The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 10

THE PARTING GLa.s.s[51]

[Written at an Inn. By Hezekiah Salem.]

The man that joins in life's career And hopes to find some comfort here; To rise above this earthly ma.s.s, The only way's to drink his Gla.s.s.

But, still, on this uncertain stage, Where hopes and fears the soul engage; And while, amid the joyous band, Unheeded flows the measured sand, Forget not as the moments pa.s.s, That Time shall bring the parting gla.s.s!

In spite of all the mirth I've heard, This is the gla.s.s I always feared; The gla.s.s that would the rest destroy, The farewell cup, the close of joy!

With You, whom Reason taught to think, I could, for ages, sit and drink: But with the fool, the sot, the a.s.s, I haste to take the parting gla.s.s.

The luckless wight, that still delays His draught of joys to future days, Delays too long--for then, alas!

Old age steps up, and--breaks the gla.s.s!

The nymph, who boasts no borrowed charms, Whose sprightly wit my fancy warms; What tho' she tends this country inn, And mixes wine, and deals out gin?

With such a kind, obliging la.s.s I sigh, to take the parting gla.s.s.

With him, who always talks of gain, (Dull Momus, of the plodding train)-- The wretch, who thrives by others' woes, And carries grief where'er he goes:-- With people of this knavish cla.s.s The first is still my parting gla.s.s.

With those that drink before they dine-- With him that apes the grunting swine, Who fills his page with low abuse, And strives to act the gabbling goose Turned out by fate to feed on gra.s.s-- Boy, give me quick, the parting gla.s.s.

The man, whose friends.h.i.+p is sincere, Who knows no guilt, and feels no fear:-- It would require a heart of bra.s.s With him to take the parting gla.s.s!

With him, who quaffs his pot of ale; Who holds to all an even scale; Who hates a knave, in each disguise, And fears him not--whate'er his size-- With him, well pleased my days to pa.s.s, May heaven forbid the Parting Gla.s.s!

[51] Published in the _National Gazette_, May 10, 1790. Text from the 1809 edition.

A WARNING TO AMERICA[52]

Removed from Europe's feuds, a hateful scene (Thank heaven, such wastes of ocean roll between) Where tyrant kings in b.l.o.o.d.y schemes combine, And each forbodes in tears, Man is no longer mine!

Glad we recall the Day that bade us first Spurn at their power, and shun their wars accurst; Pitted and gaffed no more for England's glory Nor made the tag-rag-bobtail of their story.

Something still wrong in every system lurks, Something imperfect haunts all human works-- Wars must be hatched, unthinking men to fleece, Or we, this day, had been in perfect peace, With double bolts our Ja.n.u.s' temple shut, Nor terror reigned through each back-woods-man's hut, No rattling drums a.s.sailed the peasant's ear Nor Indian yells disturbed our sad frontier, Nor gallant chiefs, 'gainst Indian hosts combined Scaped from the trap--to leave their tails behind.

Peace to all feuds!--and come the happier day When Reason's sun shall light us on our way; When erring man shall all his Rights retrieve, No despots rule him, and no priests deceive, Till then, Columbia!--watch each stretch of power, Nor sleep too soundly at the midnight hour, By flattery won, and lulled by soothing strains, Silenus took his nap--and waked in chains-- In a soft dream of smooth delusion led Unthinking Gallia bowed her drooping head To tyrants' yokes--and met such bruises there, As now must take three ages to repair.

Then keep the paths of dear bought freedom clear, Nor slavish systems grant admittance here.

[1792]

[52] Written for July 4th, 1792, and published in the _National Gazette_ under the t.i.tle "Independence." Text from the edition of 1809.

THE DISH OF TEA[53]

Let some in beer place their delight, O'er bottled porter waste the night, Or sip the rosy wine: A dish of Tea more pleases me, Yields softer joys, provokes less noise, And breeds no base design.

From China's groves, this present brought, Enlivens every power of thought, Riggs many a s.h.i.+p for sea: Old maids it warms, young widows charms; And ladies' men, not one in ten But courts them for their Tea.

When throbbing pains a.s.sail my head, And dullness o'er my brain is spread, (The muse no longer kind) A single sip dispels the hyp: To chace the gloom, fresh spirits come, The flood-tide of the mind.

When worn with toil, or vext with care, Let Susan but this draught prepare, And I forget my pain.

This magic bowl revives the soul; With gentlest sway, bids care be gay; Nor mounts, to cloud the brain.

If learned men the truth would speak They prize it far beyond their Greek, More fond attention pay; No Hebrew root so well can suit; More quickly taught, less dearly bought, Yet studied twice a day.

This leaf, from distant regions sprung, Puts life into the female tongue, And aids the cause of love.

Such power has Tea o'er bond and free; Which priests admire, delights the 'squire, And Galen's sons approve.

[53] Published in the _National Gazette_, July 7, 1792. Text from the 1809 edition.

ON THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY[54]

A Day ever Memorable to Regenerated France

Bright Day,[55] that did to France restore What priests and kings had seiz'd away, That bade her generous sons disdain The fetters that their fathers wore, The t.i.tled slave, a tyrant's sway, That ne'er shall curse her soil again!

Bright day! a partner in thy joy, Columbia hails the rising sun, She feels her toils, her blood repaid, When fiercely frantic to destroy, (Proud of the laurels he had won) The Briton, here, unsheath'd his blade.

By traitors driven to ruin's brink Fair Freedom dreads united knaves, The world must fall if she must bleed;-- And yet, by heaven! I'm proud to think The world was ne'er subdued by slaves-- Nor shall the hireling herd succeed.

Boy! fill the generous goblet high; Success to France, shall be the toast: The fall of kings the fates foredoom, The crown decays, its' splendours die; And they, who were a nation's boast, Sink, and expire in endless gloom.

Thou, stranger, from a distant sh.o.r.e,[A]

Where fetter'd men their rights avow, Why on this joyous day so sad?

Louis insults with chains no more,-- Then why thus wear a clouded brow, When every manly heart is glad?

[A] Addressed to the Aristocrats from Hispaniola.--_Freneau's note._

Some pa.s.sing days and rolling years May see the wrath of kings display'd, Their wars to prop the tarnish'd crown; But orphans' groans, and widows' tears, And justice lifts her s.h.i.+ning blade To bring the tottering bauble down.

[1792]

[54] This was published in the _National Gazette_, July 14, 1792, introduced as follows: