The Poems of Philip Freneau, Poet of the American Revolution. Volume 1 (of 3)

A POEM ON THE RISING GLORY OF AMERICA

Being an Exercise delivered at the Public Commencement at Nassau-Hall, September 25, 1771

Argument

The subject proposed. – The discovery of America by Columbus and others. – A philosophical enquiry into the origin of the savages of America. – Their uncultivated state. – The first planters of America. – The cause of their migration from Europe. – The difficulties they encountered from the resentment of the natives and other circumstances. – The French war in North America. – The most distinguished heroes who fell in it; Wolf, Braddock, &c. – General Johnson, – his character. – North America, why superior to South. – On Agriculture. – On commerce. – On science. – Whitefield, – his character. – The present glory of America. – A prospect of its future glory, in science, – in liberty, – and the gospel. – The conclusion of the whole.

LeanderNo more of Memphis and her mighty kings.Or Alexandria, where the PtolomiesTaught golden commerce to unfurl her sails,And bid fair science smile: No more of GreeceWhere learning next her early visit paid,And spread her glories to illume the world;No more of Athens, where she flourished,And saw her sons of mighty genius rise,Smooth flowing Plato, Socrates and himWho with resistless eloquence reviv'dThe spirit of Liberty, and shook the thronesOf Macedon and Persia's haughty king.No more of Rome, enlighten'd by her beams,Fresh kindling there the fire of eloquence,And poesy divine; imperial Rome!Whose wide dominion reach'd o'er half the globe;Whose eagle flew o'er Ganges to the East,And in the West far to the British isles.No more of Britain and her kings renown'd,Edward's and Henry's thunderbolts of war;Her chiefs victorious o'er the Gallic foe;Illustrious senators, immortal bards,And wise philosophers, of these no more.A Theme more new, tho' not less noble, claimsOur ev'ry thought on this auspicious day;The rising glory of this western world.Where now the dawning light of science spreadsHer orient ray, and wakes the muse's song;Where freedom holds her sacred standard high,And commerce rolls her golden tides profuseOf elegance and ev'ry joy of life.AcastoSince then, Leander, you attempt a strainSo new, so noble and so full of fame;And since a friendly concourse centers here,America's own sons, begin O muse!Now thro' the veil of ancient days reviewThe period fam'd when first Columbus touch'dThe shore so long unknown, thro' various toils,Famine and death, the hero made his way,Thro' oceans bellowing with eternal storms.But why, thus hap'ly found, should we resumeThe tale of Cortez, furious chief, ordain'dWith Indian blood to dye the sands, and choakFam'd Amazonia's stream with dead! Or whyOnce more revive the story old in fame,Of Atabilipa, by thirst of goldDepriv'd of life: which not Peru's rich ore,Nor Mexico's vast mines cou'd then redeem.Better these northern realms deserve our song,Discover'd by Britannia for her sons;Undeluged with seas of Indian blood,Which cruel Spain on southern regions spilt;To gain by terrors what the gen'rous breastWins by fair treaty, conquers without blood.EugenioHigh in renown th' intrepid hero stands,From Europe's shores advent'ring first to tryNew seas, new oceans, unexplor'd by man.Fam'd Cabot too may claim our noblest song,Who from th' Atlantic surge decry'd these shores,As on he coasted from the Mexic bayTo Acady and piny Labradore.Nor less than him the muse would celebrateBold Hudson stemming to the pole, thro' seasVex'd with continual storms, thro' the cold straits,Where Europe and America opposeTheir shores contiguous, and the northern seaConfin'd, indignant, swells and roars between.With these be number'd in the list of fameIllustrious Raleigh, hapless in his fate:Forgive me, Raleigh, if an infant museBorrows thy name to grace her humble strain;By many nobler are thy virtues sung;Envy no more shall throw them in the shade;They pour new lustre on Britannia's isle.Thou too, advent'rous on th' Atlantic main,Burst thro' its storms and fair Virginia hail'd,The simple natives saw thy canvas flow,And gaz'd aloof upon the shady shore:For in her woods America contain'd,From times remote, a savage race of men.How shall we know their origin, how tell,From whence or where the Indian tribes arose?AcastoAnd long has this defy'd the sages skillT'investigate: Tradition seems to hideThe mighty secret from each mortal eye,How first these various nations South and NorthPossest these shores, or from what countries came;Whether they sprang from