Wakeful, vagrant, restless thing, Ever wandering on the wing, Who thy wondrous source can find, Fancy, regent of the mind; A spark from Jove's resplendent throne, But thy nature all unknown.

This spark of bright, celestial flame, From Jove's seraphic altar came, And hence alone in man we trace, Resemblance to the immortal race.

Ah! what is all this mighty whole, These suns and stars that round us roll!

What are they all, where'er they shine, But Fancies of the Power Divine!

What is this globe, these lands, and seas, And heat, and cold, and flowers, and trees, And life, and death, and beast, and man, And time--that with the sun began-- But thoughts on reason's scale combin'd, Ideas of the Almighty mind!

On the surface of the brain Night after night she walks unseen, n.o.ble fabrics doth she raise In the woods or on the seas, On some high, steep, pointed rock, Where the billows loudly knock And the dreary tempests sweep Clouds along the uncivil deep.

Lo! she walks upon the moon, Listens to the chimy tune Of the bright, harmonious spheres, And the song of angels hears; Sees this earth a distant star,[A]

Pendant, floating in the air; Leads me to some lonely dome, Where Religion loves to come, Where the bride of Jesus dwells, And the deep ton'd organ swells In notes with lofty anthems join'd, Notes that half distract the mind.

Now like lightning she descends To the prison of the fiends, Hears the rattling of their chains, Feels their never ceasing pains-- But, O never may she tell Half the frightfulness of h.e.l.l.

Now she views Arcadian rocks, Where the shepherds guard their flocks, And, while yet her wings she spreads, Sees chrystal streams and coral beds, Wanders to some desert deep, Or some dark, enchanted steep, By the full moonlight doth shew Forests of a dusky blue, Where, upon some mossy bed, Innocence reclines her head.

Swift, she stretches o'er the seas To the far off Hebrides, Canvas on the lofty mast Could not travel half so fast-- Swifter than the eagle's flight Or instantaneous rays of light!

Lo! contemplative she stands On Norwegia's rocky lands-- Fickle G.o.ddess, set me down Where the rugged winters frown Upon Orca's howling steep, Nodding o'er the northern deep, Where the winds tumultuous roar, Vext that Ossian sings no more.

Fancy, to that land repair, Sweetest Ossian slumbers there; Waft me far to southern isles Where the soften'd winter smiles, To Bermuda's orange shades, Or Demarara's lovely glades; Bear me o'er the sounding cape, Painting death in every shape, Where daring Anson spread the sail Shatter'd by the stormy gale-- Lo! she leads me wide and far, Sense can never follow her-- Shape thy course o'er land and sea, Help me to keep pace with thee, Lead me to yon' chalky cliff, Over rock and over reef, Into Britain's fertile land, Stretching far her proud command.

Look back and view, thro' many a year, Caesar, Julius Caesar, there.

Now to Tempe's verdant wood, Over the mid-ocean flood Lo! the islands of the sea-- Sappho, Lesbos mourns for thee: Greece, arouse thy humbled head, Where are all thy mighty dead, Who states to endless ruin hurl'd And carried vengeance through the world?-- Troy, thy vanish'd pomp resume, Or, weeping at thy Hector's tomb, Yet those faded scenes renew, Whose memory is to Homer due.

Fancy, lead me wandering still Up to Ida's cloud-topt hill; Not a laurel there doth grow But in vision thou shalt show,-- Every sprig on Virgil's tomb Shall in livelier colours bloom, And every triumph Rome has seen Flourish on the years between.

Now she bears me far away In the east to meet the day, Leads me over Ganges' streams, Mother of the morning beams-- O'er the ocean hath she ran, Places me on Tinian; Farther, farther in the east, Till it almost meets the west, Let us wandering both be lost On Taitis sea-beat coast, Bear me from that distant strand, Over ocean, over land, To California's golden sh.o.r.e-- Fancy, stop, and rove no more.

Now, tho' late, returning home, Lead me to Belinda's tomb; Let me glide as well as you Through the shroud and coffin too, And behold, a moment, there, All that once was good and fair-- Who doth here so soundly sleep?

Shall we break this prison deep?-- Thunders cannot wake the maid, Lightnings cannot pierce the shade, And tho' wintry tempests roar, Tempests shall disturb no more.

