repeat;
Whilst grotts, responsive, harmonize the song.
New-York, 1775.

ELEGY 2d. On the Tyranny of his Britannic Majesty.

AUSPICIOUS hour! again the fav'ring Muse
My ardor prompts, nor can my pen refrain:
Shall I the kind, indulgent call refuse,
Or blast the impulse by a cold disdain?—
Genius of Liberty! do thou preside
The jealous Guardian of our Western sphere!
Here may thy Fanes emerge in sacred pride,
And e'en exotic vot'ries worship here!
Hapless Britannia—deluded isle!—
Lost are thy former virtues—lost thy fame!—
Ah! sad reverse—when Albion's honour'd soil
Ignobly changes to a land of shame!
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Accurs'd Ambition, how dost thou disgrace
The splendid Monarch, and his sceptre stain!—
Will not some future good the blot efface—
Or nought but ills distinguish George's reign!
Say, shall the sword, unsheath'd by tyrant rage,
Profanely glitter o'er no alien land?
Inhuman strife! where sires with sons engage,
And brothers languish by a brother's hand.
Ill-fated victims of despotic ire,
What crouds of heroes have their breath resign'd!
See Warren bleed— Montgomery expire,
And greatly fall for freedom and mankind!
Relentless war—inexorable fate—
Does death exult—superior greatness seize!
Ah! why forbid the hero longer date—
Ah! why not take less valu'd lives than these?—
Nor yet, confin'd within the patriot's tomb,
Declines his fame, or moulders with his dust,
Virtue's fair wreath commands eternal bloom—
Perennial honours coronate the just.
Not the rude ravage of oblivious years
Merit impares, nor yet decays with age:
The gilded Tome conspicuous worth reveres,
And proudly stamps it on th' historic page.
Long-Island, Aug. 2d. 1776.

ELEGY 3d. The Lot of Humanity.

THE heirs of sorrow, from life's earliest date,
Alike with ills one common war we wage;
Through every period feel the blasts of fate,
In grief's dark volume only, shift the page.
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Predestin'd pupils for a school of pain,
How soon, alas! we sad proficients grow;
Foreign to us, all knowledge else is vain,
Wise only in diversity of woe.
Some flattering form of happiness invites;
Eager we start—the tinsell'd bauble chace;—
In fond pursuits of fancy, drawn delights
Urge the abortive, unsuccessful race.
Caught by the appearance of illusive joys,
Fictitious pleasures, we for real believe;
Yet, ah! how soon the wish'd fruition cloys,
And nought behind but deadly poisons leave.
So the gay serpent, as he basks supine,
Charms the fleet warbler on his airy way;
Downward he drops, inconscious of design,
To latent death, an unsuspecting prey.
Of what avail is Reason's friendly beam,
Celestial light! to aid our frailties giv'n?
Immers'd in darkness, scarce a feeble gleam
Vouches the gift peculiar of Heav'n.
Mere slaves of Passion's arbitrary sway,
Restraint we know not, nor admit controul;
But blindly err, as Folly marks the way,
And one impetuous frenzy rules the soul:
Deaf to Reflection's moralizing pow'rs,
In vain they point their efficacious balm;
Dark o'er the mind, one gloomy tempest low'rs,
Nor yields the shortest interval of calm.
What strange fatality our [...]eps attend!
What dire events result our ev'ry deed!
From specious bliss some sad mischance depends,
Wounds us to lose, and kills, if we succeed.
The sport of Fortune, at her option tost,
Of ev'ry sensual appetite the slave—
[Page 17]Each purpos'd scheme, by wayward fortune crost—
Ah! why should we protracted being crave!
Tormenting state! sad privilege to live!
Too late convin'd, th' important truth we know;
Life's fairest prospects glitter to deceive,
Nor true Felicity exists below.
New-Haven, Dec. 24th, 1776.

ELEGY 4th. To Major Robert T—p, at Ticonderoga.

HEALTH to my friend! may ev'ry fav'rite joy
Be thine, Censorius, and thy wishes crown;
No rude intruding cares thy breast annoy,
Or wayward fates on thee indignant frown.
Yet, ah! for me no brighten'd prospects bloom;
Nor plausive Hope her flatt'ring mirror shews:
Nor gay Ambition shakes his gaudy plume;
Nor e'en my foster'd Muse admits repose:
Night follows night, and day succeeds to day—
Painful succession! still without relief;
Chearless I view the sun's diurnal ray,
And Cynthia rises but to fit in grief.
By curs'd Oppression's arbitrary hand,
From ev'ry comfort, ev'ry pleasure torn;
Far from my home, and in a stranger land,
I absent friends, and souls congenial, mourn.
For me, no more the soul-inspiring wine,
Or jocund song, or jovial laugh, goes round;
No more for me the brilliant bumpers shine,
Or sparkling wit, in mirthful glee, resounds.
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To seek the cooler recess of the grove,
The shrubby covert, or the upland shade,
What boots it then? as in disgust I rove;
E'en Nature's beauties lose their charms, and fade.
The distant water-fall, the gurgling rill,
That plaintive keeps the darken'd vale below;
The pathless forest, and the airy hill—
Seem but to vie for precedence in woe.
Sullen, some cragged steep I now ascend—
Now o'er some waste, my gloomy course pursue;
Here sad Reflection hints my high-priz'd friend,
And doubly wounds, in ev'ry thought of you.
From early youth, and with our rising age,
Alike we were so pair'd by destiny;
Together we explor'd the Classic page,
And riper years has firmer knit the tye.
'Tis yours to seek the Trophies of the field,
And, toiling, tread the rough ascents to fame;
For you, e'en distant climes their laurels yield,
And northern blasts provoke the warrior's flame.
Here I, retir'd, and to the world unknown,
Remote from Honour, and its madding blaze,
Regard not Slander, or essay renown;
Heedless alike of censure and of praise.
Say, when shall Fortune more propitious prove,
And kinder stars, with kinder influence chear?
Ah! when confer one soul that I could love,
Of kindred mould, in social converse dear!
No greater bliss I'd court her to bestow,
Grateful, content with this I'd ask no more;
Soft as our union should the minutes go,
And to my mind its long lost calm restore:
With him delighted, chearful could I stray;
By him approv'd, revive with ev'ry smile;
[Page 19]Joyful, salute each new returning day,
And languid hours in sprightly chat beguile.
Perhaps some fav'ring Genius may decree
A milder lot—my discontent suspend;
Perchance, recall me to felicity;
Perchance, a more auspicious season send.
Here, then, I rest—nor will no more complain;
But bid my murmurs, with my lays, to cease;
Some Glorious Aera shall restore again
To me my friends, my freedom, and my peace.
Westbury, June 3d, 1777.

