[66] Text from the 1795 edition.

ODE TO LIBERTY[67]

Thou Liberty! celestial light So long conceal'd from Gallic lands, G.o.ddess, in ancient days ador'd By Gallia's conquering bands: Thou Liberty! whom savage kings Have plac'd among forbidden things, Tho' still averse that man be free, Secret, they bow to Liberty-- O, to my accents lend an ear, Blest object of each tyrant's fear, While I to modern days recall The Lyric muse of ancient Gaul.

Ere yet my willing voice obeys The transports of the heart, The G.o.ddess to my view displays A temple rear'd in ancient days, Fit subject for the muse's art.

Now, round the world I cast my eye, With pain, its ruins I descry: This temple once to Freedom rais'd Thermopylae! in thy fam'd strait-- I see it to the dust debas'd, And servile chains, its fate!

In those fair climes, where freedom reign'd, Two thousand years degrade the Grecian name, I see them still enslav'd, enchain'd; But France from Rome and Athens caught the flame-- A temple now to heaven they raise Where nations bound in ties of peace With olive-boughs shall throng to praise The gallant Gaul, that bade all discord cease.

Before this Pantheon, fair and tall, The piles of darker ages fall, And freemen here no longer trace The monuments of man's disgrace: Before its porch, at Freedom's tree Exalt the Cap of Liberty, The cap[A] that once Helvetia knew (The terror of the tyrant crew) And on our country's altar trace The features of each honour'd face-- The men that strove for equal laws, Or perish'd, martyrs in their cause.

[A] Which owes its origin to William Tell, the famous deliverer of Switzerland.--_Freneau's note._

Ye gallant chiefs, above all praise, Ye Brutuses of ancient days!

Tho' fortune long has strove to blast, Your virtues are repaid at last.

Your heavenly feasts awhile forbear And deign to make my song your care; My lyre a bolder note attains, And rivals old Tyrtoeus' strains; The ambient air returns the sound, And kindles rapture all around.

With thee begins the lofty theme, Eternal Nature--power supreme, Who planted Freedom in the mind, The first great right of all mankind: Too long presumptuous folly dar'd To veil our race from thy regard; Tyrants on ignorance form'd their plan, And made their crimes, the crimes of man, Let victory but befriend our cause And reason deign to dictate laws; And once mankind their rights reclaim And honour pay to thy great name.--

But O! what cries our joys molest, What discord drowns sweet music's feast!

What demon, from perdition, leads Night, fire and thunder o'er our heads!

In northern realms, prepar'd for fight, A thousand savage clans unite.-- To avenge a faithless Helen's doom All Europe's slaves, determin'd, come Freedom's fair fabric to destroy And wrap in flames our modern Troy!

These these are they--the murdering bands, Whose blood, of old, distain'd our lands, By our forefathers chac'd and slain, The monuments of death remain: Hungarians, wet with human blood, Ye Saxons fierce, so oft subdued By ancient Gauls on Gallic plains, Dread, dread the race that still remains: Return, and seek your dark abodes, Your dens and caves in northern woods, Nor stay to tell each kindred ghost What thousands from your tribes are lost.

A friend[B] from h.e.l.l, of murderous brood, Stain'd with a hapless husband's blood, Unites with Danube[C] and the Spree,[C]

Who arm to make the French their prey: To check their hosts and chill with fear, Frenchmen, advance to your frontier.

There dig the Eternal Tomb of kings, Or Poland's fate each monster brings, Mows millions down, your cause defeats, And Ismael's horrid scene[D] repeats.

[B] Catharine the 2d, present Empress of Russia, who deposed her husband, Peter the 3d, and deprived him of life in July, 1762, while in prison.--_Freneau's note._

[C] Two great rivers of Germany; here metaphorically designating the Austrian and Prussian powers.--_Ib._

[D] The Turkish fortress of Ismael, in 1786, stormed by the Russian army. After carrying it by a.s.sault, upwards of 30,000 persons, men, women, and children were slaughtered by the Russian barbarians, in less than three hours.--_Ib._

Ye nations brave, so long rever'd, Whom Rome, in all her glory, fear'd; Whose stubborn souls no tyrant broke To bow the neck to Caesar's yoke-- Scythians! whom Romans never chain'd; Germans! that unsubdued remain'd, Ah! see your sons, a sordid race, With despots leagu'd, to their disgrace Aid the base cause that you abhor, And hurl on France the storm of war.

Our bold attempts shake modern Rome, She bids her kindred despots come; From Italy her forces draws To waste their blood in Tarquin's cause: A hundred hords of foes advance, Embodying on the verge of France; 'Mongst these, to guide the flame of war, I see Porsenna's[E] just a score, While from the soil, by thousands, spring Scevola's[F] to destroy each king.

[E] An ancient king of Etruria who took Tarquin's part against the Romans.--_Freneau's note._

[F] Scevola, who attempted the life of Porsenna in his own camp, but failed.--_Ib._

O Rome! what glory you consign To those who court your ancient fame!

Frenchmen, like Romans, now shall shine, And copying them, their ancient honours claim.

O France, my native clime, my country dear, While youth remains, may I behold you free, Each tyrant crush'd, no threatening despot near To endanger Liberty!

By you unfetter'd be all human kind, No slaves on earth be known And man be blest, in friendship join'd, From Tyber to the Amazon!

[67] The Philadelphia _General Advertiser_ of May 21, 1793, reports in full the "Republican dinner" given Genet, May 18, at which about one hundred citizens were present, chiefly "French, French-Americans, officers of the Frigate l'Embuscade, etc." The following is from this report:

"After the third toast [The United States], an elegant ode, suited to the occasion, and composed by Citizen PICHON, a young Frenchman of promising abilities, was read by Citizen DUPONCEAU, and universally applauded. The society, on motion, ordered that Citizen FRENEAU should be requested to translate it into English verse, and that the original and translation should be published. The society also unanimously voted that Citizen PICHON should be recommended to the notice of the Minister."

The French version of the Ode appeared in the _Advertiser_ on May 27; the translation was printed May 31. Both ode and translation were published in the edition of 1795, the text of which I have followed. It was not republished in 1809. Following is the French text as it appeared in the _Advertiser_:

ODE A LA LIBERTE.

By Citizen PICHON, read at the late dinner given to Citizen GENET, by the French of this City.

O toi, dont l'auguste lumiere Si long tems avait fui nos yeux!

Toi, jadis l'idole premiere De mes invincibles ayeux, LIBERTE, qu'un tyran sauvage, A l'instant meme qu'il t'outrage Honore par des voeux secrets; A mes accens prete l'oreille, Aujourdhui ma muse reveille L'antique lutte des vieux Francais.

Avant que ma voix obeisse Au transport que saisit mes sens, Montre moi deesse propice Un temple digne de mes chants!

Mon oeil a parcouru la terre J'y trouve a peine la pouissiere D'un dome a ton nom consacre, Un tyran siege aux Thermopyles Et sous les chaines les plus viles Le capitole est encombre.

Vingt siecles de honte et de chaines Ont pese sur ces lieux divins; C'est nous qui de Rome et de l'Athenes Resusciterons les destins.

Francais, soyons seuls notre exemple Qu'a ma voix on eleve un temple Ou tous les peuples a jamais Depouillant des haines sauvages Viennent de palmes et d'homages Couronner les heros Francais.

Devant ce Pantheon sublime Brisez ces palais infamans De nos opprobres et du crime Honteux et cruels monumens.

Au pied de ses n.o.bles portiques Plantez ces bonnets Helvetiques Devenus la terreur des rois; Et sur l'autel de la patrie Gravez l'honorable effigie Des martirs sacres de nos droits.

Vous m'entendez, manes augustes De Thrasibule et de Brutus!

Les Destins trop long tems injustes Couronnent enfin vos vertus-- Paraissez, ombres adorees Venez de vos fetes sacrees Remplir les sublimes concerts Deja ma lyre transportee Rivale des chants de Tyrtee De ses sons etonne les airs.

C'est par toi que l'hymne commence Maitre supreme, etre eternal!

Toi qui sis de l'independance Le premier besoin du mortel.

Long tems l'ignorance et l'audace Couvrirent ton auguste face, Du masque impur de leurs forfaits Un seul combat, une victoire Venge nos droits et rend ta gloire Plus eclatante que jamais.

Mais quels cris viennent de nos fetes Troubler les chants majestueux?

Quel demon porte sur nos tetes La nuit, le tonnerre, et les feux?

Verrons nous des hordes sauvages Inonder encore nos rivages, Des terrens du Septentrion; Et pour venger une autre Helene Tout la force Europeene Invest.i.t une autre Ilion.

C'etoient ces bandes homicides Dont le sang verse tant de fois De mes ancetres intrepides Atteste encore les exploits-- Fiers _Saxons_, Hongres Sanguinaires Esclaves jadis de mes peres Craignez leurs braves descendans Rentrez en vos cavernes sombres Ou craignez d'avertir leurs...o...b..es Des revoltes de vos enfans:

Une Tisiphone egaree Teinte encore du sang d'un epoux Avec le Danube et la Spree S'unit et s'arme contre nous A ces despotes sanguinaires: Francais, volez sur vos frontieres Creuser un eternel tombeau; Ou craignez pour votre patrie, Et l'opprobe de Warsovie Et les horreurs d'Ismailow!

Et vous qu'au sort de ses conquetes Rome craignit pour ses remparts Peuples dont les augustes tetes S'indignant du joug des Cesars, Scythes aux fers inaccessibles, Fiers Germains, Teutons invincibles, Voyez vos laches descendans D'une main vile et sanguinaire Sur les bienfaiteurs de la terre Lancer la foudre des tyrans.

Ainsi, par des faits heroiques Rome allarmant tous ses voisins Vit tous les peuples Italiques Vendre leurs bras a ses Tarquins.

Sur ses frontieres investies Avec cent hordes ennemies La France voit vingt Porsennas Contre tant de liberticides Nos phalanges tyrannicides Vomiront mille Scevolas.

O Rome! tu leguas ta gloire Aux peuples faits pour l'imiter!

C'est nous Francais que la victoire Au meme faite veut porter.

O France, O ma chere patrie!