5*3X1, THE PORTRAIT A POEM DELIVERED BEFORE THE WASHINGTON BENEVOLENT SOCIETY, OF NEWBURY^ORT, ON THE EVENING OF OCTOBER 27, 1812. BY JOHN ,PIERPONT, ESQ. BOSTON : PUBLISHED BY BRADFORD AND READ. T. B. Wait <& Co. Printers. 1812. DISTRICT CLERK'S OFFICE. DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, TO WIT: BE it remembered, That on the ninth day of November, A. D. 1812, and in the thirty-seventh year of the (ndependence of the United States of America, Bradford ami Read of the said dis- trict, have deposited in this office the title of a book, the right whereof they claim as proprie- tors, in the words following! to wit: ' The Portrait. A Poem delivered before the Washington Benevolent Society, of Newbury- port, on the evening of October 27, 1812 By John Pierpont, Esq." In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, intitled, u An Act for the en- couragement of learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned ;" and also, to an act, intitled * An act supplementary to an act, intitled, an act for the encouragement of learning, by se- curing the copies of Maps, Charts, and Books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned ; and extending the benefits thereof to the Arts of De- tiguinf , Engraving, and Etching Historical, and other Prints." WILLIAM S. SHAW, Clerk of the District of Massachusetts. THE PORTRAIT. "Wn Y does the eye, with greater pleasure, rest On the proud oak, in vernal honours drest, When sultry gales, that to his arms repair, Are cool'd and freshen'd, while they linger there ; Than when his fading robes are sear'd, and cast On the cold mercy of November's blast ? Why on the rose, when first her bosom spreads, To drink the dew that summer's evening sheds, Or when she blushes, on her native thorn, To meet the kisses of the smiling morn ; Than when her leaves, neglected, fall around, Flit on the breeze, or wither on the ground ? Why on Apollo, when his coursers rise, And breathe on man the ardour of the skies ; Than when they stoop, their fervid limbs to rest, And drink the cooling waters of the west ? And why on man, when buoyant hope beats high, Health on his cheek, and lustre in his eye, Ml 79659 4 4 ' THE PORTRAIT. In ev'ry limb when youth and vigour dwell, Brace ev'ry nerve, and ev'ry muscle swell; Than when his frame displays the ruthless rage Of care, and sorrow, and despair, and age ? Why, but because the Author of the mind, Enthron'd in glory, and in light enshrin'd, When first he beam'd, upon the breathing clay, The light divine of intellectual day, Perfect himself, infus'd that spark of fire, That still pursues its nature to aspire, And warms the bosom with a gen'rous glow, Whene'er it meets perfection here below, But sinks within us, with expiring ray, When doom'd to dwell on emblems of decay ? And if the mind can thus, delighted, scan A tree, a flower, the orb of day, a man ; How must it swell, when from the womb of earth, It sees a nation " bursting into birth," * And, by enchantment, planting on her strand, A flag, that waving o'er the sea and land, By stripes and stars, on silken folds unfurl'd, Displays her strength and splendour to the world ! But if this prospect cheers the heart of man, Whether he dwells in England or Japan, THE PORTRAIT. Whether he hears the billowy Baltic roar, Or courts the breeze on Coromandel's shore ; What a strong current of delight must roll, Resistless, o'er the vet'ran soldier's soul, Who in the volume of that nation's fame, By Clio written, reads his gen'ral's name ! And if, my friends, the hardy soldier's pride Would swell his breast, with such a gen'rous tide, While musing on his country ; while he saw Th ? harmonious couple, Liberty and Law, Attend his person wheresoe'er he rov'd, And shield, at home, the family he lov'd, That wife, who, yielding to her country's call, Resign'd her husband, and in him her all ; That child, who since upon his knees has hung, And learn'd the battle from his father's tongue ; And, while the soldier proudly said, " My son, That" pointing to his musket " that's the gun That gave you freedom, and when you're a man, Use it for me, when I no longer can ;" Would weep to hear his sire's prophetic sigh, And see the tear that trembled in his eye ; If such a breast would swell