ELEGY 5th. On the Pleasures of Imagination.

HAIL, dear delusion! fascinating form!
Thou flattering mirror of each soft delight!
Benign bestower of each varied charm
That prompts our rapture, or transports our sight!
Be thou my guide through life's indignant storm—
Lead me through vernal fancy's flow'ry maze;
With airy hopes my beating bosom warm,
And gild th' allotted tenor of my days.
Borne up aloft on Expectation's wings,
Through fairy'd realms of pleasure let me soar!
Scarce stoop to taste the good that fortune brings,
But shifting scenes, new paths of bliss explore.
Ideal bliss, is bliss the most extreme,
Which, once possess'd, in tasteless langour dies:
The joys we find ecstatic in a dream,
Lose half their zest when e'er we realize.
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No—still enamour'd of some gay deceit,
By ardor's pencil drawn divinely fair,
Eager let me pursue the foster'd cheat—
In thee, Delusion, constant raptures share.
'Tis thine, Imagination, bright decoy!
The purpos'd bliss with lustre to improve—
Refine and heighten the intended joy,
And wake indiff'rence to the glows of love.
Form'd by the chrystall'd scepter of thy sway,
What rais'd ideas brighten through the heart!
Thy magic touch can added charms display,
And to the wish superior grace impart!
Modell'd by thee, what vivid beauties rise,
And dazzling, strike the captivated view!
Around 'tis Heav'n that blooms beneath the skies,
And all creation charms again anew!
Still lead me onward, gently pleasing pow'r!
O'er all th' elysium of fond desire;
Through smiling hope's luxuriant, roseate bow'r,
And my wrapt soul to ecstacy inspire!
'Mid sweet delusions—high wrought visions lost,
Supremest luxury of bliss I feel!
Convinc'd by wayward fortune, to my cost,
That joys imagin'd far transcend the real!
Westbury, Feb. 24th, 1778.

ELEGY 6th. Written soon after the Author retired from New-York, upon its being invested by the British Forces.

