By schools untaught, from Nature's source he drew That flow of wit which wits with toil pursue, Above dependence, bent to virtue's side; Beyond the folly of the folio's pride; Born to no power, he took no splendid part, Yet warm for freedom glowed his honest heart Foe to all baseness, not afraid to shame The little tyrant that usurped his claim: Bound to no sect, no systems to defend, He loved his jest, a female, and his friend:-- The tale well told, to each occasion fit, In him was nature--and that nature wit: Alike to pride and wild ambition dumb, He saw no terrors in the world to come.

But, slighting sophists and their flimsy aid, To G.o.d and Reason left the works they made.

In chace of fortune, half his life was whim, Yet fortune saw no sycophant in him; Bold, open, free, the world he called his own, But wished no wealth that cost a wretch a groan-- Too social Bell! in others so refined, One sneaking virtue ne'er possessed your mind-- Had Prudence only held her share of sway, Still had your cup been full, yourself been gay!

But while we laughed, and while the gla.s.s went round, The lamp was darkened--and no help was found; On distant sh.o.r.es you died, where none shall tell, "Here rest the virtues and the wit of Bell."

[287] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, February 28, 1787, with the explanation, "Written more than two years ago." The date in the t.i.tle above, taken from the 1809 edition, is doubtless wrong.

"It is believed that Robert Bell, an Englishman or a Scotchman, who came to Philadelphia about 1772 or 1773, was the first person who kept a circulating library in this city. He had his place of business in Third street below Walnut. He was also one of the first to establish book auctions here, in which effort he met very serious opposition from the booksellers. He published several works prior to the Revolutionary War, but during that struggle he seems to have left the city. He died in Richmond, Va., Sept. 26, 1784."--_Watson's Annals._

He published Freneau's _American Independence_ in Philadelphia in 1778.

ON THE FIRST AMERICAN SHIP[288]

_Empress of China_, Capt. Greene

That explored the rout to China, and the East-Indies, after the Revolution, 1784

With clearance from Bellona won She spreads her wings to meet the Sun, Those golden regions to explore Where George forbade to sail before.

Thus, grown to strength, the bird of Jove, Impatient, quits his native grove, With eyes of fire, and lightning's force Through the blue aether holds his course.

No foreign tars are here allowed To mingle with her chosen crowd, Who, when returned, might, boasting, say They shewed our native oak the way.

To that old track no more confined, By Britain's jealous court a.s.signed, She round the Stormy Cape[A] shall sail, And, eastward, catch the odorous gale.

[A] _Cabo Tormentosa_ (The Cape of Storms) so called by _Vasco da Gama_, and by the earliest Portuguese adventurers to India--now called the cape of Good Hope.--_Freneau's note._

To countries placed in burning climes And islands of remotest times She now her eager course explores, And soon shall greet Chinesian sh.o.r.es.

From thence their fragrant teas to bring Without the leave of Britain's king; And Porcelain ware, enchased in gold, The product of that finer mould.

Thus commerce to our world conveys All that the varying taste can please; For us, the Indian looms are free, And Java strips her spicy tree.

Great pile proceed!--and o'er the brine May every prosperous gale be thine, 'Till freighted deep with Asia's stores, You reach again your native sh.o.r.es.

[288] Text from the edition of 1809.

THE NEWSMONGER[289]

A Character

An insect lives among mankind For what wise ends by fate designed 'Tis hard, 'tis very hard, to find.

In pain for all, but thanked by few Not twice a year he gets his due-- Yet, patiently he struggles through.

Beneath some garret roof restrained To one dull place forever chained His word is, "little money gained."

The flowers that deck the summer field, The bloom of spring, too long concealed, To him no hour of pleasure yield.

His life is everlasting whim; The seasons change--but scarce for him-- On sheets of news his eyes grow dim.

He life maintains on self-esteem, He plans, contrives, and lives by--scheme-- And blots good paper--many a ream.

Distrest for those he never saw-- Of kings and n.o.bles not in awe, He scorns their mandates, and their law.

Relief he finds for others' woes-- The wants of all the world he knows-- His boots are only out at toes.

Now, Europe's feuds distract his brains: Now, Asia's news his head contains-- But still his labour for his pains.

The river Scheldt he opens wide, And Joseph's ships in triumph ride,-- The Dutchmen are not on his side.

On great affairs condemned to fret,-- The interest on our foreign debt, He hopes good Louis may forget.

He fears the banks will hurt our trade; And fall they must--without his aid-- Meanwhile his taylor goes unpaid.

Our western posts, which Britons keep In spite of treaties, break his sleep-- He plans their capture--at one sweep.

He grumbles at the price of flour, And mourns and mutters, many an hour, That congress have so little power,

Although he has no ships to lose, The Algerines he loves to abuse-- And hopes to hear--some b.l.o.o.d.y news.

The French (he thinks) will soon prepare To undertake some grand affair-- So 'tis but war "we need not care."

Where Mississippi laves the plain He hopes the bold Kentucky swain, Will seize the forts, and plague Old Spain:

Such morning whims, such evening dreams!

Through wakeful nights he plans odd schemes, To dispossess her of those streams.

He prophesies, the time must come When few will drink West India rum-- Our spirits will be proof at home.

The Tories on New Scotland's coast, He thinks may of full bellies boast In half a century--at most.

Then shakes his head, and shifts the scene-- Talks much about the "Empress Queen"-- And wonders what the Austrians mean?

He raves, and scolds and seems afraid The States will break by China trade, "Since specie for their tea is paid."

Then tells, that, "just about next June, Lunardi in his new balloon Will make a journey--to the moon."