Hence, old Arcadia, woodnymphs, satyrs, fauns And hence Elysium, fancy'd heav'n below.

Fair agriculture, not unworthy kings, Once exercis'd the royal hand, or those Whose virtue rais'd them to the rank of G.o.ds.

See old Laertes in his shepherd weeds, Far from his pompous throne and court august, Digging the grateful soil, where peaceful blows The west wind murm'ring thro' the aged trees Loaded with apples red, sweet scented peach And each luxurious fruit the world affords, While o'er the fields the harmless oxen draw Th' industrious plough. The Roman heroes too, Fabricius and Camillus, lov'd a life Of 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 rise And mighty crops adorn the golden plains!

Fair plenty smiles throughout, while lowing herds Stalk o'er the gra.s.sy hill or level mead, Or at some winding river slake their thirst.

Thus fares the rustic swain; and when the winds Blow with a keener breath, and from the North Pour all their tempests thro' a sunless sky, Ice, sleet and rattling hail, secure he sits In some thatch'd cottage fearless of the storm; While on the hearth a fire still blazing high Chears ev'ry mind, and nature sits serene On ev'ry countenance, such the joys And such the fate of those whom heav'n hath bless'd With souls enamour'd of a country life.

EUGENIO

Much wealth and pleasure agriculture brings; Far in the woods she raises palaces, Puisant states and crowded realms where late A desart plain or frowning wilderness Deform'd the view; or where with moving tents The 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 wild In 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 sh.o.r.es to Mississippi's stream.

Famine to us unknown, rich plenty reigns And pours her blessings with a lavish hand.

LEANDER

Nor less from golden commerce flow the streams Of 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 Turk There to conflict by Danube and the straits Which join the Euxine to th' Egean Sea.

Britannia holds the empire of the waves, And welcomes ev'ry bold adventurer To 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 not Old Rome nor Tyre nor mightier Carthage knew.

Daughter of commerce, from the h.o.a.ry deep New-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 sh.o.r.es or from the Caribbees, Homeward returning annually they bring The 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 sons And 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!

ACASTO

Nor these alone, America, thy sons In the short circle of a hundred years Have rais'd with toil along thy shady sh.o.r.es.

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 trade May yet awake the envy and obscure The n.o.blest cities of the eastern world; For commerce is the mighty reservoir From 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.

EUGENIO

And from the earliest times advent'rous man On foreign traffic stretch'd the nimble sail; Or sent the slow pac'd caravan afar O'er barren wastes, eternal sands where not The blissful haunt of human form is seen Nor tree, not ev'n funeral cypress sad Nor bubbling fountain. Thus arriv'd of old Golconda's golden ore, and thus the wealth Of Ophir to the wisest of mankind.

LEANDER

Great is the praise of commerce, and the men Deserve our praise who spread from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e The flowing sail; great are their dangers too; Death ever present to the fearless eye And ev'ry billow but a gaping grave; Yet all these mighty feats to science owe Their rise and glory.--Hail fair science! thou, Transplanted from the eastern climes, dost bloom In these fair regions, Greece and Rome no more Detain the muses on Cithaeron's brow, Or old Olympus crown'd with waving woods; Or Haemus' top where once was heard the harp, Sweet Orpheus' harp that ravish'd h.e.l.l below And pierc'd the soul of Orcus and his bride, That hush'd to silence by the song divine Thy melancholy waters, and the gales O Hebrus! which o'er thy sad surface blow.

No more the maids round Alpheus' waters stray Where he with Arethusa's stream doth mix, Or where swift Tiber disembogues his waves Into th' Italian sea so long unsung.

Hither they've wing'd their way, the last, the best Of countries where the arts shall rise and grow Luxuriant, graceful; and ev'n now we boast A Franklin skill'd in deep philosophy, A genius piercing as th' electric fire, Bright as the light'ning's flash, explain'd so well By him, the rival of Britannia's sage.

This is a land of ev'ry joyous sound Of liberty and life; sweet liberty!

Without whose aid the n.o.blest genius fails, And science irretrievably must die.

ACASTO

This is a land where the more n.o.ble light Of holy revelation beams, the star Which rose from Judah lights our skies, we feel Its influence as once did Palestine And Gentile lands, where now the ruthless Turk Wrapt up in darkness sleeps dull life away.