some premœval headIn their own lands, like Adam in the East;Yet this the sacred oracles deny,And reason too reclaims against the thought.For when the gen'ral deluge drown'd the world,Where could their tribes have found security?Where find their fate but in the ghastly deep?Unless, as others dream, some chosen fewHigh on the Andes 'scap'd the gen'ral death,High on the Andes, wrapt in endless snow,Where winter in his wildest fury reigns.But here Philosophers oppose the scheme,The earth, say they, nor hills nor mountains knewE'er yet the universal flood prevail'd:But when the mighty waters rose aloft,Rous'd by the winds, they shook their solid caseAnd in convulsions tore the drowned world!'Till by the winds assuag'd they quickly fellAnd all their ragged bed exposed to view.Perhaps far wand'ring towards the northern pole,The straits of Zembla and the Frozen Zone,And where the eastern Greenland almost joinsAmerica's north point, the hardy tribesOf banish'd Jews, Siberians, Tartars wildCame over icy mountains, or on floatsFirst reach'd these coasts hid from the world beside.And yet another argument more strangeReserv'd for men of deeper thought and latePresents Itself to view: In Peleg's days,So says the Hebrew seer's inspired pen,This mighty mass of earth, this solid globeWas cleft in twain – cleft east and west apartWhile strait between the deep Atlantic roll'd.And traces indisputable remainOf this unhappy land now sunk and lost;The islands rising in the eastern mainAre but small fragments of this continent,Whose two extremities were NewfoundlandAnd St. Helena. – One far in the northWhere British seamen now with strange surpriseBehold the pole star glitt'ring o'er their heads;The other in the southern tropic rearsIts head above the waves; Bermudas andCanary isles, Britannia and th' Azores,With fam'd Hibernia are but broken partsOf some prodigious waste which once sustain'dArmies by lands, where now but ships can range.LeanderYour sophistry, Acasto, makes me smile;The roving mind of man delights to dwellOn hidden things, merely because they're hid;He thinks his knowledge ne'er can reach too highAnd boldly pierces nature's inmost hauntsBut for uncertainties; your broken isles,Your northern Tartars, and your wand'ring Jews,Hear what the voice of history proclaims.The Carthaginians, e'er the Roman yokeBroke their proud spirits and enslav'd them too,For navigation were reknown'd as muchAs haughty Tyre with all her hundred fleets;Full many a league their vent'rous seamen sail'dThro' strait Gibralter down the western shoreOf Africa, and to Canary islesBy them call'd fortunate, so Flaccus sings,Because eternal spring there crowns the fields,And fruits delicious bloom throughout the year.From voyaging here this inference I draw,Perhaps some barque with all her num'rous crewCaught by the eastern trade wind hurry'd onBefore th' steady blast to Brazil's shore,New Amazonia and the coasts more south.Here standing and unable to return.For ever from their native skies estrang'd,Doubtless they made the unknown land their own.And in the course of many rolling yearsA num'rous progeny from these arose,And spread throughout the coasts; those whom we callBrazilians, Mexicans, Peruvians rich,Th' tribes of Chili, Patagon and thoseWho till the shores of Amazon's long stream.When first the pow'rs of Europe here attain'd,Vast empires, kingdoms, cities, palacesAnd polish'd nations stock'd the fertile land;Who has not heard of Cusco, Lima andThe town of Mexico; huge cities form'dFrom Europe's architecture, e'er the armsOf haughty Spain disturb'd the peaceful soil.EugenioSuch disquisition leads the puzzled mindFrom maze to maze by queries still perplex'd.But this we know, if from the east they came.Where science first and revelation beam'd,Long since they've lost all memory, all traceOf this their origin: Tradition tellsOf some great forefather beyond the lakesOswego, Huron, Mechigan, ChamplaineOr by the stream of Amazon which rollsThro' many a clime; while others simply dreamThat from the Andes or the mountains north,Some hoary fabled ancestor came downTo people this their world.LeanderHow fallen, Oh!How much obscur'd is human nature here!Shut from the light of science and of truthThey wander'd blindfold down the steep of time;Dim superstition with her ghastly trainOf dæmons, spectres and foreboding signsStill urging them to horrid rites and formsOf human sacrifice, to sooth the pow'rsMalignant, and the dark infernal king.Once on this spot perhaps a wigwam stoodWith all its rude inhabitants, or roundSome mighty fire an hundred savage sonsGambol'd