with such a tide, If such a heart would glow with such a pride, 6 THE PORTRAIT. If such an eye in tears of joy would melt, What, while on earth, must WASHINGTON have felt ! ! Thou spotless patriot ! thou illustrious man ! Methinks, while yet on earth, thy heaven began ; For is there pleasure purer, more refin'd, More worthy of thine own etherial mind, Than thrill'd, with lively transport, through thy frame, And play'd around thy heart, with lambent flame, To see Columbia, guided by thy hand, Plant, in the bosom of thy native land ; That tree that flourish'd so divinely fair, And took such root, beneath thy fostering care, As soon, o'er half a continent, to spread Its fragrant leaves, and give a nation shade ; That tree, whose root descended from the skies, That grows by culture, but neglected dies, That tree, beneath whose boughs thy spirit fled, That tree, whose fading leaves deplore the dead ? And now, great father of thy country, say, Ere angels bore thee to the fields of day, Did not thine eye, with holy rapture, view That Tree of * Liberty r , while yet it grew Vig'rous and green ? And did it not impart, To ev'ry fibre of thy godlike heart, THE PORTRAIT. A joy, while waving o'er thy mortal brow, Next to the amaranth, that shades thee now ? That hero's dead ! And does his country mourn, Embalm his ashes in a golden urn, And in a sculptur'd vault the reliques lay, Where iires, like Vesta's, emulate the day With light divine, as thro' its silent halls, The holy rays reflect from porphyry wails ? Do temples, arch'd with Parian marble, rise In regal pomp, beneath these western skies, And on their front, emblazon'd by the sun, Give to the world the name of WASHINGTON ? Breathes he in marble, in her senate hall ? Lives he in bronze, within her capitol ? Does the imperial mausoleum show, In proud magnificence, her depth of wo ? And do her children, with a holy zeal, From rough St. Lawrence to the warm Mobile, For pilgrim's staff, their friends, their home resign, And, like the Arab to Mohammed's shrine, To that majestic monument repair, And, for their country, pour a pilgrim's prayer ? Shame on that country ! everlasting shame ! She bids no blazing sunbeam write his name : S THE PORTRAIT. His sacred ashes consecrate no urn ; No vault is sculptur'd , and no vestals mourn ; No marble temple meets the rising day ; No obelisk reflects the evening ray ; Those lips, long hush'd in death, among his sons Nor smile in marble, nor yet breathe in bronze ; No solemn anthem o'er his tomb is sung ; No pray'r is breath'd there, from a pilgrim's tongue ! But o'er the grave where Vernon's hero sleeps, The tall grass sighs, the waving willow weeps ; And while the pale moon trembles thro' the trees, That bend and rustle to the nightly breeze, The bird of night, the only mourner there, Pours on the chilling wind her solemn air ; While flows Potomac silently along, And listens to her melancholy song. And shall, my friends, that venerable dust, That once enshrin'd the spirit of THE JUST, Slumber forgotten ? Shall no patriot's tear, Warm as the life-blood, trickle on his bier, And sooth his mighty shade, that hovers nigh, To catch the tear, and mingle with the sigh, Thct flows for him, or breaks the silence dread, That fills th' oblivious mansion of the dead ? THE PORTRAIT. Nay, shall the freemen whom his valour sav'd, For whom, in life, a thousand deaths he brav'd, And on whose sons, in rich profusion, pour'd The joys of peace, the trophies of his sword, In the black robes of infamy be drest, Because their saviour's bones unhonour'd rest ; - And yet shall we, who meet with kindred minds, Whom honour animates, and friendship binds ; We, through whose veins, -as warmly as the blood That warms our hearts, rolls a congenial flood Of fearless indignation, that belongs To fed'ral freemen, under fed'ral wrongs; Shall ive, on whom his sacred mantle rests, Who wear the badge 1 of union on our breasts ; Shall we neglect the few pale flowers that bloom, And shed their fragrance on our father's tomb ; Braving, while rooted there, thy tempest rude, And all thy wintry frosts, Ingratitude ! Then let each string that wakes, within my soul, Untaught by reason, and above control A tone, accordant with the notes sublime, That trembling float upon