Or where swift Tiber disembogues his waves
Into the Italian sea, so long unsung;
Hither they wing their way, the last, the best
Of countries, where the arts shall rise and grow,
And arms shall have their day ·
A Franklin, prince of all philosophy,
A genius piercing as the electric fire,
Bright as the lightning's flash, explain'd so well
By him the rival of Britannia's sage.-1
This is the land of every joyous sound
Of liberty and life, sweet liberty!
Without whose aid the noblest genius fails,
And science irretrievably must die.
But come, Eugenio, since we know the past-
What hinders to pervade with searching eye
The mystic scenes of dark futurity!
Say, shall we ask what empires yet must rise,
What kingdoms, powers and states, where now are seen Mere dreary wastes and awful solitude,
Where Melancholy sits, with eye forlorn,
And time anticipates, when we shall spread
Dominion from the north, and south, and west,
Far from the Atlantic to Pacific shores,
And shackle half the convex of the main !
A glorious theme! — but how shall mortals dare
To pierce the dark events of future years,
And scenes unravel, only known to fate?
This might we do, if warm'd by that bright coal
Snatch'd from the altar of cherubic fire,
Which touch'd Isaiah's lips
or if the spirit
Of Jeremy and Amos, prophets old,
Might swell the heaving breast- I see, I see
Freedom's establish'd reign; cities, and men,
Numerous as sands upon the ocean shore,
And empires rising where the sun descends! —
The Ohio soon shall glide by many a town
Of note, and where the Mississippi stream,
By forest 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 Scipios, Solons, Catos, sages, chiefs,
That in the womb of time yet dormant lie,
Waiting the joyous hour of life and light.
O snatch me hence, ye muses, to those days
When through the veil of dark antiquity
Our sons shall hear of us as things remote,
That blossom'd in the morn of days - Alas!
How could I weep that we were born so soon,
Just in the dawning of these mighty times,
Whose scenes are panting for eternity!
Dissensions that shall swell the trump of fame,
And ruin brooding o'er all monarchy !
Nor shall these angry tumults here subside
Nor murders1 cease, through all these provinces,
Till foreign crowns have vanish'd from our view
And dazzle here no more no more presume
To awe the spirit of fair Liberty
Vengeance shall cut the thread and Britain, sure,
Will curse her fatal obstinacy for it!
Bent on the ruin of this injur'd country,
She will not listen to our humble prayers,
Though offer'd with submission :
Like vagabonds, and objects of destruction,
Like those whom all mankind are sworn to hate,
She casts us off from her protection,
And will invite the nations round about,
Russians and Germans, slaves and savages,
To come and have a share in our perdition
O cruel race, O unrelenting Britain,
Who bloody beasts will hire to cut our throats,
Who war will wage with prattling innocence,
1 The massacre at Boston, March 5, 1770, is here more particularly glanced at.
And basely murder unoffending women!—
Will stab their prisoners when they cry for quarter,
Will burn our towns, and from his lodging turn
The poor inhabitant to sleep in tempests! -
These will be wrongs, indeed, and all sufficient
To kindle up our souls to deeds of horror,
And give to every arm the nerves of Samson
These are the men that fill the world with ruin,
And every region mourns their greedy sway
But what are this world's goods, that they for them
Should exercise perpetual butchery?
What are these mighty riches we possess,
That they should send so far to plunder them?
Already have we felt their potent arm
And ever since that inauspicious day,
When first Sir Francis Bernard
His cannons planted at the council door,
And made the assembly room a home for strumpets, And soldiers rank and file — e'er since that day
This wretched land, that drinks its children's gore,
Has been a scene of tumult and confusion!
Are there not evils in the world enough?
Are we so happy that they envy us?
Have we not toil'd to satisfy their harpies,
King's deputies, that are insatiable;
Whose practice is to incense the royal mind
And make us despicable in his view?
Have we not all the evils to contend with
That, in this life, mankind are subject to,
Pain, sickness, poverty and natural death-
But into every wound that nature gave
They will a dagger plunge, and make them mortal!
Enough, enough such dismal scenes you paint,
I almost shudder at the recollection -
What, are they dogs that they would mangle us?
Are these the men that come with base design
To rob the hive, and kill the industrious bee! —
To brighter skies I turn my ravish'd view,
And fairer prospects from the future draw
Here independent power shall hold her sway,
And public virtue warm the patriot breast:
No traces shall remain of tyranny,
And laws, a pattern to the world beside,
Be here enacted first.
And when a train of rolling years are past,
the exil'd seer in Patmos isle)
(So sung
A new Jerusalem, sent down from heaven,
Shall grace our happy earth- perhaps this land,
Whose ample breast shall then receive, tho' late,
Myriads of saints, with their immortal king,
To live and reign on earth a thousand years,
Thence called Millennium. Paradise anew
Shall flourish, by no second Adam lost.
No dangerous tree with deadly fruit shall
No tempting serpent to allure the soul
From native innocence. - A Canaan here,
Another Canaan shall excel the old,
And from a fairer Pisgah's top be seen.
No thistle here, nor thorn nor briar shall spring,
Earth's curse before the lion and the lamb,
In mutual friendship link'd, shall browse the shrub,
And timorous deer with softened tygers stray
O'er mead, or lofty hill, or grassy plain :
Another Jordan's stream shall glide along,
And Siloah's brook in circling eddies flow:
Groves shall adorn their verdant banks, on which
The happy people, free from toils and death,
Shall find secure repose. No fierce disease,
No fevers, slow consumption, ghastly plague,
(Fate's ancient ministers) again proclaim
Perpetual war with man fair fruits shall bloom,
Fair to the eye, and grateful to the taste;
Nature's loud storms be hush'd, and seas no more
Rage hostile to mankind — and, worse than all,
The fiercer passions of the human breast
Shall kindle up to deeds of death no more,
But all subside in universal peace-
Such days the world,
And such, America, thou first shalt have,
When ages, yet to come, have run their round, And future years of bliss alone remain.
|