by day, and filled the night with cries;In what superior to the brutal raceThat fled before them thro' the howling wilds,Were all those num'rous tawny tribes which swarm'dFrom Baffin's bay to Del Fuego south,From California to the Oronoque?Far from the reach of fame they liv'd unknownIn listless slumber and inglorious ease;To them fair science never op'd her stores,Nor sacred truth sublim'd the soul to God;No fix'd abode their wand'ring genius knew;No golden harvest crown'd the fertile glebe;No city then adorn'd the river's bank,Nor rising turret overlook'd the stream.AcastoNow view the prospect chang'd; far off at seaThe mariner descry's our spacious towns,He hails the prospect of the land and viewsA new, a fair, a fertile world arise;Onward from India's isles far east, to usNow fair-ey'd commerce stretches her white sails,Learning exalts her head, the graces smileAnd peace establish'd after horrid warImproves the splendor of these early times.But come, my friends, and let us trace the stepsBy which this recent happy world arose,To this fair eminence of high renownThis height of wealth, of liberty and fame.LeanderSpeak then, Eugenio, for I've heard you tellThe pleasing hist'ry, and the cause that broughtThe first advent'rers to these happy shores;The glorious cause that urg'd our fathers firstTo visit climes unknown and wilder woodsThan e'er Tartarian or Norwegian saw,And with fair culture to adorn that soilWhich never knew th' Industrious swain before.EugenioAll this long story to rehearse would tire;Besides, the sun toward the west retreats,Nor can the noblest tale retard his speed,Nor loftiest verse; not that which sung the fallOf Troy divine and smooth Scamander's stream.Yet hear a part. – By persecution wrong'dAnd popish cruelty, our fathers cameFrom Europe's shores to find this blest abode,Secure from tyranny and hateful man,And plough'd th' Atlantic wave in quest of peace;And found new shores and sylvan settlementsForm'd by the care of each advent'rous chief,Who, warm in liberty and freedom's cause,Sought out uncultivated tracts and wilds,And fram'd new plans of cities, governmentsAnd spacious provinces: Why should I nameThee, Penn, the Solon of our western lands;Sagacious legislator, whom the worldAdmires tho' dead: an infant colony,Nurs'd by thy care, now rises o'er the restLike that tall Pyramid on Memphis' standO'er all the lesser piles, they also great.Why should I name those heroes so well knownWho peopled all the rest from CanadaTo Georgia's farthest coasts, West FloridaOr Apalachian mountains; yet what streamsOf blood were shed! What Indian hosts were slainBefore the days of peace were quite restor'd.LeanderYes, while they overturn'd the soil untill'd,And swept the forests from the shaded plain'Midst dangers, foes and death, fierce Indian tribesWith deadly malice arm'd and black design,Oft murder'd half the hapless colonies.Encourag'd too by that inglorious raceFalse Gallia's sons, who once their arms display'dAt Quebec, Montreal and farthest coastsOf Labrador and Esquimaux where nowThe British standard awes the coward host.Here those brave chiefs, who lavish of their bloodFought in Britannia's cause, most nobly fell.What Heart but mourns the untimely fate of Wolf,Who dying conquer'd, or what breast but beatsTo share a fate like his, and die like him?AcastoAnd he demands our lay who bravely fellBy Monangahela and the Ohio's stream;By wiles o'ercome the hapless hero fell,His soul too gen'rous for that dastard crewWho kill unseen and shun the face of day.Ambush'd in wood, and swamp and thick grown hill,The bellowing tribes brought on the savage war.What could avail, O Braddock, then the flame,The gen'rous flame which fir'd thy martial soul!What could avail Britannia's warlike troops,Choice spirits of her isle? What could availAmerica's own sons? The skulking foe,Hid in the forest lay and fought secure,What could the brave Virginians do, o'erpower'dBy such vast numbers and their leader dead?'Midst fire and death they bore him from the field,Where in his blood full many a hero lay.'Twas there, O Halkut! thou so nobly fell,Thrice valiant Halkut, early son of fame!We still deplore a face so immature,Fair Albion mourns thy unsuccessful end,And Caledonia sheds a tear for himWho led the bravest of her sons to war.EugenioBut why alas commemorate the dead?And pass those glorious heroes by, who yetBreathe the same air and see the light with us?The dead, Acasto, are but empty namesAnd he who dy'd to day the same to usAs he who dy'd a thousand years ago.A Johnson lives, among the sons of fameWell