the tide of time, Blown from the trump of Fame, to bear along The warrior's valour, and the poet's song, 1 The white rose, tied with a blue ribbon. I I 19 THE PORTRAIT. Cease its vibration :^ let oblivion, then, That first of federalists, that first of men, Hide from my view forever : let no joy Beam on my days : let blighting blasts destroy My ev'ry hope : here let me live accurst, The best, my enemies ; my friends, the worst :~ And when Death's icy touch shall hush my tongue, Be no grave open'd, and no requiem sung ; But, from Earth's consecrated bosom thrust, Let asps and adders riot on my dust ! Then while the hours pursue their viewless flight, And roll along the sable car of night, Let us, my friends, with fond remembrance, gaze On the bright orbs that gilded other days ; Each in his sphere, revolving round the sun, That, gave them warmth and lustre, Washington* But while we see them in their orbits roll, Bright as the stars, unshaken as the pole, Pure as the dew, as summer's evening mild, By no cloud shaded, by no lust defil'd ; While all around their common centre sweep, Illume the earth, or blaze along the deep, Who, but exclaims, beneath th' o'erwhelming light, " Visions of Glory, spare my aching sight! !" 3 2 Gray. THE PORTRAIT. 11 Thou hoary monarch ! since thy tyrant hand First shook o'er earth thy sceptre and thy sand, Or wav'd thy sithe, commission'd to destroy, O'er Balbec's columns, or the spires of Troy, Nay, since in youth, thou bad'st the rosy hours, Smile upon Adam, under Eden's bowers, Hadst thou e'er seen a clime, more blest than this, More richly fraught with beauty and with bliss? E'er seen a brighter constellation glow, With all that's pure and dignified below, Than mov'd, harmonious, round that wond'rous man, Whose deeds of glory with his life began, Whose name, the proudest on thy proudest page, Shall fill with admiration every age ! 77*672, with such rays as gild the morning, shone, In peerless pomp, thy genius, HAMILTON ! Sublime as heaven, and vig'rous as sublime, She, in her flight, outstripp'd the march of Time, Pluck'd from each age, the product of each soil, And o'er thy country, pour'd the gen'rous spoil. By thine own labours, without aid from France, 3 We saw the splendid fabric of finance, 3 Geneva, the native country of Stgnor A. A. Gallatini, our present Secretary of the Treasury, now forms a part of the French empire. 12 THE PORTRAIT. Within whose halls, as by th' enchantment bold Of fabled Midas, paper turn'd to gold, At once, the boast, and wonder of mankind, Rise to the magic music of thy mind. Thus, when Amphion left Cithcerorfs shade, Beside Ismenus* wave the shepherd stray 'd ; And as he roam'd in solitude along, And charm'd the ear of Silence with a song, Sweeping, in symphony, his tuneful string, That flung its wild notes on the Zephyr's wing ; The walls of Thebes with many a glitt'ring spire> Rose to the strong enchantment of his lyre. Immortal statesman ! while the stars shall burn, Or to the pole the trembling needle turn, Ne'er shall the tide of dark oblivion roll Over that " strong divinity of soul That conquer'd fate" 4 and travers'd unconfin'd, The various fields of matter and of mind, Thy heart, to charity so warmly strung, And all the sweet persuasion of thy tongue. Yet, wast thou spotless in thy exit ? Nay : Nor spotless is the monarch of the day : 4 "That strong divinity of soul That conquers Chance and Fate." Pleasures of Imagination, THE PORTRAIT. 13 Still, but one cloud shall o'er thy fame be cast, And that shall shade no action, but thy last. Then, with a milder, though congenial ray, * Like Hesper, shone the kindred soul of JAY. His hand, unshaken by an empire's weight, His eye, undazzled by the glare of state, Even in the shadow of " Power's purple robe," 5 He gave our land the charter of the globe ; And bade our eagle, leave her native pine, To bathe in light, beneath the sultry line ; O'er ev'ry tide, with lightning's speed to sweep, Cleave ev'ry cloud that whitens o'er the deep, Tow'r o'er the heads of conquerors and kings, And soar to glory, on her canvass wings.