FROM friends, from fortune, and from life exil'd—
From ev'ry bliss my ravish'd soul held dear;
From airy scenes, where want'ning pleasure smil'd,
And rosy mirth led on the jocund year:—
[Page 21]
What then avails, that youth's impetuous glow,
The high-wrought zest & genial warmth are mine;
Ah! what, since fate hath destin'd me to woe—
Marr'd ev'ry joy, and blown each fond design!
Where the associates of my vernal hours,
The blythe companions of my happier days?—
Where the glad strains, that charm'd my 'raptur'd powr's,
And rung the Hall with clam'rous peals of praise?
Nor mid-night song, nor crowded social board,
Nor sparkling sallies of convivial glee,
Their bright, enliv'ning, wonted aid afford—
Or deigns a joy to waste itself on me.
To scan the admir'd, scientific page
Which once amus'd this mind, no more at ease,
Nor longer now the vitiate taste engage—
Nor e'en thy graceful numbers, Pope, can please!
No—not the lively, animated lay,
Can soothe this drooping breast's perpetual drear!
Slow moves the time, replete with ills, away,
And day returns to sicken, not to chear.
Say, can the lark, whom summer's fragrant bloom
To carol prompts, beneath the verdant shade—
Yet, would he warble through the winter's gloom,
Or thrill his sonnet o'er the scowling glade?
In vain I strive th' affected smile to wear,
Or to the speech false pleasantries impart—
I'll vers'd to hide the rising throbs of Care,
Or feign the feeling foreign to the heart.
Far happier they, whose milder fate ordains,
In this done vill, to walk their humbler round;
Pursue the harmless pastime of their plains,
Nor know a wish beyond the hamlet bound:
[Page 22]
Content to urge the labours of the soil,
And speed their task along the sult'ry field;
Pleas'd if the season should repay their toil,
And to their pains the plenteous harvest yield.
Unknowing, they to vision'd schemes of wealth,
Or distant realms, for sordid gain explore;
Exchange for luxury the flush of health,
Or barter peace to heap the shining ore.
Alike obscure to discord and to fame,
Calmly they glide down life's unruffled stream;
Nor sell Ambition mocks their lowly aim—
Eludes their grasp, or baulks the pompous dream.
Untaught the guileless maiden of the dale
The look of virgin virtue to despise—
Her native charms with modern tints to veil,
Or cloud her features with a bought disguise.—
Their purer manners undebauch'd by mode,
Nor yet the pride of conscious worth disclaim;
Elate to wear the meed of vice bestow'd,
Or costly robe, the gorgeous garb of shame!
For them, Content each varying season brings,
Nor keen disease the plain repast await;
From tortur'd viands no disorder springs,
To blast the temperate tenour of their date.
Unpractis'd they in each refin'd resource,
The gorg'd or sickly palate to controul—
With art the languid appetite to force,
Or drain the pois'nous nectar from the bowl.
Would that my better genius had decreed
My fate like their's, and sav'd the sad review!
Like them the simpler, humbler life to lead—
Like them their toils, their homely sports pursue.
Alas, how frustrate ev'ry hope that charm'd!
Far diff'rent views my daring breast inspir'd—
[Page 23]Far other aims my youthful bosom warm'd,
And all my soul to pleasing frenzy fir'd.
See, Disappointment, with invidious shade,
Shrouds the gay purpose of each wish'd delight!
Waves her black wand—the gaudy colours fade,
And the fair prospect dies upon the fight!
To me, how dismal frowns this dark retreat!—
Deep glooms the aspect of the prostrate vale;
No sweet reliefs the heaving bosom meet,
And woes alone invest the rising gale.
Can I, untutor'd yet in aged Lore,
Spurn the past scenes by Memory recoil'd;
With beaming eye, run the stern region o'er,
Or smile with transport o'er th' uncultur'd wild?
No, not the vivid verdure of the mead,
Or landscape glittering to the solar ray—
Nor varied dyes in rich profusion spread,
Call the fond wish, or prompt the dubious stay.
To the fair banks where Hudson's copious tide
Rolls its carulean tribute to the main,
Fain would I seek my native shores, deny'd
Thy splendid seats, re-visit York again.
Ah, wretched Isle! to tyr [...] ill [...] a prey—
Can lawless force be sanction'd by a throne?
Can monarchs, pleas'd, a sinking realm survey—
Or hear, unmov'd, a free-born nation groan!—
Say, shall we then, in calm submission, bear
Each servile weight, to base subjection broke—
With dastard souls, ignoble fetters wear,
Or coolly bend beneath a despot's yoke?
No—'tis Resentment stimulates to arms—
'Tis Virtue fans the patriotic flame;
Freedom for us displays her fairest charms,
And points the paths to Liberty and Fame!
[Page 24]
Not venal Senates, with a stern command,
The opposing just at pleasure shall enslave:
Propitious Heav'n regards an injur'd land,
The smiles of fortune crown the virtuous brave!
Westbury, April 23d, 1778.

ELEGY 7th. A Parody on Gray's Elegy.

THE Cow-bell sounds the country's dreary knell;
The unyok'd ox now rests beneath the tree;
The weary'd hind, loud snoring, rests full well—
And leaves me here to Gloom, and Westbury.
Now fades the rocky Landscape to the eye,
And all the air is solemn, calm and still;
Save where the Horn-bug hums his melody,
And drowsy thumps the distant Fulling-Mill:
Save from the bosom of yon shadowy vale,
The shrew-tongu'd Whippern ill her plaint repeats,
Of those, that wand'ring o'er the dreary dale,
Disturb her humble, melancholy seat.
Here, on the summi [...] [...]p, this rough form'd hill,
Where heaves the stone in many an awful pile,
In vain I try the loit'ring time to kill;
In vain essay dull moments to beguile.
The ratt'ling cart, the High-Dutch millmaid's call;
The Drunkard, bellowing from the dramshop door;
The Clam-man's halloo, and Lime-woman's squall—
From morning slumbers wake me now no more.
For me, no more the frothing Bowl shall flow,
Or Waiter ply his labours at the bar;
No comic Group invite me forth to go
Patrole the streets, or hear the Hawkster's spar.
[Page 25]
Oft did the Watchmen from our route retreat;
Our arm full oft the glittering sash has broke:
How jocund did we ramble thro' the street!
How bow'd the Signs beneath [...] [...]rdy stroke!
Let not Morality, disdaining, bea [...]
Of youthful sports, and festive jollity;
Nor stiff Preciseness listen with a sneer,
To roaring scenes of midnight Gaiety.
The boast of Revelry, the pomp of Mirth,
With all the glow of Buckism's full bloom,
Alike await their mandate to the earth;—
The paths of Pleasure tend but to the Tomb.
Perhaps this Parish Burial Ground, contains
A soul once pregnant with convivial glee;
Or voice, that tun'd to Bacchanalian strains,
The heart could raise to joyous ecstacy.
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the blame,
If not their praise rehears'd from kindred tongues▪
If, unrecorded in the songs of Fame,
Their glorious actions yet remain unsung.
Can sprightly verse, or animated lays,
Back to existence call the lifeless Rake?
Say, will he hearken to the [...] praise,
Or to the sound of Mer [...] [...] [...]ake?
But, Cities to their view did ne'er disclose
Their ample page, with various humour fraught;
Drear Ignorance their jovial current froze,
And check'd their noble manliness of thought.
Full many a youth, by cruel fate assign'd
Mid aukward hinds his little part to play;
Full many a boor, that would in towns have shin'd—
Been doom'd in some lone Village to decay.
[Page 26]
Some joyous Spirit, that with fearless mind
Restraint contemn'd, and nobly liv'd in Noise;
Some boon c [...]nion, here may lie confin'd—
Some Bu [...] [...]aught in fashionable joys.
From sons of Riot to command applause,
The threats of Courts, and Bailiffs, to deride;
To scatter Mischief, and defy the Laws,
The boast of Clubs,—the Hearty Fellow's pride!
Not such their lot, nor this their sole restraint,
Of daring Genius, but confin'd their crimes;
Forbad to wear, beneath the Vizor'd Saint,
The blacken'd heart, replete with fell design:
Of conscious Guilt to check the latent glow,
The generous thought, and noble deed, disclaim;
On adverse Virtue heavier weight to throw,
And wrest from Worth the flow'ry wreath of Fame:
Far from the discord of the bust'ling town,
Pleas'd with their homely joys, and frugal board,
Mid apter Bucks they never sought renown,
Or paths of gayer Rakishness explor'd.
Yet, ev'n their names to many a yonker dear,
Some aged hind, with gladden'd breast, repeats;
Tells, when aliv [...] [...] [...]eat their hum'rous cheer—
And glows at mont [...] of their youthful feats:
Their fame throughout the circle oft resound;
Their frolics too, the untutor'd Clown relates;
And many a merry tale he tells around,
Which prompt the hamlet youths to emulate.
For who, to drear Oblivion a prey,
This pleasing life, with all its joys, resign'd;
Left the bright mansions of the young and gay,
And clos'd the scene, nor with a sigh repin'd?
On some fond Hope the lingering soul depends;
Some future Fame, the ambitious mind requires;
[Page 27]Nor pleas'd reflects, that when existence ends,
With our last breath our Mem'ry too expires.
For thee, who mindful of the un [...] [...]d swain,
Would learn the pleasures of [...]ble state,
Haply some ancient herald of [...],
Shall thus his simple history [...]e:—
Oft have we seen him, at the close of day,
In chearful haste his blithsome rambles take,
Pressing with eager steps along the way,
To meet the youngsters at the Village Wake.
There, where the Inn on yon ascent is seen,
Bearing aloof its hospitable sign,
Oft would he meet his fellows of the green,
And o'er the bowl in mirthsome converse join.
Hard by yon Cot, now in right am'rous mood,
Oft would he fondle with his fav'rite fair;
Now chaunt his little ditty thro' the wood—
Now pensive droop, as one o'erborne with care.
One Eve I miss'd him from the youthful choir;
Another came—nor he as yet was there!
In vain I sought—nor he, as wont before,
Was at the Inn, or with his fav'rite Fair!
The next—full slowly mo [...] [...]de Bier!
In mournful, sad, fune [...] [...] array'd!!—
Approach, and read; for lo! the verse is here,
Grav'd on his Stone, beneath yon Willow's shade!

