The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume III Part 24

ON HEARING[118]

A Political Oration, Superficially Composed on an Important Subject

Sound without sense, and words devoid of force, Through which no art could find a clue, And mean and shackling was the whole discourse That kept me, Tully, long from you.

Heads of harangues, to heads less general, split, Seem'd like small laths, cleft from some heavy log; I heard the inference, that no object hit-- All congelation, vapor, smoke, or fog.

And what avail'd the argument unsound That nothing proved, or on the expecting mind Forced no conviction--just as well might sound To the deaf ear with sentiments abound.

Long did we wait for application time To find what sense or reason might apply:-- It came--attended with the false sublime, And thread-bare truths, no mortal could deny.

Repeated thoughts, and periods of a mile, Remarks devoid of dignity or power, Exploded notions, dress'd in brilliant style, Exhausted patience, and consumed the hour.

Thus when of old some town some folks besieged, Before the walls the invader sat him down, While those who mann'd them, at their foes enraged, Threw many a load of ancient lumber down;

And wore them out, with tumbling on their heads Bricks, tiles, and paving-stones, huge logs of timber, Pump-water, cold or boiling, shovels, spades,-- And more, by far, than you or I remember.

Ah, speaker! with artillery like your own Hard will it be one Federal to awake, Trust me, although you scold, and chafe, and frown, You may besiege, but are not like to take Their three wall'd town.

[118] From the 1815 edition. In the edition of 1809 it bore the t.i.tle: "The American Demosthenes. Occasioned by a very weak and insipid discourse on a Fourth of July, indirectly reprobating the Democratic Representative System." This version consisted of the first, second, and last stanzas above, with the following after the second stanza:

"Grunts, and long groans, and periods of a mile, Were on the sleepy audience tumbled down;-- 'Twas thus from forts, contrived in antique style, From Troy's high walls (Where flew no b.a.l.l.s) The men who fought With reason thought, They had a right From that safe height, (By way of lessening their besiegers' number) To tumble on their heads Rocks, beams, or roofs of sheds, Cows' horns, bricks, rubbish, chamber pots, or lumber."

MEGARA AND ALTAVOLA[119]

To a Female Satirist (an English Actress) on receiving from her No. 1.

of a very Satirical and Biting Attack[A]

"_In the rag, in the rag--whewgh!_-- "_O well-flown dart._"-- _Shakespeare's_ KING LEAR.

[A] Six copies only, of this little Poem were printed and sent to the satirist--here the correspondence ended, 1797.--_Freneau's note._

A Satire is arrived this day, And it must be repelled this night: Ye Powers! a.s.sist us what to say, For, from ourselves, we nothing write.

We could have laughed at all you said, But when you writ--it struck us dead!-- Megara!--do forbear to write, Or rage with less malignant spite.

Leave it to men to snap and snarl-- Be you the sweet engaging girl-- Great in your smiles--weak in your arm-- All vengeance, with no power to harm.

I'll borrow from a scribbling set A Raven's feather, black as jet, And with the vengeance of the pen Create confusion in your Den.

This, from an impulse all unknown, Shall temper down your heart of stone, Turn storms of hail to showers of rain, And bring your happy smiles again.

But still, unwilling to resent What folly for a Satire meant, Peruse a fable that may blast, And your number one--make number last.

In ancient times, no matter when, A lady, in some ancient reign (Perhaps in Greece, perhaps in Rome, Perhaps in countries nearer home.)

This lady, rather fond of Fun, Had put a suit of armour on: With bow and arrows, and her fan She conquered many an honest man.

One day she met, in a desart waste A wight unseemely to her taste; His brow, she thought, had too much frown; Thought she, "I'll fetch the fellow down."

And strait she bends her tw.a.n.ging bow, And to his breast the arrows go!

They tore a pa.s.sage through his vest, But bounded from his solid chest.

Another dart she aimed, and missed, Then boarded him, and bit his fist-- Her grinders left a trifling mark-- They were not grinders of a shark.

She scampered then, and, as she flew, Another feeble arrow threw, Which though intended for one spot, It glanced aside, and touched him not.

Enraged, he threw his mantle off, And said, She shall be plagued enough!

Then, swift as fate, her pace defied, Out went her trot, and joined her side.--

Megara was in such a glow!-- When thus the ruffian hailed her, "Hoa!-- What, Madam, are your spirits low?-- Heave to!--you are my prisoner now!"--

Megara saw that all was gone!-- She saw, her teeth would now be drawn: She saw her weapons were his prize, She saw it, and with flowing eyes, And with a feeble squeak or two, She faintly bawled out, Who are you?

_Altavola_

"From whence I came, or what I am, "Perhaps I may inform you, Ma'am: "I come from lands of Pure Delight, "Where female warriors do not Bite.

"You view me with an eye of scorn!-- "When I was old you were unborn: "When I aspired on eagle's wings "You were among unthought of things.

"And did you hope to escape my rage, "You toy-shop on a strolling stage!

"You insect of a puny race, "You baggage formed of gauze and lace!

"The proudest strength you can a.s.sume, "Shakes not one feather from my plume.

"My lot is in the aether cast, "I sail upon the northern blast; "Am mostly seen when whirlwinds rise, "And love the storm that rends the skies.

"When thunders roar and lightnings flash, "Then is my time to cut a dash: "The clouds of h.e.l.l alarm me less "Than you, some sad old fas.h.i.+oned dress.

"And, if to answer some great end, "I to this wrangling world descend, "With force unknown, and pinions strong, "I travel quick and stay not long.

"My spear is like a weaver's beam, "And pointed well at each extreme; "It flies with a tremendous force, "And rivals lightning in its course.

"Of all things that are seen or known, "I hate a Calm--and say, Begone "Stagnation from this rolling ball, "Or slumbers in this Dreadful All!

"I rise upon the drift of snow-- "In polar frosts my spirits glow-- "In the torrid zone, I temperate keep, "And wake!--when you, Megara, sleep.

"I come from ghosts, that dreary brood, "Whose aspect would congeal your blood!

"A people on the infernal coast, "Who know me well, and love me most.