THE SERIOUS MENACE[158]

Or Botany Bay and Nootka Sound: In answer to the Communications of a Persecuting Royalist

Last week we heard a king's man say, Do tell me where is Botany Bay?

There are, quoth he, a meddling few, That shall go there--and we know who.

This Botany Bay is in an isle Removed from us twelve thousand mile, There rogues are banish'd, to atone For roguish things in England done.

Ye vultures, here on sufferance fed, Who curse the hand that gives you bread, Recall your threats, or, by the way, You'll find us act a serious play.

The haughty prince that England owns, To make more room for royal sons, Has given the hint, I would suspect-- And are you one of his Elect?

Ye busy tribe, of harpy face, In search of power, in search of place, Ye rancorous hearts, who build your all On royal wrongs and freedom's fall,

This have we seen, and well we know, Each son of freedom is your foe, And these you would, unheard, convey To places worse than Botany Bay.

Be cautious how you talk so loud-- Above your heads there hangs a cloud, That, bursting with explosion vast, May scatter vengeance in its blast; And send you all, on th' devil's dray, A longer road than--Botany Bay.

Another threat alarm'd us much-- (Indeed, we hourly meet with such)-- A c.o.c.kney said, but spoke it low, For fear the street his mind should know: "And is there no sedition act?

("'Tis almost time to doubt the fact,) "By which this gabbling crew are bound "The nearest way to Nootka Sound?"

Can you but smile!--who would have thought That they who writ, who march'd, who fought For many a year, and little got But liberty, and dearly bought Must now away With half their pay, And seek on ocean's utmost bound Their chance to starve at Nootka Sound!

This Nootka Sound, so far remote, Would make us sing a serious note, If it be true what travellers tell That there a race of natives dwell Who, when they would their brethren treat And give them a regale of meat Unchain their prisoners from the den, And sc.r.a.pe the bones of bearded men.

G.o.d save us from so hard a fate!

As to be spitted, soon or late; It is a lot that few admire-- So let us for a while retire; And live to see some traitors drown'd I' the deepest swash of Nootka Sound.

[158] Text from the 1815 edition.

REFLECTIONS[159]

On the Mutability of Things--1798

The time is approaching, deny it who may, The days are not very remote, When the pageant that glitter'd for many a day, On the stream of oblivion will float.

The times are advancing when matters will turn, And some, who are now in the shade, And pelted by malice, or treated with scorn, Will pay, in the coin that was paid:

The time it will be, when the people aroused, For better arrangements prepare, And firm to the cause, that of old they espoused, Their steady attachment declare:

When tyrants will shrink from the face of the day, Or, if they presume to remain, To the tune of peccavi, a solo will play, And lower the royalty strain:

When government favors to flattery's press Will halt on their way from afar, And people will laugh at the comical dress Of the knights of the garter and star:

When a monarch, new fangled, with lawyer and scribe, In junto will cease to convene, Or take from old England a pitiful bribe, To pamper his "highness serene;"

When virtue and merit will have a fair chance The loaves and the fishes to share, And Jefferson, you to your station advance, The man for the president's chair:

When honesty, honor, experience, approved, No more in disgrace will retire; When fops from the places of trust are removed And the leaders of faction retire.

[159] Text from the 1815 edition.

THE POLITICAL WEATHER-c.o.c.k[160]

'Tis strange that things upon the ground Are commonly most steady found While those in station proud Are turned and twirled, or twist about, Now here and there, now in or out, Mere play things to a cloud.

See yonder influential man, So late the stern Republican While interest bore him up; See him recant, abjure the cause, See him support tyrannic laws, The dregs of slavery's cup!

Thus, on yon' steeple towering high, Where clouds and storms distracted fly, The weather-c.o.c.k is placed; Which only while the storm does blow Is to one point of compa.s.s true, Then veers with every blast.

But things are so appointed here That weather-c.o.c.ks on high appear, On pinnacle displayed, While Sense, and Worth, and reasoning wights, And they who plead for Human Rights, Sit humble in the shade.

[160] From the 1809 edition.

REFLECTIONS[161]

On the Gradual Progress of Nations from Democratical States to Despotic Empires

Mantua vae miserae nimium vicina Cremonae!--VIRGIL.

Oh fatal day! when to the Atlantic sh.o.r.e, European despots sent the doctrine o'er, That man's vast race was born to lick the dust; Feed on the winds, or toil through life accurst; Poor and despised, that rulers might be great And swell to monarchs, to devour the state.

Whence came these ills, or from what causes grew This vortex vast, that only spares the few, Despotic sway, where every plague combined, Distracts, degrades, and swallows up mankind; Takes from the intellectual sun its light, And shrouds the world in universal night?

Accuse not nature for the dreary scene, That glooms her stage or hides her heaven serene, She, equal still in all her varied ways, An equal blessing to the world displays.

The suns that now on northern climates glow, Will soon retire to melt Antarctic snow, The seas she robb'd to form her clouds and rain, Return in rivers to that source again; But man, wrong'd man, borne down, deceived and vex'd, Groans on through life, bewilder'd and perplex'd; No suns on him but suns of misery shine, Now march'd to war, now grovelling in the mine.

Chain'd, fetter'd, prostrate, sent from earth a slave, To seek rewards in worlds beyond the grave.

If in her general system, just to all, We nature an impartial parent call, Why did she not on man's whole race bestow, Those fine sensations angels only know; Who, sway'd by reason, with superior mind In nature's state all nature's blessings find, Which shed through all, does all their race pervade, In streams not n.i.g.g.ard by a despot made?

Leave this a secret in great nature's breast, Confess that all her works tend to the best, Or own that man's neglected culture here Breeds all the mischiefs that we feel or fear.

In all, except the skill to rule her race, Man, wise and skilful, gives each part its place: Each nice machine he plans, to reason true, Adapting all things to the end in view, But taught in this, the art himself to rule His sense is folly, and himself a fool.