The Epitaph.

HERE rests his head, beneath this friendly soil,
A Youth, whose life disown'd the pomp of Fame;
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble toil,
Or baulk'd the wishes of his modest aim.
[Page 28]
Great were his blessings, and his breast humane;
Fate did a recompence as great bestow—
One kindr [...] [...] [...]as all he sought to gain—
One frien [...] [...]—'twas all he ask'd below.
No farther see [...] [...] [...]irtues to explore,
Or draw his Fallings from their dreary gloom;
Here let them rest, 'till Time's dull reign is o'er,
Hid in the precincts of his mould'ring Tomb.
Westbury, Dec. 18th, 1777.

ELEGY 8th. On the sordid and ignoble's basking beneath the sun-shine of Prosperity, and unfortunate Merit oppressed and unrewarded.
To Dr. W—l—m E—s—s.

IN vain the Muse her feeble art essays,
If E—s—s lends not the indulgent ear;
Say, wilt thou smile propitious on my lays,
Nor mark the strains with censure too severe?
Not unto me th' [...] [...]'d Poet's dreams,
Nor yet Cast [...] [...]d Founts belong;
I boast no draughts from Heliconian streams,
Or deigns Apollo to incite the song.
O! yet, if Friendship's pure, unsully'd flame,
The humble verse with well-meant zeal inspires,
'Tis all I ask; nor sordid hopes of fame
Prompt the forbidden, or unhallow'd fires.
Curs'd be the wretch, whose prostituted Muse
With impious hand assumes ignoble bays;
Whose grov'ling soul disdains sublimer views,
And pants alone for lucre or for praise.
[Page 29]No, may this pen, to Friendship ever dear,
To worth, to honour, ever be [...]'d;
Scorn to exalt, with incense ins [...]
The villains glory, or the p [...] [...]ide.
Shall Virtue droop, by wealt [...] [...] [...]'r oppress'd,
And gilded Vice be paean'd [...] applause!
Shall injur'd Merit languish unredress'd,
Nor find one guardian to her sinking cause!
What base-born myriads throng the domes of State!
Round tinsell'd Greatness, what vast crowds appear!
Few at the Hovels of the Wretched wait,
Or drop with Misery the briny tear!—
To follow on where radiant Fortune calls,
Shall I those feelings nobler far forego?
Scowling, survey the Needy's dreary walls,
Or hold my pittance from the child of Woe?
Or, if my hoards of ill got wealth increase,
And daily swells the bulk of glittering ore,
Can shining Coin recall departed peace—
To conscious Guilt its barter'd calm restore?
Say, that my roof in sumptuous taste may rise,
Or, from my Halls reflect the Parian stone,
The gen'rous deed shall I [...] [...]fice—
All that is manly, all that's good, disown?
If this thy price, insatiate lust of gain!
Rather let me chill Penury endure;
In want, the nobler principle retain,
And, blest in Indigence, be greatly poor.
Poughkeepsie, July 25th, 1778.
[Page 30]

ELEGY 9th. On too gr [...] [...]dness for Poetical Composition.