known, conspicuous as the morning starAmong the lesser lights: A patriot skill'dIn all the glorious arts of peace or war.He for Britannia gains the savage race,Unstable as the sea, wild as the winds,Cruel as death, and treacherous as hell,Whom none but he by kindness yet could win,None by humanity could gain their souls,Or bring from woods and subteranean densThe skulking crew, before a Johnson rose,Pitying their num'rous tribes: ah how unlikeThe Cortez' and Acosta's, pride of SpainWhom blood and murder only satisfy'd.Behold their doleful regions overflow'dWith gore, and blacken'd with ten thousand deathsFrom Mexico to Patagonia far,Where howling winds sweep round the southern cape,And other suns and other stars arise!AcastoSuch is the curse, Eugenio, where the soulHumane is wanting, but we boast no featsOf cruelty like Spain's unfeeling sons.The British Epithet is merciful:And we the sons of Britain learn like themTo conquer and to spare; for coward soulsSeek their revenge but on a vanquish'd foe.Gold, fatal gold was the alluring baitTo Spain's rapacious mind, hence rose the warsFrom Chili to the Caribbean sea,O'er Terra-Firma and La Plata wide.Peru then sunk in ruins, great beforeWith pompous cities, monuments superbWhose tops reach'd heav'n. But we more happy boastNo golden metals in our peaceful land,No flaming diamond, precious emerald,Or blushing saphire, ruby, chrysoliteOr jasper red; more noble riches flowFrom agriculture and th' industrious swain,Who tills the fertile vale or mountain's brow,Content to lead a safe, a humble life'Midst his own native hills; romantic scenes,Such as the muse of Greece did feign so well.Envying their lovely bow'rs to mortal race.LeanderLong has the rural life been justly fam'd;And poets old their pleasing pictures drewOf flow'ry meads, and groves and gliding streams.Hence, old Arcadia, woodnymphs, satyrs, faunsAnd hence Elysium, fancy'd heav'n below.Fair agriculture, not unworthy kings,Once exercis'd the royal hand, or thoseWhose virtue rais'd them to the rank of gods.See old Laertes in his shepherd weeds,Far from his pompous throne and court august,Digging the grateful soil, where peaceful blowsThe west wind murm'ring thro' the aged treesLoaded with apples red, sweet scented peachAnd each luxurious fruit the world affords,While o'er the fields the harmless oxen drawTh' industrious plough. The Roman heroes too,Fabricius and Camillus, lov'd a lifeOf sweet simplicity and rustic joy;And from the busy Forum hast'ning far,'Midst woods and fields spent the remains of age.How grateful to behold the harvests riseAnd mighty crops adorn the golden plains!Fair plenty smiles throughout, while lowing herdsStalk o'er the grassy hill or level mead,Or at some winding river slake their thirst.Thus fares the rustic swain; and when the windsBlow with a keener breath, and from the NorthPour all their tempests thro' a sunless sky,Ice, sleet and rattling hail, secure he sitsIn some thatch'd cottage fearless of the storm;While on the hearth a fire still blazing highChears ev'ry mind, and nature sits sereneOn ev'ry countenance, such the joysAnd such the fate of those whom heav'n hath bless'dWith souls enamour'd of a country life.EugenioMuch wealth and pleasure agriculture brings;Far in the woods she raises palaces,Puisant states and crowded realms where lateA desart plain or frowning wildernessDeform'd the view; or where with moving tentsThe scatter'd nations seeking pasturage,Wander'd from clime to clime incultivate;Or where a race more savage yet than these,In search of prey o'er hill and mountain rang'd,Fierce as the tygers and the wolves they slew.Thus lives th' Arabian and the Tartar wildIn woody wastes which never felt the plough;But agriculture crowns our happy land,And plants our colonies from north to south,From Cape Breton far as the Mexic bay,From th' Eastern shores to Mississippi's stream.Famine to us unknown, rich plenty reignsAnd pours her blessings with a lavish hand.LeanderNor less from golden commerce flow the streamsOf richest plenty on our smiling land.Now fierce Bellona must'ring all her rage,To other climes and other seas withdraws,To rouse the Russian on the desp'rate TurkThere to conflict by Danube and the straitsWhich join the Euxine to th' Egean Sea.Britannia holds the empire of the waves,And welcomes ev'ry bold adventurerTo view the wonders of old Ocean's reign.Far to the east our fleets on traffic sail,And to the west thro' boundless seas which notOld Rome nor Tyre nor mightier Carthage knew.Daughter of commerce, from the hoary deepNew-York emerging rears her lofty domes,And hails from far her num'rous ships of trade,Like shady forests rising on the waves.From Europe's shores or from the Caribbees,Homeward returning annually they bringThe richest produce of the various climes.And Philadelphia, mistress of our world,The seat of arts, of science, and of fame,Derives her grandeur from the pow'r of trade.Hail, happy city, where the muses stray,Where deep philosophy convenes her sonsAnd opens all her secrets to their view!Bids them ascend with Newton to the skies,And trace the orbits of the rolling spheres,Survey the glories of the universe.Its suns and moons and ever blazing stars!Hail, city, blest with liberty's fair beams,And with the rays of mild religion blest!AcastoNor these alone, America, thy sonsIn the short circle of a hundred yearsHave rais'd with toil along thy shady shores.On lake and bay and navigable stream,From Cape Breton to Pensacola south,Unnnmber'd towns and villages arise.By commerce nurs'd these embrio marts of tradeMay yet awake the envy and obscureThe noblest cities of the eastern world;For commerce is the mighty reservoirFrom whence all nations draw the streams of gain.'Tis commerce joins dissever'd worlds in one,Confines old Ocean to more narrow bounds;Outbraves his storms and peoples half his world.EugenioAnd from the earliest times advent'rous manOn foreign traffic stretch'd the nimble sail;Or sent the slow pac'd caravan afarO'er barren wastes, eternal sands where notThe blissful haunt of human form is seenNor tree, not ev'n funeral cypress sadNor bubbling fountain. Thus arriv'd of oldGolconda's golden ore, and thus the wealthOf Ophir to the wisest of mankind.LeanderGreat is the praise of commerce, and the menDeserve our praise who spread from shore to shoreThe flowing sail; great are their dangers too;Death ever present to the fearless eyeAnd ev'ry billow but a gaping grave;Yet all these mighty feats to science oweTheir rise and glory. – Hail fair science! thou,Transplanted from the eastern climes, dost bloomIn these fair regions, Greece and Rome no moreDetain the muses on Cithæron's brow,Or old Olympus crown'd with waving woods;Or Hæmus' top where once was heard the harp,Sweet Orpheus' harp that ravish'd hell belowAnd pierc'd the soul of Orcus and his bride,That hush'd to silence by the song divineThy melancholy waters, and the galesO Hebrus! which o'er thy sad surface blow.No more the maids round Alpheus' waters strayWhere he with Arethusa's stream doth mix,Or where swift Tiber disembogues his wavesInto th' Italian sea so long unsung.Hither they've wing'd their way, the last, the bestOf countries where the arts shall rise and growLuxuriant, graceful; and ev'n now we boastA Franklin skill'd in deep philosophy,A genius piercing as th' electric fire,Bright as the light'ning's flash, explain'd so wellBy him, the rival of Britannia's sage.This is a land of ev'ry joyous soundOf liberty and life; sweet liberty!Without whose aid the noblest genius fails,And science irretrievably must die.AcastoThis is a land where the more noble lightOf holy revelation beams, the starWhich rose from Judah lights our skies, we feelIts influence as once did PalestineAnd Gentile lands, where now the ruthless TurkWrapt up in darkness sleeps dull life away.Here many holy messengers of peaceAs burning lamps have given light to men.To thee, O Whitefield; favourite of Heav'n,The muse would pay the tribute of a tear.Laid in the dust thy eloquence no moreShall charm the list'ning soul, no moreThy bold imagination paint the scenesOf woe and horror in the shades below;Of glory radiant in the fields above;No more thy charity relieve the poor;Let Georgia mourn, let all her orphans weep.LeanderYet tho' we wish'd him longer from the skies,And wept to see the ev'ning of his days,He long'd himself to reach his final hope,The crown of glory for the just prepar'd.From life's high verge he hail'd th' eternal shoreAnd, freed at last from his confinement, roseAn infant seraph to the worlds on high.EugenioFor him we found the melancholy lyre,The lyre responsive to each distant sigh:No grief like that which mourns departing soulsOf holy, just and venerable men,Whom pitying Heav'n sends from their native skiesTo light our way and bring us nearer God.But come, Leander, since we know the pastAnd present glory of this empire wide,What hinders to pervade with searching eyeThe mystic scenes of dark futurity?Say, shall we ask what empires yet must rise,What kingdoms, pow'rs and states where now are seenBut dreary wastes and awful solitude,Where melancholy sits with eye forlornAnd hopes the day when Britain's