Yet must those eyes in darkness stay, That once were rivals to the day?-- Like heaven's bright lamp beneath the main They are but set to rise again.

Fancy, thou the muses' pride, In thy painted realms reside Endless images of things, Fluttering each on golden wings, Ideal objects, such a store, The universe could hold no more: Fancy, to thy power I owe Half my happiness below; By thee Elysian groves were made, Thine were the notes that Orpheus play'd; By thee was Pluto charm'd so well While rapture seiz'd the sons of h.e.l.l-- Come, O come--perceiv'd by none, You and I will walk alone.

[A] Milton's Paradise Lost, B. II, V. 1052.--_Freneau's note._

[35] From the edition of 1786. The later editions omitted all but the first twenty and the last fourteen lines of the poem, and gave to this fragment the t.i.tle "Ode to Fancy." The omitted lines, much changed, were then made a separate poem, under the t.i.tle "Fancy's Ramble."

THE PRAYER OF ORPHEUS

Sad monarch of the world below, Stern guardian of this drowsy shade, Through these unlovely realms I go To seek a captive thou hast made.

O'er Stygian waters have I pa.s.s'd, Contemning Jove's severe decree, And reached thy sable court at last To find my lost Eurydice.

Of all the nymphs so deckt and drest Like Venus of the starry train, She was the loveliest and the best, The pride and glory of the plain.

O free from thy despotic sway This nymph of heaven-descended charms, Too soon she came this dusky way-- Restore thy captive to my arms!

As by a stream's fair verdant side In myrtle shades she roved along, A serpent stung my blooming bride, This brightest of the female throng-- The venom hastening thro' her veins Forbade the freezing blood to flow.

And thus she left the Thracian plains For these dejected groves below.

Even thou may'st pity my sad pain, Since Love, as ancient stories say, Forced thee to leave thy native reign, And in Sicilian meadows stray: Bright Proserpine thy bosom fired, For her you sought unwelcome light, Madness and love in you conspired To seize her to the shades of night.

But if, averse to my request, The banished nymph, for whom I mourn, Must in Plutonian chambers rest, And never to my arms return---- Take Orpheus too--his warm desire Can ne'er be quench'd by your decree: In life or death he must admire, He must adore Eurydice!

THE DESERTED FARM-HOUSE[36]

This antique dome the insatiate tooth of time Now level with the dust has almost laid;-- Yet ere 'tis gone, I seize my humble theme From these low ruins, that his years have made.

Behold the unsocial hearth!--where once the fires Blazed high, and soothed the storm-stay'd traveller's woes; See! the weak roof, that abler props requires, Admits the winds, and swift descending snows.

Here, to forget the labours of the day, No more the swains at evening hours repair, But wandering flocks a.s.sume the well known way To shun the rigours of the midnight air.

In yonder chamber, half to ruin gone, Once stood the ancient housewife's curtained bed-- Timely the prudent matron has withdrawn, And each domestic comfort with her fled.

The trees, the flowers that her own hands had reared, The plants, the vines, that were so verdant seen,-- The trees, the flowers, the vines have disappear'd, And every plant has vanish'd from the green.

So sits in tears on wide Campania's plain Rome, once the mistress of a world enslaved; That triumph'd o'er the land, subdued the main, And Time himself, in her wild transports, braved.

So sits in tears on Palestina's sh.o.r.e The Hebrew town, of splendour once divine-- Her kings, her lords, her triumphs are no more; Slain are her priests, and ruin'd every shrine.

Once, in the bounds of this deserted room, Perhaps some swain nocturnal courtship made, Perhaps some Sherlock mused amidst the gloom; Since Love and Death forever seek the shade.

Perhaps some miser, doom'd to discontent, Here counted o'er the heaps acquired with pain; He to the dust--his gold, on traffick sent, Shall ne'er disgrace these mouldering walls again.

Nor shall the glow-worm fopling, sunshine bred, Seek, at the evening hour this wonted dome-- Time has reduced the fabrick to a shed, Scarce fit to be the wandering beggar's home.

And none but I its dismal case lament-- None, none but I o'er its cold relics mourn, Sent by the muse--(the time perhaps misspent)-- To write dull stanzas on this dome forlorn.