SPARE t [...] friend, nor more exalt my lays;
Why ur [...] [...]eadly, the insidious strain?
The subtle char [...] certain ill betrays,
And oft we rue the Syren's voice in vain.
Be thine the more ingenuous choice of truth,
With prudent counsel, and instruction sage,
To aid my frail, too aptly erring youth,
And be the Mentor of my heedless age.
Couldst thou, unmov'd, with calm indifference, bear
To see thy friend mix with the vulgar throng,
The easy prey to Flattry's varnish'd snare,
Or dupe of Adulations courtly song?
To snatch the bays, and shine with laureate brows,
What puny songster but usurps the claim?
Each infant Bard the frantic aim avows,
And idly hopes the deathless meed of fame!
Ere yet the restive passion for applause
Peals in my ear, with unremitted sound,
The faultless line, that temp'rate Reason draws—
Be this my [...] [...]s my utmost bound.
Content, if haply my untutor'd Muse
Aught to the chosen few my fortune deigns;
The small, tho' grateful tribute shall effuse,
And gain their partial sanction to my pains.
All praise beyond, far be the rash design;
E'er may I spurn Ambition's restless curse;
Nor dream of incense mant'ling round my shrine—
Or court the public pla [...]dit to my verse.
Absurd the task, preposterous and vain,
Should I to Pope's sublimer reed aspire!
[Page 31]Affect the equal honours to obtain,
Or ask the homage due to Milton's lyre!
So the mad youth, impell'd by [...] fate,
Essay'd the fiery orbit of the [...]
His weakness prov'd;—and fe [...] [...]vinc'd too late,
By boundless pride to shame [...] [...]uin hurl'd!
See! yon pale Spectre beckons to the glade;
Down his fall'n visage rolls the sullen tear;
Fell Disappointment marks the care-worn shade,
And thus his hollow accents strike my ear:—
Beware! fond Boy, with too assiduous zeal;
Be timely warn'd—alas! such zeal was mine:
Wouldst thou avoid the wasting griefs to feel;
Sport not too oft thy numbers to the Nine:
For, ah! enamour'd of the wily train,
The flowing diction, and the music art;
Too oft reclin'd beneath yon rev'rend fane,
I woo'd the coy seducers to my heart:
Yet, once for me health roll'd its ruddy tide,
And gleeful youth diffus'd the festive store;
Pleasure's rich plumage sparkled at my side,
And my flush'd cheek the glow of manhood bore.
To friends like you I tun'd [...] Shell,
The bosom few, congenial to my breast;
Did these approve, I sought not to excell,
In Friendship's humbler approbation blest.
Forever curs'd, be the ill-fated day,
When Fancy's pencil lur'd me on to woe—
Drew the gay tints of Fame's effulgent ray,
And taught my soul the loftier aim to know.
The hood-wink'd victim of o'erweening pride,
Presumptuous, I ideal garland's twin'd;
The narrower sphere of friendly note deny'd,
And universal ecclat fill'd my mind.
[Page 32]
Hence the sad aera of tormenting Fear,
Of anxious Doubt, with dire Distrust's annoy;
And cold Neglect comes stalking in the rear,
To blast [...] [...]ose of the pictur'd joy.
Fool that I wa [...] [...]lease, a fate how rare!
The world disc [...]'d, nor own'd the Muse's toil;
The inclement clime forbad the plants to bear,
And the fair blossoms strew'd the unthrifty soil.
Now fix'd Chagrin, with harrowing Care, succeeds,
And black Vexation broods the slow decay;
Through ev'ry vein the fretted bosom bleeds,
And foul Disgust involves th' unwelcome day:
Nor more my cheek retain'd the florid bloom,
Or beam'd my eyes the wonted brilliant fire;
Pale Discontent mark'd out the early tomb,
And all my wishes, all my hopes, expire!
Take, then, from me, the useful lesson, learn
Fancy's fair systems, hence beware to frame;
Be taught from Cloudius' too untimely urn,
Nor seek the splendors of the Poet's name.
He said—and fleeting vanish'd from my view.
Accept my thanks, thou dear instructive shade;
To pomp of prai [...] I [...] long adieu,
And shun the Rock that Cloudius betray'd.
Poughkeepsie, Sept. 17th, 1778.

ELEGY 10th. To a Friend who, from the mis-representations of some insidious Person, suspected the Sincerity of the Au­thor's Friendship for him.

DOES Sylvius, then, the tender tie disclaim?
Shall the fond union here abruptly end?
Must dark Suspicion quench the rising flame,
Or Passion aim her arrows at a Friend?
[Page 33]
Why seek to add fresh sorrows to the load?—
With quick increase the cumb'rous burden grows:
Ah! why augment the weight of ills bestow'd,
Or swell the measure with imagin'd woes!
Ere yet, before the rash resolve has past,
Or thou condemn with prejudice unkind;
Or late repentance blame the hasty blast
That stamp'd the erring censure on thy mind:—
Small my request—let Candor's laws decide—
'Tis Reason sues, attend the moral strain;
Let her unbiass'd dictates be thy guide,
Nor Friendship doom to plead her cause in vain.
Thro' life with me extend the brief survey—
New troubles rise, and cares engender care;
Swift fade the blossoms of the vernal day,
But fraught with griefs, whole years successive bear.
This dreary clime, this low'ring realm of pain,
Where bliss imperfect deals the dubious joy—
Shall kindred souls their covenant profane,
Or foul Distrust the sacred league annoy?
No—since Misfortunes crow'd this destin'd sphere,
And Mis'ry close pursues us to the grave,
Let not a doubt unkindly interfere,
To blight the good our fortune's bounty gave:
Let us, my friend, while youth and genial prime
Wake ev'ry sense, and give the fair delight,
Enjoy the pleasures of the passing time,
And snatch the winged blessings on their slight:
Since Fate's perverse, consign us o'er to pain,
And poignant sorrows urge their blacken'd tide,
Hence let us jointly dare life's stormy main,
Alike through smiles, through fortune's frowns, ally'd.
Poughkeepsie, Oct. 17th, 1778.
[Page 34]

ELEGY 11th. Written during the time of the Author's Retirement from New-York, under Indisposition of Body, and much Dejection of Mind; from reflecting upon his Prospect of Life being blasted, by means of the Con­test with Great-Britain.

CEASE, sad Reflection! here suspend thy sting,
The bleeding wound to probe, in pity spare;
Can Mem'ry back the squander'd blessing bring,
Or raise this mould'ring fabric to repair?
Enough that I, ere yet the hand of time
Hath chill'd my frame, or age matur'd the prey,
By wasting pains consume, in early prime,
From bloom of youth haste swiftly to decay.
Yet, from myself would I those sorrows screen,
And dire Conviction from my bosom wrest;
Forget the follies of the acted scene,
And tear the conscious feeling from my breast.
What now avails, that floods of mant'ling wine,
From polish'd goblets pour'd?—a crimson tide!
Can gen'rous juice renew the fix'd decline,
Or light the glows health's vigor once supply'd?
These nerves, unstrung, their wonted task disclaim,
Nor more the sympathetic aid dispense,
To shoot the rapture thro' the kind'ling frame,
Or waft the transports of the thrilling sense.
When the fair bosom of the op'ning morn,
With early blushes streaks the orient sky;
I only droop, dejected and forlorn,
And mourn amidst the gen'ral gaiety:
Or, if with Eve the dusky shades descend,
And trembling Chrystals gleam a partial day;
[Page 35]Th' officious light, and quivering beams, offend,
And sickly loathings shroud the planet ray.
No more, alert, I join youth's frolic train;
This gloomy soul the jovial circle flees;
The sounds of joy accost my ear in vain,
And social gladness can no longer please.
Relentless Fates, unfeelingly severe,
Command each Halcyon prospect to resign;
Rase the fond sum of all I e'er held dear,
Nor leave a bliss of all I counted mine:
Yet, would I patient stand th' adverse blast,
And unrepining meet the destin'd blow;
But, ah! th' obtrusive mem'ry of the past,
Bounds to my view, and deeper shades my woe.
Still will the busy, speculative mind,
Through painful Recollection's tot'ring maze,
Spring to the scenes of pleasure left behind,
And urge the retrospect to happier days.
So the fond parent, of her hopes bereft,
Eyes the pale offspring of her mother pains;
Bleeding, surveys the clay-cold reliques left,
And clings, in anguish, to the dear remains.
If, in my lonely rambles o'er the plain,
Some hind, blythe whistles from his lowly shed,
Envying, I hear the artless, jocund strain,
And mourn to meet a heart that has not bled.
Alas! sigh I, within that humble Cot,
The sturdy peasant tastes unclouded ease;
Blest swain! whose haply, more auspicious lot,
Bars out Intemp'rance, nor admits disease.
No sly debauch, with sell dissembled art,
Lures you, unthinking, to her specious snare;
With after pains to rive the sinking heart,
And o'er the bosom spread the clouds of care.
[Page 36]
In harmless sports, and innocently gay,
With placid lapse, and like some mellow'd tale,
Smooth flow the gentle hours in smiles away,
Calm and unruffled as the ev'ning gale.
Tho' no proud dome, within her fretted halls,
Receives the rustic, the unfashion'd guest;
From his mean hut, and rudely plaister'd walls,
The hind serenely breathes a purer rest.
But, ah! what boots it further to explore,
Or draw the picture of some happier state?
'Tis mine to turn life's sorrow'd pages o'er,
And scan the edicts of a blacker fate.
Be this my hope, the sole and sure relief,
When Nature saints, & trembling meets her close;
My parting struggle shall compleat my griefs,
And the last pang consign me to repose.
Westbury, Dec. 21st, 1778.

EPIGRAMS.

On seeing a tatter'd, wretched Poet.

WHAT ragged Figure pray, is that, I cry'd?
A scurvy Poet, Sir, my friend reply'd:
Indeed, indeed, Sir, that's the Poet Hughes,
The sorryest Bard that e'er invok'd a Muse.
Truly, said I, he bears a double curse—
Poor in his pocket, poorer in his verse.
The most deplorable of all sights, sure,
Is a poor Poet, and a Poet poor.
New-ark.
[Page 37]

On Mr. W—l—g's courting a young Lady who refused his Addresses.

SAYS W—l—g to P—l—e, I almost despair,
Of gaining my lovely, adorable Fair;
Then, pry'thee, advise me what means I shall try
To make the dear, angelic creature comply.
Quoth Phade, I'd much rather withhold my advise
In a matter so weighty, important and nice;
But, saith, I would venture a joe to a shilling
You'll never persuade her, friend James, to be—
Willing.

On the present King of Great-Britain.

FOR treach'rous acts, and base designs,
King Charles condignly bled;
Ignobly, throughout hist'ry, shines
A Monarch without Head:
But Britain's Sov'reign, George the Third,
Who base the Despot reigns,
Will shine in hist'ry more absurd—
A Monarch without Brains.
Long-Island, Aug. 13th, 1776.

On seeing a Friend, after a long and disagreeable Re­tirement.