sons shall spreadDominion to the north and south and westFar from th' Atlantic to Pacific shores?A glorious theme, but how shall mortals dareTo pierce the mysteries of future days,And scenes unravel only known to fate.AcastoThis might we do if warm'd by that bright coalSnatch'd from the altar of seraphic fire,Which touch'd Isaiah's lips, or if the spiritOf Jeremy and Amos, prophets old,Should fire the breast; but yet I call the museAnd what we can will do. I see, I seeA thousand kingdoms rais'd, cities and menNum'rous as sand upon the ocean shore;Th' Ohio then shall glide by many a townOf note: and where the Mississippi streamBy forests shaded now runs weeping on,Nations shall grow and states not less in fameThan Greece and Rome of old: we too shall boastOur Alexanders, Pompeys, heroes, kingsThat in the womb of time yet dormant lyeWaiting the joyful hour for life and light.O snatch us hence, ye muses! to those daysWhen, 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,In the beginning of more happy times!But yet perhaps our fame shall last unhurt.The sons of science nobly scorn to die;Immortal virtue this denies, the museForbids the men to slumber in the graveWho well deserve the praise that virtue gives.Eugenio'Tis true no human eye can penetrateThe veil obscure, and in fair light disclos'dBehold the scenes of dark futurity;Yet if we reason from the course of things,And downward trace the vestiges of time,The mind prophetic grows and pierces farThro' ages yet unborn. We saw the statesAnd mighty empires of the East ariseIn swift succession from the AssyrianTo Macedon and Rome; to Britain thenceDominion drove her car, she stretch'd her reignO'er many isles, wide seas, and peopled lands.Now in the west a continent appears;A newer world now opens to her view,She hastens onward to th' Americ shoresAnd bids a scene of recent wonders rise.New states, new empires and a line of kings,High rais'd in glory, cities, palaces,Fair domes on each long bay, sea, shore or stream,Circling the hills now rear their lofty heads.Far in the Arctic skies a Petersburgh,A Bergen, or Archangel lifts its spiresGlitt'ring with Ice, far in the West appearsA new Palmyra or an EcbatanAnd sees the slow pac'd caravan returnO'er many a realm from the Pacific shore,Where fleets shall then convey rich Persia's silks,Arabia's perfumes, and spices rareOf Philippine, Cœlebe and Marian isles,Or from the Acapulco coast our India then,Laden with pearl and burning gems and gold.Far in the south I see a Babylon,As once by Tigris or Euphrates stream,With blazing watch tow'rs and observatoriesRising to heav'n; from thence astronomersWith optic glass take nobler views of GodIn golden suns and shining worlds display'dThan the poor Chaldean with the naked eye.A Nineveh where Oronoque descendsWith waves discolour'd from the Andes high,Winding himself around a hundred islesWhere golden buildings glitter o'er his tide.To mighty nations shall the people growWhich cultivate the banks of many a flood,In chrystal currents poured from the hillsApalachia nam'd, to lave the sandsOf Carolina, Georgia, and the plainsStretch'd out from thence far to the burning Line,St. Johns or Clarendon or Albemarle.And thou Patowmack, navigable stream,Rolling thy waters thro' Virginia's groves,Shall vie with Thames, the Tiber or the Rhine,For on thy banks I see an hundred townsAnd the tall vessels wafted down thy tide.Hoarse Niagara's stream now roaring onThro' woods and rocks and broken mountains torn,In days remote far from their antient beds,By some great monarch taught a better course,Or cleared of cataracts shall flow beneathUnnumbr'd boats and merchandise and men;And from the coasts of piny Labradore,A thousand navies crowd before the gale,And spread their commerce to remotest lands,Or bear their thunder round the conquered world.LeanderAnd here fair freedom shall forever reign.I see a train, a glorious train appear,Of Patriots plac'd in equal fame with thoseWho nobly fell for Athens or for Rome.The sons of Boston, resolute and brave,The firm supporters of our injur'd rights,Shall lose their splendours in the brighter beamsOf patriots fam'd and heroes yet unborn.Acasto'Tis but the morning of the world with usAnd Science yet but sheds her orient rays.I see the age, the happy age, roll onBright with the splendours of her mid-day beams,I see a Homer and a Milton riseIn all the pomp and majesty of song,Which gives immortal vigour to the deedsAtchiev'd by Heroes in the fields of fame.A second Pope, like that Arabian birdOf which no age can boast but one, may yetAwake the muse by