- Then, where Ohio rolls her silver flood, If e'er a tomahawk was dy'd in blood ; Or if the war- whoop broke an infant's rest, Where Erie drinks the rivers of the west, Or if an arrow, from an unseen bow, Thrown by a savage, laid a white-man low ; Or if a captive heard the hideous yell, Or felt the tortures of those fiends of hell ; On his pale horse the king of terrors sped, The fires were quench'd, the howling savage bled ; 5 Akenside. 14 THE PORTRAIT. The grisly monarch feasted on the slain, And blest the courage, and the sword of WAYNE. Then, ere by Gallic perfidy beguil'd, " The other Adams" 6 was again a child, When a grim monster, 7 rose with many a head, More foul than e'er the lake of Lerna bred ; Whose bloody hands no sacred tie could bind, Whose lurid eye rolPd ruin on mankind ;~ And frowning dar'd a tribute to demand, Of " beaucoup (Par gent" from a PINCKNEY'S hand ; Fire in his eye, and thunder on his tongue, Fierce from his seat, the hoary vet'ran sprung, And gave the hydra, in her den to know, He bought no friendshipfor he fear'd no foe. Then, nay since then, while yet a twilight grey Gave to our eyes the parting beams of day, For, when our sun, our glory, sunk to rest, He fring'd with gold the curtains of the west, And pour'd a lustre on the world behind, That faded, as the mighty orb declin'd ; Our eagle, soaring with unwearied flight, Mid clouds t'enjoy the last, faint gleam of light, 6 John Randolph's cutting distinction between the late Presi- dent and the truly republican Samuel Adams. 7 The French Directory. THE PORTRAIT. 15 With piercing eye glanc'd o'er the wat'ry waste, And saw her flag by mussulmen disgrac'd ; Nay- heard her children, on Numidia's plains, Sigh for their homes, and clank Abdallatis chains : The gen'rous bird, at that incensing view, Caught from the clouds her thunder as she flew, With deathful shriek, alarm'd the guilty coast, And lanch'd the bolt on CaramallVs host : Crescents and turbans sunk in wild dismay ; The Turkish soul, indignant, left its clay, Though to the brave, a rich reward is given, The arms of Houris, and the bowers of heaven And Eaton trod in triumph o'er his foe, Where once fought Hannibal and Scipio. Then, a bright spirit, free from every vice, As was the rose that bloom'd in Paradise ; A zeal, as warm, to see bis country blest, As liv'd in Cato^s or Ly cur gits' breast ; A fancy chaste and vigorous as strung, To holy themes, Isaiah's hallow'd tongue ; And strains as eloquent as Zion heard, When, on his golden harp, her royal bard Wak'd to a glow devotion's dying flames, Flow'd from the lips, and warm'd the soul of AMES. 16 THE PORTRAIT. Like Memnon's harp, that breath'd a mournful tone, When on its strings the rays of evening shone, That stainless spirit, on approaching night, Was touch'd and sadden'd by prophetic light ; And as the vision to his view was giv'n, That spirit sunk, and sighing, fled to heaven. Should we attempt on each bright name to dwell, The evening song would to a volume swell : As on a beach, where mighty surges roar, Wave after wave rolls onward to the shore, So, on the page that Hist'ry gives to Fame, And Fame to Glory, name succeeds to name. See Franklin, Adams? Rutledge, gliding by : There Henry, Hillhouse, Trumbull meet the eye : Here Ellsworth, Marshall, Tracy rush along, King? Griswold, Otis, Pickering, and STRONG. Like heavenly dew, that evening's hour distils On Sharon's valleys, or Gilboa's hills, Men, such as these, a holy influence shed, Their deeds while living, and their names when dead ; Men, such as these, could guide Bellona's car, Or smooth to smiles the iron brow of war : Men, such as these, could brave a monarch's frown, Could pluck the diamonds from a tyrant's crown, s Samuel Adams. 9 Rufus not the a other" King. THE PORTRAIT. 17 And when th' oppression ceas'd, such men could show A god-like greatness, and forgive afoe; Such men could call religion from the skies, To guide their feet before a nation's eyes ; Where such men trod, the flow'rs of Science sprung, With hymns to Peace the humble cottage rung, Contentment spread the table of the poor, And Ceres blush'd and wav'd beside his door : All, in such men, repos'd unshaken trust ; The rul'd were happy, and their rulers JUST. Say then, O Time ! since thy pervading eye Wak'd from the slumber of eternity, Hadst thou e'er seen a spot so highly blest, In bliss and beauty so superbly drest? When erst, beyond the bright uEgean isles, 10 From the green billows, rose the queen of smiles, 10 The classical reader will trace the outline of this scene, in the following exquisite passage from Akenside. " Or as Venus, when she stood Effulgent on her pearly car, and smiPd, Fresh from the deep, and conscious of her form, To see the Tritons tune their vocal shells, And each caerulean sister of the flood, With loud acclaim, attend her o'er the waves, To seek uY Idalian bow'r." Pleasures of Imagination, 18 THE PORTRAIT. Pure as her parent foam, and heav'nly fair ; When her dark tresses of ambrosial hair Flow'd round her waist, in many a wanton curl, Play'd in the breeze, and swept her car of pearl, Whose amber wheels, in quick rotation, glide, Drawn by her doves, along the sparkling tide ; While all around her, choirs of Tritons swell The mellow music of their coral shell, As on she moves, with an exulting smile, To rear her temple on the Cyprian isle, Or rest, voluptuous, amid springing fiow'rs, On rosy couches, under myrtle bow'rs : On Ida's top, the thund'rer view'd the fair, The clouds that veiPd him, melting into air ; And all the beauties of the queen of love, In spite of Juno, fir'd the breast of Jove. So shone Columbia, when in happier days, O'er eastern mountains, with " unbounded blaze " She saw the sun of Independence rise, And roll, rejoicing, through unclouded skies. So shone Columbia, when her infant hand With magic pow'r, along her verdant strand, Charm 'd into life the city's busy throng, And roll'd of wealth the swelling tide along, THE PORTRAIT. 19 While Freedom's pure and consecrated fires Glow'd in her halls, and glittered on her spires. So shone Columbia, when her naval pine Bow'd, at her touch, to float beneath the line, And proudly bear, on ev'ry wave unfurl'd, Her swelling canvass, o ? er the wat'ry world. So shone Columbia, when the trembling wave Heard Preble's thunder, and was Somers' grave ; So shone, when e'er she trod her native plain, (For she, emerg'd, like Venus, from the main) Till doom'd from Neptune's empire to retire, And dew with tears, the ashes of her sire. From realms, where, waving o'er celestial vales, Green groves of amaranth bend to spicy gales ; From em'rald rocks, where crystal water flows ; Where sainted spirits of the just repose ; Where patriots bleed not, in their country's wars, Nor roam in beggary, nor show their scars To their ungrateful country's tearless eye, Nor on that country's frozen bosom die : But where, in peace, they breathe the breath of balm, And bind their temples^with immortal palm ; Where choral symphonies no discord mars, Nor drowns the music of the morning stars, 20 THE PORTRAIT. Who, crown'd with light, around the Eternal's thronc r Pour on the ravish'd ear, the mingled tone Of voice, and golden lyre, that fill the sky With the wild notes of heav'nly minstrelsy : There, while the star-pav'd walks of heav'n he trod, Cheer'd by th' unclouded vision of his God, Great WASHINGTON beheld the fair; and smil'd, And sard to wond'ring seraphs, That's my child ! But now, how changed the scene I ye blissful days, Withdraw the dazzling splendour of your blaze ! And Mem'ry ! snatch thy record from my sight, Whose leaves, emblazon'd with the beams of light, Pour on the eye that glances o'er thy page, The strong effulgence of a golden age. Come, Lethe, come 1 thy tide oblivious roll, O'er all that proud complacency of soul, That gen'rous ardour, that enliv'ning flame, That warm'd my bosom, when I heard the name, Of my once honour'd country : let thy wave, Dark as Avernus, gloomy as the grave, Drown ev'ry vestige of that country's fame, And shade the light that bursts upon her shame ! Say, shall we paint her as she meets the eye ? No :-*-drop the pallet, throw the pencil by : THE PORTRAIT. 21 Why should you wish that shriv ? led form to trace, Or stain the canvass with Columbia's face ! No fame awaits the artist : though he give Each feature life, his mem'ry ne'er shall live ; Ne'er shall he stand, in Raphael's honours drest, Nor snatch the laurels from the brows of West. Time was, indeed, when he who'd paint the fair, Must mix the blending colours, soft as air ;~- To hit the piercing lustre of her eye, Must catch the light and azure of the sky : To fill the piece with corresponding glow, Must dip his pencil in the eastern bow ; Then, o'er her locks and dimpled cheeks must shed The paly orange, and the lively red ; Must shade the mellow back -ground of the scene With mingled tints of violet and green ; Upon her lips*, must smiles and graces play ; The coral, melting in the dews of May, Must just disclose the ivory beneath ; And if she breath'd not, she must seem, to breathe. But let not now the merest novice dread, (This same Columbia sitting for her head,) With painting frenzy fir'd, to grasp the brush : He'll hit her to the life, and need not blush 22 THE PORTRAIT. To have his work inspected ; if he'll mix The kindred streams of Acheron and Styx, Shut close his windows, that no ray of light Ma) 7 give a single feature to his sight ; Then, on the ready canvass turn his back, And daub it o'er with bitter and with black. Breathes there a wretch, of so deprav'd a soul, A tongue so vip'rous, and a heart so foul, As e'er to shed the venom of his pen, E'en in his closet, on the best of men ? Or on the laurels, that around him sprung, To pour the snaky poison of his tongue, And blast their beauty ? Can a fiend so vile, Be found in nature, as to sit and smile To see those laurels wither ? Yes ! but where ? Breathes he pollution on Columbia's air, Or does he rather with corruption dwell, And hold sad converse, at the gates of hell, With spirits who, themselves from glory driv'n, Grudge man his earth, and envy God his heav'n? There lives, my friends, on earth, a wretch so base, So blind to decency, so dead to grace, 11 Two rirers, said by mythologists to flow through the infer, nal regions, the one remarkable for the bitter taste, and the other for the " inky hue" of its waters. THE PORTRAIT. 23 In hatred, so uncharitably mean, In language, so disgracefully obscene, As, with a hand that guilt cannot appal, And with a pen, dipt in a scorpion's gall, Boldly to brand Britannia as a " whore," 12 And Washington her lech'rous paramour ! !- Rest, sainted shade ! nor let reproach like this, Dash, from thy lips, the flowing cup of bliss : - For the same man who thus assaiPd thy fame, With equal hatred of his Saviour's name, With foot indignant on the manger trod, 13 - Where humbly slept the infant Son of God ! Did not ten thousand swords of freemen start, Bright from their sheaths, to pierce that rancorous heart? Did not each breeze, with deeper horror, chill The groves that darken Monticello's hill, 12 "The Executive," (Washington) " Judiciary, and a large Majority of Congress" (then federal) "are under the influence of the zvhore of England." Jefferson's Letter to Mazzei. 13 Mr. Jefferson, passing with his infidel friend Mazzei, by a Virginia church, in not the best repair, (strange as this fact may appear), the following is the amount of their conversation. Maz. What building is that ? Jeff. A church. Muz. It exhibits rather a shabby appearance. Jeff. Yes ; but is good enough for the worship of a God who was born in a manger / 24 THE PORTRAIT. And, with dread bodings, murmur round the dome Where Slander dwells, and Envy finds a home ? Did not the ghosts of slaughtered patriots rise, And frowning, swim before his sleepless eyes, Point to the wounds through which their spirits fled. And pour ten thousand curses on his head ? Ten thousand eyes on him, indeed, were turn'd, Ten thousand lips to speak his praises bunrd ; Ten thousand visions pour'd their golden beams, In gay succession, on ten thousand dreams ; Ten thousand breezes wafted to his ears, The notes of praise, "the music of the spheres," And twice ten thousand voices rent the air, To give that man the presidential chair ! As from the pit, whose covering was withdrawn, Before the eyes of the disciple John, 14 Burst forth a baleful smoke, in columns dun, VeiFd earth in darkness, and obscur'd the sun, So from a pit as foul, where fiends, as fell As fallen angels, make on earth a hell, Rises a mist that spreads to either pole, Where e'er the wind blows, and the billows roll, Pregnant with latent ill, as that which shed Its humid mantle, round the Tempter's head, 14 Vide Revel. St. John. THE PORTRAIT. 25 When first, in Paradise, his tongue began, By flatting woman's pride, to ruin man :~ ls A deadly mist,, that nameless curses shrouds, In mystery's impenetrable clouds, More than e'er issued from Pandora's box, And blacker than Medusa's snaky locks. 'Tis this that shades our country ; this that spread Its philosophic darkness round thy head, Thou sage of Monticello ! this that gave Thy country's honour to an early grave; Canker'd thy heart ; cloth'd thee in robes of shame ; Branded with well earn'd infamy thy name ; Blinded thine own, and thy successor's eye, To all the charms of heav'n-born Liberty ;. 'Tis this controls your counsels ; this that pours A horde of hungry Harpies on our shores, Fresh from the schools of France ; this gives them place, In field and cabinet ; stamps foul disgrace, On all your crooked policy ; this stains All that it touches, on Columbia's plains ; - 15 Vide Milton's account of the manner in which the wary fiend made his entry into Eden, in spite of the vigilance of Uriel. No wonder jacobinism should elude the utmost efforts of human sagacity, since not even the keenness of angelic vision could de- tect, till too late, the movements of its great archetype. 26 THE PORTRAIT. Banishes Virtue to Retirement's cell, And plunges Truth into her native well. ' ? Tis this that chains Columbia to the car Of Europe's despot ;~ goads her on to war ; - Blots, from her flag, the brightest of its stars, To paint the cuirass and the casque of Mars ; Plunders her coffers, of her hard-eanvd wealth ; Drives from her cheeks the rosy glow of health, And gives the fair, with all her virgin charms, To shriek and struggle, in a tyrant's arms. To name this mist shall mortal tongue presume ? This blight, this mildew, this infernal fume ! ? Tis Reason now, and now Philosophy, ? Tis Nature then, and then Equality,- Now, in a Consul's bosom deigns to throb,- Now, thrones a despot, and now, arms a mob, - Is now democracy, is Freedom now, And now is Liberty : (but when, or how, ? Twas real Liberty, no tongue can tell ! ) Now, an archangel, from the gates of hell, It steers through Chaos ; now, a seraph bright, With purple pinions, seeks the source of light ; Now sweeps, a mist, along the trav'lers road ; Now glides, a serpent ; and now swells, a toad*. THE PORTRAIT. 27 Look at Columbia ! see her sickly form, Expos'd, unsheltered, to the howling storm, No friendly taper, glimm'ring on her sight, Her thin robes, draggled in the dews of night, Her bosom, shrinking from the piercing blasts, On Earth's cold lap her fainting limbs she casts : > And as she sinks, despairing and forlorn, The clouds her curtains, and her couch the thorn, This Proteus phantom, envying e'en such rest> Broods like an incubus upon her breast ; Forbids the fluid through her veins to dart, And locks up ev'ry function of her heart. 15 And yet, the authors of their country's shame, (In rank, too high ; in worth, too low to name) Viewing her dying agonies the while, With fiend-like triumph " grin a ghastly smile." Look at our Commerce ! driven from the deep, Our sails, no more, its curling surface sweep ; No more the silks of India swell our stores ; No more Arabia's gums perfume our shores : 16 " The virtue of the people, &c. routed and put to flight that corruption, which sat, like an incubus on the heart of the metropolis, chaining the current of its blood, and locking up e?ery healthful function and energy of life." Curran's speech on the election o/Loi-d Afayw* 28 THE PORTRAIT. But Desolation hovers o'er our ships, With raven pinions ; and with skinny lips, And cheeks all shrivePd, Famine stalks our streets, And clings, with wither'd hand, to all she meets. Look at our army ! See its bristling van, Led on to conquest, by that wond'rous man, Who dares the aid of powder to despise, And " looks down opposition" with his eyes ! 17 See ! how the forests shudder as he comes ! How their recesses echo to his drums ! See him, with vict'ry perching on his crest, Leap boldly o'er the barriers of the west, And bid his eagles, stooping to the plain, Fix their strong talons in the Lion's mane ! Then see him, wheeling with resistless sweep, Exchange his army for a flock of sheep ! 18 Look at our navy ! does it proudly ride, And roll its thunders o'er the subject tide, As once it rode and thunder'd ? Rogers, say, When, from our coasts, thy squadron bore away, 17 " I have a force which will look