[36] The first trace that I can find of this poem is in the _Freeman's Journal_ of May 18, 1785. I have little doubt that it is the "Stanzas on an Ancient Dutch House on Long Island," mentioned in 1773 in a letter to Madison as forming a part of Freneau's publication, "_The American Village_," now lost. After its appearance in the _Freeman's Journal_, it was widely copied. The _Independent Gazetteer_ printed it in 1787, introduced as follows: "The following is copied from Perryman's _London Morning Herald_ of July 22, 1787: 'The Deserted Farm House,' written in America by Mr. Freneau, whose political productions tended considerably to keep alive the spirit of independence during the late civil war." I have followed the text of 1809. The poet constantly emended this poem; he seldom reprinted it without minor changes, usually for the better.

THE CITIZEN'S RESOLVE[37]

"Far be the dull and heavy day "And toil, and restless care, from me-- "Sorrow attends on loads of gold, "And kings are wretched, I am told.

"Soon from the noisy town removed "To such wild scenes as Plato[38] lov'd, "Where, placed the leafless oaks between, "Less haughty grows the wintergreen, "There, Night, will I (lock'd in thy arms, "Sweet G.o.ddess of the sable charms) "Enjoy the dear, delightful dreams "That fancy prompts by shallow[39] streams, "Where wood nymphs walk their evening round, "And fairies haunt the moonlight ground.

"Beneath some mountain's towering height "In cottage low I hail the night, "Where jovial swains with heart sincere "Welcome the new returning year;-- "Each tells a tale or chaunts a song "Of her, for whom he sigh'd so long, "Of Cynthia[40] fair, or Delia coy, "Neglecting still her love-sick boy-- "While, near, the h.o.a.ry headed sage "Recalls the feats of youth's gay age, "All that in past time e'er was seen, "And many a frolic on the green, "How champion he with champions met, "And fiercely they did combat it-- "Or how, full oft, with horn and hound "They chaced the deer the forest round-- "The panting deer as swiftly flies, "Yet by the well-aimed musquet dies!

"Thus pa.s.s the evening hours away, "Unnoticed dies the parting day; "Unmeasured flows that happy juice, "Which mild October did produce, "No surly sage, too frugal found, "No n.i.g.g.ard housewife deals it round: "And deep they quaff the inspiring bowl "That kindles gladness in the soul.--[41]

"But now the moon, exalted high, "Adds l.u.s.tre to the earth and sky, "And in the mighty ocean's gla.s.s "Admires the beauties of her face-- "About her orb you may behold "The circling stars that freeze with cold-- "But they in brighter seasons please, "Winter can find no charms in these, "While less ambitious, we admire, "And more esteem domestic fire.

"O could I there a mansion find "Suited exactly to my mind "Near that industrious, heavenly train "Of rustics honest, neat, and plain; "The days, the weeks, the years to pa.s.s "With some good-natured, longing la.s.s, "With her the cooling spring to sip, "And seize, at will, her damask lip; "The groves, the springs, the shades divine, "And all Arcadia should be mine!

"Steep me, steep me, some poppies deep "In beechen bowl, to bring on sleep; "Love hath my soul in fetters bound, "Through the dull night no sleep I found;-- "O gentle sleep! bestow thy dreams "Of fields, and woods, and murmuring streams, "Dark, tufted groves, and grottoes rare, "And Flora, charming Flora, there.

"Dull Commerce, hence, with all thy train "Of debts, and dues, and loss, and gain; "To hills, and groves, and purling streams, "To nights of ease, and heaven-born dreams, "While wiser Damon hastes away, "Should I in this dull city stay, "Condemn'd to death by slow decays "And care that clouds my brightest days?

"No--by Silenus' self I swear, "In rustic shades I'll kill that care."

So spoke Lysander, and in haste His clerks discharg'd, his goods re-cased, And to the western forests flew With fifty airy schemes in view; His ships were set to public sale-- But what did all this change avail?-- In three short months, sick of the heavenly train, In three short months--he moved to town again.

[37] From the edition of 1809. The 1786 edition has the note, "Written 1770."

[38] Shenstone.--_Ed. 1786._