Here many holy messengers of peace As 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 more Shall charm the list'ning soul, no more Thy bold imagination paint the scenes Of 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.

LEANDER

Yet 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 sh.o.r.e And, freed at last from his confinement, rose An infant seraph to the worlds on high.

EUGENIO

For him we found the melancholy lyre, The lyre responsive to each distant sigh: No grief like that which mourns departing souls Of holy, just and venerable men, Whom pitying Heav'n sends from their native skies To light our way and bring us nearer G.o.d.

But come, Leander, since we know the past And present glory of this empire wide, What hinders to pervade with searching eye The mystic scenes of dark futurity?

Say, shall we ask what empires yet must rise, What kingdoms, pow'rs and states where now are seen But dreary wastes and awful solitude, Where melancholy sits with eye forlorn And hopes the day when Britain's sons shall spread Dominion to the north and south and west Far from th' Atlantic to Pacific sh.o.r.es?

A glorious theme, but how shall mortals dare To pierce the mysteries of future days, And scenes unravel only known to fate.

ACASTO

This might we do if warm'd by that bright coal s.n.a.t.c.h'd from the altar of seraphic fire, Which touch'd Isaiah's lips, or if the spirit Of Jeremy and Amos, prophets old, Should fire the breast; but yet I call the muse And what we can will do. I see, I see A thousand kingdoms rais'd, cities and men Num'rous as sand upon the ocean sh.o.r.e; Th' Ohio then shall glide by many a town Of note: and where the Mississippi stream By forests shaded now runs weeping on, Nations shall grow and states not less in fame Than Greece and Rome of old: we too shall boast Our Alexanders, Pompeys, heroes, kings That in the womb of time yet dormant lye Waiting the joyful hour for life and light.

O s.n.a.t.c.h us hence, ye muses! to those days When, 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 n.o.bly scorn to die; Immortal virtue this denies, the muse Forbids the men to slumber in the grave Who well deserve the praise that virtue gives.

EUGENIO

'Tis true no human eye can penetrate The veil obscure, and in fair light disclos'd Behold 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 far Thro' ages yet unborn. We saw the states And mighty empires of the East arise In swift succession from the a.s.syrian To Macedon and Rome; to Britain thence Dominion drove her car, she stretch'd her reign O'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 sh.o.r.es And 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, sh.o.r.e or stream, Circling the hills now rear their lofty heads.

Far in the Arctic skies a Petersburgh, A Bergen, or Archangel lifts its spires Glitt'ring with Ice, far in the West appears A new Palmyra or an Ecbatan And sees the slow pac'd caravan return O'er many a realm from the Pacific sh.o.r.e, Where fleets shall then convey rich Persia's silks, Arabia's perfumes, and spices rare Of Philippine, Coelebe 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 observatories Rising to heav'n; from thence astronomers With optic gla.s.s take n.o.bler views of G.o.d In golden suns and shining worlds display'd Than the poor Chaldean with the naked eye.

A Nineveh where Oronoque descends With waves discolour'd from the Andes high, Winding himself around a hundred isles Where golden buildings glitter o'er his tide.

To mighty nations shall the people grow Which cultivate the banks of many a flood, In chrystal currents poured from the hills Apalachia nam'd, to lave the sands Of Carolina, Georgia, and the plains Stretch'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 towns And the tall vessels wafted down thy tide.

Hoa.r.s.e Niagara's stream now roaring on Thro' 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 beneath Unnumbr'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.

LEANDER

And here fair freedom shall forever reign.

I see a train, a glorious train appear, Of Patriots plac'd in equal fame with those Who n.o.bly 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 beams Of patriots fam'd and heroes yet unborn.

ACASTO

'Tis but the morning of the world with us And Science yet but sheds her orient rays.

I see the age, the happy age, roll on Bright with the splendours of her mid-day beams, I see a Homer and a Milton rise In all the pomp and majesty of song, Which gives immortal vigour to the deeds Atchiev'd by Heroes in the fields of fame.

A second Pope, like that Arabian bird Of which no age can boast but one, may yet Awake 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, heard The uncouth musick of my rural lay, Shall yet remurmur to the magic sound Of song heroic, when in future days Some n.o.ble Hambden rises into fame.

LEANDER