Schuylkill's silent stream,And bid new forests bloom along her tide.And Susquehanna's rocky stream unsung,In bright meanders winding round the hills,Where first the mountain nymph, sweet echo, heardThe uncouth musick of my rural lay,Shall yet remurmur to the magic soundOf song heroic, when in future daysSome noble Hambden rises into fame.LeanderOr Roanoke's and James's limpid wavesThe sound of musick murmurs in the gale:Another Denham celebrates their flow,In gliding numbers and harmonious lays.EugenioNow in the bow'rs of Tuscororah hills,As once on Pindus all the muses stray,New Theban bards high soaring reach the skiesAnd swim along thro' azure deeps of air.LeanderFrom Alleghany in thick groves imbrown'd,Sweet music breathing thro' the shades of nightSteals on my ear, they sing the originOf those fair lights which gild the firmament;From whence the gale that murmurs in the pines;Why flows the stream down from the mountains browAnd rolls the ocean lower than the land.They sing the final destiny of things,The great result of all our labours here,The last day's glory, and the world renew'd.Such are their themes, for in these happier daysThe bard enraptur'd scorns ignoble strains,Fair science smiling and full truth revealed,The world at peace, and all her tumults o'er,The blissful prelude to Emanuel's reign.EugenioAnd when a train of rolling years are past,(So sang the exil'd seer in Patmos isle,)A new Jerusalem sent down from heav'nShall grace our happy earth, perhaps this land,Whose virgin bosom shall then receive, tho' late,Myriads of saints with their almighty king,To live and reign on earth a thousand yearsThence call'd Millennium. Paradise anewShall flourish, by no second Adam lost.No dang'rous tree or deathful fruit shall grow,No tempting serpent to allure the soul,From native innocence; a Canaan hereAnother Canaan shall excel the old,And from fairer Pisgah's top be seen.No thistle here or briar or thorn shall spring,Earth's curse before: the lion and the lambIn mutual friendship link'd shall browse the shrub,And tim'rous deer with rabid tygers strayO'er mead or lofty hill or grassy plain.Another Jordan's stream shall glide alongAnd Siloah's brook in circling eddies flow,Groves shall adorn their verdant banks, on whichThe happy people free from second deathShall find secure repose; no fierce diseaseNo fevers, slow consumption, direful plagueDeath's ancient ministers, again renewPerpetual war with man: Fair fruits shall bloomFair to the eye, sweet to the taste, if suchDivine inhabitants could need the tasteOf elemental food, amid the joys,Fit for a heav'nly nature. Music's charmsShall swell the lofty soul and harmonyTriumphant reign; thro' ev'ry grove shall soundThe cymbal and the lyre, joys too divineFor fallen man to know. Such days the worldAnd such, America, thou first shall haveWhen ages yet to come have run their roundAnd future years of bliss alone remain.AcastoThis is thy praise. America, thy pow'r,Thou best of climes, by science visited,By freedom blest and richly stor'd with allThe luxuries of life. Hail, happy land,The seat of empire, the abode of kings,The final stage where time shall introduceRenowned characters, and glorious worksOf high invention and of wond'rous artWhich not the ravages of time shall wasteTill he himself has run his long career;Till all those glorious orbs of light on high,The rolling wonders that surround the ball,Drop from their spheres extinguish'd and consum'd;When final ruin with her fiery carRides o'er creation, and all nature's worksAre lost in chaos and the womb of night.

The 1786 edition, which was evolved with such great changes from the original version, furnished the text of the 1795 edition. There were some twenty variations and three added lines, viz., lines 354, 427, 438. Line 265 was changed from "Which full enjoyment only finds for fools," to its final form; line 352 was changed from "A thousand kingdoms rais'd;" line 360, from "Our Alexanders, Pompeys, heroes, kings;" line 371, from "One monarchy;" and 461, from "Death's ancient." The other changes were largely verbal, nearly all being for the better. For the edition of 1809, Freneau used the 1795 text, with some twenty-one variations and one added line, viz., line 67. These variations, which nearly all concern single words, are generally not at all for the better: for instance, "Shackle," in line 343, is changed to "people;" "our sons," in line 365, is changed to "a race;" "were born," in 367, to "we exist;" and "strumpets," in 409, to "vagrants." Freneau's notes in the various editions were as follows: