Philip Freneau, the Huguenot Patriot Poet of the Revolution,: And His PoetryJ. J. Little & Company, 1891 - 21 strani |
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Stran 17 - The Ohio soon shall glide by many a town Of note; and where the Mississippi stream, By forests shaded, now runs weeping on, Nations shall grow, and states not less in fame Than Greece and Rome of old! — we too shall boast Our Scipio's, Solon's, Cato's, sages, chiefs That in the lap of time yet dormant lie, Waiting the joyous hour of life and light...
Stran 19 - By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews; In habit for the chase arrayed, The hunter still the deer pursues, The hunter and the deer— a shade! And long shall timorous Fancy see The painted chief, and pointed spear, And Reason's self shall bow the knee To shadows and delusions here.
Stran 14 - With his sword by his side, or his gun on his shoulder ; Yes, I was a whig, and a whig from my heart, But still was unwilling with Britain to part — I thought to oppose her was foolish and vain, I thought she would turn and embrace us again, And make us as happy as happy could be, By renewing the...
Stran 11 - Hills sink to plains, and man returns to dust, That dust supports a reptile or a flower; Each changeful atom by some other nurs'd Takes some new form, to perish in an hour.
Stran 18 - The time shall come when strangers rule no more, Nor cruel mandates vex from Britain's shore; When commerce shall extend her shortened wing, And her rich freights from every climate bring; When mighty towns shall flourish free and great,— Vast their dominion, opulent their state; When one vast cultivated region teems From ocean's side to Mississippi's streams, While each enjoys his...
Stran 10 - Nor look'd I back, till to a far off wood Trembling with fear, my weary feet had sped — Dark was the night, but at the inchanted dome I saw the. infernal windows flaming red.
Stran 16 - And scratch'd them graves along the sandy shore; By feeble hands the shallow graves were made, No stone memorial o'er the corpses laid; In barren sands, and far from home, they lie, No friend to shed a tear, when passing by; O'er the mean tombs insulting Britons tread, Spurn at die sand, and curse the rebel dead.
Stran 10 - Thrice tow'rd the skies his meagre arms he rear'd, Invok'd all hell, and thunders on his head, Bid light'nings fly, earth yawn, and tempests roar, And the sea wrap him in its oozy bed.
Stran 19 - And many a barbarous form is seen To chide the man that lingers there. By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews; In habit for the chase arrayed, The hunter still the deer pursues, The hunter and the deer— a shade!
Stran 14 - I printed some treason for PHILIP FRENEAU, Some damnable poems reflecting on GAGE, The KING and his COUNCIL, and writ with such rage, So full of invective, and loaded with spleen, So sneeringly smart, and so hellishly keen, That, at least in the judgment of half our wise men, ALECTO herself put the nib to his pen.