SO the poor Exile on some foreign strand,
With mournful eye, reviews the desert land;
No kindred partner in his griefs to boast—
Curses the alien soil, and hated [...]
Yet, should his kinder fate, perch [...]e, bestow
Some friendly soul, in pity to his woe;
[Page 38]He hears him speak—the long unus'd to sound
Inchants each sense—'tis madness all around!
With unexpected bliss in fury tost;
Nor acts himself—but in the transport's lost!
Westbury, 1777.

Written Extempore, upon the Command of the Passions.

CAESARS have conquer'd troops and towns,
And rais'd their names to great renown;
But he that can his Passions sway,
And make his tyrant Will obey,
Approves himself by greater far
Than all those Godlike Sons of War.

Written Extempore.

VIRTUE, when try'd, comes forth like choicest gold—
Gives grace to youth; our nobiest gem, when old.

On the Snuff of a Candle's falling into a Lady's Bosom.

IF, Caelia, from so slight a flame,
Such torments you endure,
Let Strephon some attention claim,
Who sighs—nor hopes a cure.
O! if a Taper's transient smart
Thy breast to anguish turns;
To pity, learn, a tortur'd heart,
That more intensely burns.
Poughkeepsie, Aug. 16th, 1778.
[Page 39]

A Night Piece.

IN the pleasing gloom of Night,
Let me steal from mortal sight;
Oft, unnotic'd, may I rove
Through the shady, darksome grove:
Where pale Cynthia's feeble beam,
Glimmers o'er the gurg'ling stream;
And sweet Philomela's notes,
Eccho'd from harmonious grotts,
Gently sounding thro' the vale,
Attunes the soft, nocturnal gale.
Contemplation, placid Queen!
With mind unruffled and serene—
Lead me to the cool retreat
Where the Muses love to meet:
Here may I their call obey,
And raise the melancholy lay;
By the tuneful Nine inspir'd—
My soul with soft emotion fir'd—
Pour the gently pleasing verse,
And fancy'd reveries rehearse.
Wheresoe'er I turn my sight,
'Tis all Enchantment, all delight:
The moping Owl's discordant strains,
With uncouth music fills the plains:
Here the Rill that winding flows,
Murm'ring, tempts to sweet repose.
To the faintly lunar ray,
The little fry their gambols play;
Now, near the surface of the tide,
Adown the shining current glide;
Now, in shoals, pursuing seem,
And urge the chace along the stream.
Beneath yon lofty mountain's brow,
Deeper frowns the steeps below;
[Page 40]Whilst the Waterfall's rude course,
Tumbling with impetuous force,
Around a chilling horror throws,
And spreads new terrors as it goes.
On the neighb'ring levell'd mead,
Fairy tribes, with airy tread,
Around in blithsome frolic pass,
And careless trip it o'er the grass;
In pairs uniting, now advance,
Leading up the harmless dance;
Whilst, from circling clouds of air,
Rapt'rous harmony I hear;
Thrilling music fills the sky,
And all is melting Melody:
E'en Cynthia, from her starry height,
A while retards her wonted flight,
Detains her silver, sliding Car,
And lends th' attentive, ravish'd ear;
The soul-inspiring strains to prove,
Heedless of Endymion's love.
Solemn stillness now prevails;
Ev'ry noisy accent fails;
Scarce the lightly passing breeze,
Rustling, whispers thro' the trees.
'Mid the silent, awful gloom,
Reason now her seat resumes;
Gives Virtue to the ravish'd sight,
And wakes the heart to pure delight;
Prompts me to offer at her shrine,
And paints her lovely and divine;
Strips Vice of all her specious glow,
And shows her latent sting of woe:
Makes me disdain each vicious charm,
And all my soul to virtue warms:
Bids ev'ry rebel passion cease,
And leads me on to bliss and peace:
[Page 41]Confirms the wav'ring, good intent,
And points the paths to real Content.
Sweetly moralizing pow'r!
Give me oft Reflection's hour;
Oft, beneath the nightly shade,
May I, musing o'er the glade,
Bend my pensive, devious way,
When the sun's declining ray
Puts a period to the day.
Westbury, March 7th, 1778.

An Ode to Liberty.

FAIR Liberty! celestial Maid!
In all thy heav'n-born charms array'd,
From heights aetherial descend!
Our bleeding country's cause defend:
Grim Tyranny, at thy command,
Abash'd, shall flee our injur'd land;
Commerce unfold her massy doors,
And Wealth disclose her golden stores;
Science her bright, instructive reign renew—
And toiling Art her wonted tasks pursue:—
Oppression, on her iron throne,
Indignant yields—thy pow'r must own;—
The Monster, taught by thee to bow,
Shrinks at the terrors of thy brow:
Whilst Slav'ry, furrow'd o'er with pains
Of servile loads, and galling chains,
Far from our Continent removes,
And shuns the land which Freedom loves.
The hideous Spectre must submit to thee,
And own thy pow'r— celestial Liberty!
[Page 42]
Descend, fair Maid! assert our cause,
Avenge our violated laws;
In thee—in thee alone—we trust,
And Heav'n proclaims our contest just:
The sacred Sceptre of thy sway,
Tyrannic Legions shall obey;
Thy arm shall put the foe to flight—
Thy arm shall vindicate our right;—
Peace, lovely Seraph! shall again expand
Her dove-like pinions o'er our grateful land;
Wars brazen Clarion alarm no more,
And smiling Plenty crown our Western shore.
Descend, celestial Goddess, Liberty!
Defend America—preserve her free.
New-York, Dec. 27th, 1775.

