You for concealment cannot name a plea But what applies with equal force to me. Shall I go on, regardless of th' event, Borne strangely forward by my native bent? Methinks I could with greater firmness stand, Might I but hold thee by thy friendly hand. Yet let not kindness tempt thee to agree To act contrariant to thy mind for me. At worst, I think, it cannot be a crime; Sure there's no bloodshed in a mangled rhyme; Or should there be, e'en while that blood is spill
Those cannot suffer who are void of feeling.
Pen, ink, and paper, neither hear nor see;
Of course the anguish all devolves on me;
Or at the very farthest, but extends
To the kind bosom of those partial friends,
To whom I very freely give a share,
Since they neglect to warn me to forbear.
Dear friends, I'm gone beyond a hint, I doubt;
If you would stop me, pray speak freely out,
Or else, let life or death this work betide,
Hereafter stand with firmness by my side.
Cannot your kindness break each cruel blow
That may be dealt to lay my laurels low?
"The world wants judgment and cannot discern;
"Some lib'ral minds alone confess their merit,
"The rest are guided by a captious spirit—.”
O words more sweet than sugar-plumbs or pears!
Grateful as healing oil to aching ears!
The pleasing foretaste makes my heart expand;
With such a cordial plac'd so near at hand,
Why should I hesitate, why wait to think,
But freely at Parnassus' fountain drink?
"How shall the muse in silence then remain ?"
The air we breathe of course respires again.
Till these inspiring streams shall cease to flow;
While on their borders fancy's garlands grow;
While there are sprigs enough to form a wreath;
"Twill be as natural to rhyme as breathe.
Here let me turn the current of my lays,
Lest you suppose me angling after praise.
But were I conscious of no higher aim,
I'd stand indebted to ingenuous shame
For that which would-be-beauties vainly spread
On sallow cheeks-I mean, a little red.
Where my true motives are not understood, Sweet charity, draw near, and think them good.
ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL WASHINGTON.
LO! a dark cloud its banners hath unfurl'd,
And wrapt in sable half the western world.
This day* the festive dance was wont to grace,
When smiling pleasure brighten'd every face.
How diff'rent now! The shaft which laid him
low
Turns sprightly songs to elegies of woe!
This day, my friends, forget each private cross;
Lose selfish sorrow in the gen'ral loss.
Let every heart with gen'rous ardour glow,
Till public virtue springs from public woe.
While his dear urn with grateful tears we lave,
Let us still bless th' auspicious day that gave
America a son who gilds her name;
For with his own he rais'd his country's fame. WASHINGTON's glory through the world is spread,
And distant nations mourn the hero dead.
* February 22d, being the anniversary of the General's birth..
Let us do more: while weeping o'er his grave, Let us his virtues on our souls engrave
"Tis true, all are not call'd to public life, And few are leaders in a glorious strife;
But on this earthly stage we all sustain
A part, and none should spend their time in vain. Did he with zeal his arduous task pursue?
Shall we neglect the little we've to do?
Did he his life in public labour spend,
Yet every private duty well attend?
Let those, then, blush, who, free from public cares,
Suffer confusion in their own affairs.
Shall there be fathers, without any claim
To that endearing title, save the name?
Mothers, forgetful of their precious trust?
Perfidious friends, or magistrates unjust?
Children, who bursting every filial tie,
Can break their parents' hearts without a sigh?
Young men and maids, in fashion's whirlpooltoss'd,
Till ev'ry virtuous principle is lost?
Forbid it, ev'ry sable sign of grief,
That marks respect for the illustrious chief,
Whose bright example strongly recommends
Rev'rence to God, and faithfulness to friends.
No mad ambition fir'd his gen'rous blood;
Above his own he sought his country's good.
And now we hear the public voice proclaim,
That merit is the proper road to fame :
This truth's attach'd to his beloved name.
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THE REV. DR. WITHERSPOON, LATE PRESIDENT OF NEW-JERSEY COLLEGE.
WEAK are the efforts of this feeble pen
To trace the merits of the best of men!
Shall I presume, shall I, alas! pretend
To paint a worth I cannot comprehend !
Let some superior genius who has trode
Under his care the scientific road,
Tell us how deep, how solid, how refin'd,
Were all the powers of his exalted mind:
Tell us, of wisdom what a wond'rous store
He gather'd from the wise who went before:
Tell us, how great in council he appears,
When public danger call'd to state affairs:
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