"Mercantile towns where dullness holds her reign And boors, too lazy to manure the plain:-- There, where two creeks divide the sickly lands, Mis-shapen pile, the gloomy college stands, With mingled _chess_ the sophs their vigils keep And _William_ nods to _Mary_--half asleep; The mopish muse no lively theme essays But toils in _law_, that best her toil repays, With modern Latin, ancient trash explains, Or deals in Logic--for the want of brains.

"Attach'd to other times, I cast my view To former days, when all was fresh & new, When _Pocahunta_, in her bearskin clad, Sigh'd to be happy with her English lad: Queen of those woods, embarking on the main, (With _Tomocomo_ following in her train) First of her race, she reach'd the British sh.o.r.e But doom'd to perish, saw her own no more!

Chang'd is the scene--where once her gardens smil'd A negro race now wander through the wild And with base gabbling, vex that injur'd shade Where Freedom flourish'd and _Powhatan_ stray'd."

LOG-TOWN TAVERN[22]

[By Hezekiah Salem][23]

Through sandy wastes and floods of rain To this dejected place I came, Where swarthy nymphs, in tattered gowns, From pine-knots catch their evening flame:

Where barren oaks, in close array, With mournful melody condole; Where no gay fabrics meet the eye, Nor painted board, nor barber's pole.

Thou town of logs! so justly called, In thee who halts at evening's close, Not dreams from Jove, but hosts of fleas Shall join to sweeten his repose.

A curse on this dejected place Where cold, and hot, and wet, and dry, And stagnant ponds of ample s.p.a.ce The putrid steams of death supply.

Since here I paced on weary steed Ah, blame me not, should I repine That sprightly girl, nor social bed, Nor jovial gla.s.s this night is mine.

The landlord, gouged in either eye, Here drains his bottle to the dregs, Or borrows Susan's pipe, while she Prepares the bacon and the eggs.

Jamaica, that inspires the soul, In these abodes no time has seen To dart its generous influence round, To kindle wit and kill the spleen.

The squire of this disheartening inn Affords to none the generous bowl, Displays no Bacchus on the sign To warm the heart and cheer the soul.

To cyder, drawn from tilted cask, While each a fond attention paid All grieved to see the empty flask, Its substance gone, its strength decayed.

A rambling hag, in dismal notes Screeched out a song, to cheer my grief; Two lads their dull adventures told, A shepherd each--and each a thief.

Dame justice here in rigour reigns-- Each has on each the griping paw: Whoe'er with them a bargain makes, Scheme as he will, it ends in law.

With sc.r.a.ps of songs and s.m.u.tty words Each lodger here adorns the walls: The wanton muse no pencil gives, A coal her mean idea scrawls.

No merry thought, no flash of wit Was scrawled by this unseemly crew, With pain I read the words they writ Immodest and immoral too.

The G.o.d of verse, the poet's friend, Whom Nature all indulgent finds-- That G.o.d of verse will never lend His powers to such degraded minds.

In murmuring streams no chrystal wave To cheer the wretched hamlet flows; But frowning to the distant bog Rosanna with the pitcher goes.

At dusk of eve the tardy treat Was placed on board of knotty pine; Each gaping gazed, to see me eat While round me lay the slumbering swine.

Unblessed be she, whose aukward hand Before me laid the mouldy pone;[A]

May she still miss the joyous kiss, Condemned to fret and sleep alone.

[A] A composition of Indian meal and water, baked hastily before the fire on a board or hoe.--_Freneau's note._

The horse that bore me on my way Around me cast a wishful eye, He looked, and saw no manger near, And hung his head, and seemed to sigh.

At stump of pine, for want of stall, All night, beneath a dripping tree, Not fed with oats, but filled with wind, And buckwheat straw, alone stood he.

Discouraged at so vile a treat, Yet pleased to see the approaching dawn, In haste, we left this dreary place, Nor staid to drink their dear Yoppon.[B]

[B] A shrub leaf very commonly used in the Carolinas, as a subst.i.tute for tea.--_Freneau's note._

May travellers dread to wander here, Unless on penance they be bound-- O may they never venture near, Such fleas and filthiness abound.

But should ye come--be short your stay, For Lent is here forever kept-- Depart, ye wretches, haste away, Nor stop to sleep--where I have slept.

[22] _Daily Advertiser_, February 19, 1790, ent.i.tled "Lines Descriptive of a Tavern at Log-Town, a small Place in the Pine Barrens of North-Carolina." The poem appeared originally in the _North Carolina Gazette_.

[23] The signature "By Hezekiah Salem" or "By H. Salem" is peculiar to the 1809 edition. Freneau added it to many poems which in previous editions had been unsigned.

THE WANDERER[24]

As Southward bound to Indian isles O'er lonely seas he held his way, A songster of the feather'd kind Approach'd, with golden plumage gay:

By sympathetic feelings led And grieving for her sad mischance, Thus Thyrsis to the wanderer said, As circling in her airy dance.

"Sad pilgrim on a watery waste, What cruel tempest has compell'd To leave so far your native grove, To perish on this liquid field!

Not such a dismal swelling scene (Dread Neptune's wild unsocial sea) But crystal brooks and groves of green, Dear rambling bird, were made for thee.

Ah, why amid some flowery mead Did you not stay, where late you play'd: Not thus forsake the cypress grove That lent its kind protecting shade.

In vain you spread your weary wings To shun the hideous gulph below; Our barque can be your only hope-- But man you justly deem your foe.

Now hovering near, you stoop to lodge Where yonder lofty canvas swells-- Again take wing--refuse our aid, And rather trust the ruffian gales.

But Nature tires! your toils are vain-- Could you on stronger pinions rise Than eagles have--for days to come All you could see are seas and skies.

Again she comes, again she lights, And casts a pensive look below-- Weak wanderer, trust the traitor, Man, And take the help that we bestow."

Down to his side, with circling flight, She flew, and perch'd, and linger'd there; But, worn with wandering, droop'd her wing, And life resign'd in empty air.

[24] Printed in the _Daily Advertiser_, February 22, 1790, under the t.i.tle "The Bird at Sea," and republished only in the edition of 1795, from which the text is taken.

ON THE DEMOLITION OF FORT-GEORGE