Written under a great Depression of Spirits, upon view­ing the artful and insincere raised to the heighth of Prosperity;—the last ten lines being intended as an Epitaph.

GRANT me, ye pow'rs! from life the wish'd release,
And sooth my passage to the realms of peace;
This troubled mind to envied rest compose,
That feels its own, but bleeds for others woes;
That knows no sordid, no ignoble aim,
Or basely triumphs in another's shame;
But glows to find, tho' small his share of bliss,
That some there are who boast more happiness.
'Tis not for me to crave a longer date,
Who daily bends beneath the blasts of fate;
[Page 43]For whom the sun darts not one chearful ray,
Or gilds with joy the orient face of day:
For happier youths, let vernal roses bloom—
Mine be the dreary regions of the Tomb:—

EPITAPH.

YET, should my milder fortune have design'd,
That I one kindred soul shall leave behind;
By Friendship prompted, should he chance to stray,
Where these frail Limbs in dull Oblivion lay;—
O! may his breast heave forth one anxious sigh—
One tear of pity glisten from his eye:
Sad as he thinks what once I us'd to be—
How near to him—how dear he was to me;—
This tribute paid, my friend may onward go—
One Sigh—one Tear—is all that's due to Joe.
Poughkeepsie, July 22d, 1778.

JULIA to EDWARD. The Effusion of a broken Heart.

READ, if thou canst—can Edward read unmov'd?
Nor weep her woes, who much too fondly lov'd:
Excess of Love, was all the guilt I knew,
(If guilt there was in Julia's Love to you.)
Oh! could I add that I no longer burn,
Regret thy change, or thy indiff'rence mourn;
With proper scorn thy perfidy detest,
And drive the faithless traitor from my breast:
No greater boon I seek from fate to gain;
I ask but bare exemption from my pain:
[Page 44]Grateful for this, when I no longer please,
To boast Contentment, and a mind at ease.
Content! ah, vague, inefficacious sound!
Say, can Content, with Love like mine, be found?
Love, disappointed, knows of no relief;
No friendly respite, or allay of grief:
O'er all my frame the mad'ning passion glows,
Destroys my quiet, and precludes repose;
My bosom labours with incessant sighs,
And endless floods obscure my languid eyes:
Around my heart eternal tortures prey—
Slow wastes my form, and all my charms decay.
Yet, why should I ignobly thus complain?
Thy flinty heart regardst not Julia's pain!
Curse on the weakness of my grov'ling mind
To Love!—to live!—yet know that thou'rt unkind.
Ah! wretched me! ah! too —fated Maid!
Seduc'd—deserted—ruin'd and betray'd—
No brighten'd ray of Hope my prospect chears!
Consign'd to Woe, to Infamy and Tears!
Doom'd to regret, yet deeper blast my fame;
Weep o'er my virtue, and pursue my shame.
Where can I go!—ah! whither can I flee!
Can I, by flying Edward—fly from thee!
Where'er I turn, thy image still pursues,
Nor all my art can thy rememb'rance lose.
Here, if I seek the shelter of the grove,
The letter'd rind awakens all my love;
Each tree, inscrib'd, some sad memento bears,
And what I was, retentive, envious wears:
Or, if I stray along the winding stream,
Each well known bank obtrudes thee as their theme;
Here, as I view the lympid mirror flow,
Its gurgling murmurs but enhance my woe:
Wont to reflect on those delightsome hours,
When we together sought the noon-tide bow'rs;
[Page 45]Together wander'd o'er the levell'd vale,
In mutual fondness—Love, the pleasing tale!
Ye fleeting transports! say, where are ye flown!
With thee, my Edward, all my joys are gone;
Nor grove, nor vale, nor purling rills, delight,
Or longer please the hapless Julia's sight.
Farewell, false world! far distant I retire,
From flattering joys, and all the gay admire:
May some lone Cavern be my last retreat,
Where howling winds, & storms, tempestuous beat;
Where not the sun extends his faintest ray,
Sadly impervious, to the glare of day:
Here let me rest, obscur'd in awful gloom;
Be this at once my mansion, and my tomb:
Here may relenting Fates some pity prove,
Estrange my breast to all the pangs of Love;
Intense desire, and keen emotion, cease,
And ev'ry glowing thought be hush'd to peace:—
No, not the Cell to human haunts unknown,
Or Cave, rough-hewn from earth's unmoulded stone,
To Love like mine can yield a short relief,
Or sooth the impetuous agony of grief:
'Tis wild distraction all!—thy Julia raves!—
Peace can alone await her in the grave!
This shall my tumults, shall my pangs compose,
And grant a long, sad refuge to my woes:
Deep in the dark oblivion of the dead,
From Life remov'd, and all my Passion fled,—
The world shall cease to persecute my name—
Perchance commiserate my tragic flame:
Thou too, distress'd, the mournful tale shall hear,
And, conscious, shed the soft cmpassion'd tear;
Weep o'er my Mem'ry, and my faults forgive,
And wish again thy Julia might live;
Think I could bear all else impos'd by fate—
Alone unable to support thy hate:—
[Page 46]Thy heart estrang'd, life but a burden proves—
Curs'd is existence to despairing love.
Farewell!—my Edward still too dear I own—
Dear, tho' in thee my fairest joys are blown;
My fatal fondness shall no period know,
Whilst life's warm springs through this frail system flow;
Thee I resign but with my latest breath,
And vanquish Love but in the sleep of death:
Farewell forever! to my hapless view—
Thy Julia, trembling, signs her long, & last— adieu!
Westbury, Oct. 27th, 1777.
THE END.

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