Part I. The Prospect

FROM southern isles, on winds of gentlest wing,
Sprinkled with morning dew, and rob'd in green,
Life in her eye, and music in her voice,
Lo Spring returns, and wakes the world to joy!
Forth creep the smiling herbs; expand the flowers;
New-loos'd, and bursting from their icy bonds,
The streams fresh-warble, and through every mead
Convey reviving verdure; every bough,
Full-blown and lovely, teems with sweets and songs;
And hills, and plains, and pastures feel the prime.

As round me here I gaze, what prospects rise?
Etherial! matchless! such as Albion's sons,
Could Albion's isle an equal prospect boast,
In all the harmony of numerous song,
Had tun'd to rapture, and o'er Cooper's hill,
And Windsor's beauteous forest, high uprais'd,
And sent on fame's light wing to every clime.
Far inland, blended groves, and azure hills,
Skirting the broad horizon, lift their pride.
Beyond, a little chasm to view unfolds
Cerulean mountains, verging high on Heaven,
In misty grandeur. Stretch'd in nearer view,
Unnumber'd farms salute the cheerful eye;
Contracted there to little gardens; here outspread
Spacious, with pastures, fields, and meadows rich;
Where the young wheat it's glowing green displays,
Or the dark soil bespeaks the recent plough,
Or flocks and herds along the lawn disport.

Fair is the landschape; but a fairer still
Shall soon inchant the soul—when harvest full
Waves wide its bending wealth. Delightful task!
To trace along the rich, enamell'd ground,
The sweetly varied hues; from India's corn,
Whose black'ning verdure bodes a bounteous crop,
Through lighter grass, and lighter still the flax,
The paler oats, the yellowish barley, wheat
In golden glow, and rye in brighter gold.
These soon the sight shall bless. Now other scenes
The heart dilate, where round, in rural pride
The village spreads its tidy, snug retreats,
That speak the industry of every hand.

How bless'd the sight of such a numerous train
In such small limits, tasting every good
Of competence, of independence, peace,
And liberty unmingled; every house
On its own ground, and every happy swain
Beholding no superior, but the laws,
And such as virtue, knowledge, useful life,
And zeal, exerted for the public good,
Have rais'd above the throng. For here, in truth,
Not in pretence, man is esteem'd as man.
Not here how rich, of what peculiar blood,
Or office high; but of what genuine worth,
What talents bright and useful, what good deeds,
What piety to God, what love to man,
The question is. To this an answer fair
The general heart secures. Full many a rich,
Vile knave, full many a blockhead, proud
Of ancient blood, these eyes have seen float down
Life's dirty kennel, trampled in the mud,
Stepp'd o'er unheeded, or push'd rudely on;
While Merit, rising from her humble skiff
To barks of nobler, and still nobler size,
Sail'd down the expanding stream, in triumph gay,
By every ship saluted.

Hail, O hail
My much-lov'd native land! New Albion hail!
The happiest realm, that, round his circling course,
The all-searching sun beholds. What though the breath
Of Zembla's winter shuts thy lucid streams,
And hardens into brass thy generous soil;
Though, with one white, and cheerless robe, thy hills,
Invested, rise a long and joyless waste;
Leafless the grove, and dumb the lonely spray,
And every pasture mute: What though with clear
And fervid blaze, thy summer rolls his car,
And drives the languid herd, and fainting flock
To seek the shrouding umbrage of the dale;
While Man, relax'd and feeble, anxious waits
The dewy eve, to slake his thirsty frame:
What though thy surface, rocky, rough, and rude,
Scoop'd into vales, or heav'd in lofty hills,
Or cloud-embosom'd mountains, dares the plough,
And threatens toil intense to every swain:
What though foul Calumny, with voice malign,
Thy generous sons, with every virtue grac'd,
Accus'd of every crime, and still rolls down
The kennell'd stream of impudent abuse:
Yet to high HEAVEN my ardent praises rise,
That in thy lightsome vales he gave me birth,
All-gracious, and allows me still to live.

Cold is thy clime, but every western blast
Brings health, and life, and vigour on his wings;
Innerves the steely frame, and firms the soul
With strength and hardihood; wakes each bold
And manly purpose; bears above the ills,
That stretch, upon the rack, the languid heart
Of summer's maiden sons, in pleasure's lap,
Dandled to dull repose. Exertion strong
Marks their whole life. Mountains before them sink
To mole-hills; oceans bar their course in vain.
Thro' the keen wintry wind they breast their way,
Or summer's fiercest flame. Dread dangers rouse
Their hearts to pleasing conflict; toils and woes,
Quicken their ardour: while, in milder climes,
Their peers effeminate they see, with scorn
On lazy plains, dissolv'd in putrid sloth,
And struggling hard for being. Thy rough soil
Tempts hardy labour, with his sturdy team,
To turn, with sinewy hand, the stony glebe,
And call forth every comfort from the mould,
Unpromising, but kind. Thy houses, barns,
Thy granaries, and thy cellars, hence are stor'd
With all the sweets of life: while, thro' thy realm,
A native beggar rarely pains the sight.

Thy summer glows with heat; but choicest fruits
Hence purple in the sun; hence sparkling flowers
Gem the rich landschape; double harvests hence
Load the full fields: pale Famine scowls aloof,
And Plenty wantons round thy varied year.

Rough is thy surface; but each landschape bright,
With all of beauty, all of grandeur dress'd,
Of mountains, hills, and sweetly winding vales,
Of forests, groves, and lawns, and meadows green,
And waters, varied by the plastic hand,
Through all their fairy splendour, ceaseless charms,
Poetic eyes. Springs bubbling round the year,
Gay-wand'ring brooks, wells at the surface full,
Yield life, and health, and joy, to every house,
And every vivid field. Rivers, with foamy course,
Pour o'er the ragged cliff the white cascade,
And roll unnumber'd mills; or, like the Nile,
Fatten the beauteous interval; or bear
The sails of commerce through the laughing groves.

With wisdom, virtue, and the generous love
Of learning, fraught, and freedom's living flame,
Electric, unextinguishable, fir'd,
Our Sires established, in thy cheerful bounds,
The noblest institutions, man has seen,
Since time his reign began: In little farms
They measur'd all thy realms, to every child
In equal shares descending; no entail
The first-born lifting into bloated pomp,
Tainting with lust, and sloth, and pride, and rage,
The world around him: all the race beside,
Like brood of ostrich, left for chance to rear,
And every foot to trample. Reason's sway
Elective, founded on the rock of truth,
Wisdom their guide, and equal good their end,
They built with strength, that mocks the battering storm,
And spurns the mining flood; and every right
Dispens'd alike to all. Beneath their eye,
And forming hand, in every hamlet, rose
The nurturing school; in every village, smil'd
The heav'n-inviting church, and every town
A world within itself, with order, peace,
And harmony, adjusted all its weal.

Hence every swain, free, happy, his own lord,
With useful knowledge fraught, of business, laws,
Morals, religion, life, unaw'd by man,
And doing all, but ill, his heart can wish,
Looks round, and finds strange happiness his own;
And sees that happiness on laws depend.
On this heav'n-laid foundation rests thy sway;
On knowledge to discern, and sense to feel,
That free-born rule is life's perennial spring
Of real good. On this alone it rests.
For, could thy sons a full conviction feel,
That government was noxious, without arms,
Without intrigues, without a civil broil,
As torrents sweep the sand-built structure down,
A vote would wipe it's every trace away.
Hence too each breast is steel'd for bold defence;
For each has much to lose. Chosen by all,
The messenger of peace, by all belov'd,
Spreads, hence, the truth and virtue, he commands.
Hence manners mild, and sweet, their peaceful sway
Widely extend. Refinement of the heart
Illumes the general mass. Even those rude hills,
Those deep embow'ring woods, in other lands
Prowl'd round by savages, the same soft scenes,
Mild manners, order, virtue, peace, disclose;
The howling forest polish'd as the plain.

From earliest years, the same enlightened soul
Founded bright schools of science. Here the mind
Learn'd to expand it's wing, and stretch it's flight
Through truth's broad fields. Divines, and lawyers, hence,
Physicians, statesmen, all with wisdom fraught,
And learning, suited to the use of life,
And minds, by business, sharpen'd into sense,
Sagacious of the duty, and the weal,
Of man, spring numberless; and knowledge hence
Pours it's salubrious streams, through all the spheres
Of human life. Its bounds, and generous scope,
Hence Education opens, spreading far
Through the bold yeomanry, that fill thy climes,
Views more expanded, generous, just, refin'd,
Than other nations know. In other lands,
The mass of man, scarce rais'd above the brutes,
Drags dull the horsemill round of sluggish life:
Nought known, beyond their daily toil; all else
By ignorance' dark curtain hid from sight.
He glorious contrast! every mind, inspir'd
With active inquisition, restless wings
Its flight to every flower, and, settling, drinks
Largely the sweets of knowledge.

Candour, say,
Is this a state of life, thy honest tongue
Could blacken? These a race of men, thy page
Could hand to infamy? The shameful task
Thy foes at first began, and still thy foes,
Laborious, weave the web of lies. 'Tis hence
The generous traveller round him looks, amaz'd,
And wonders at our unexpected bliss.

But chief, Connecticut! on thy fair breast
These splendours glow A rich improvement smiles
Around thy lovely borders; in thy fields
And all that in thy fields delighted dwell.
Here that pure, golden mean, so oft of yore
By sages wish'd, and prais'd, by Agur's voice
Implor'd, while God th' approving sanction gave
Of wisdom infinite; that golden mean,
Shines unalloy'd; and here the extended good,
That mean alone secures, is ceaseless found.

Oh, would some faithful, wise, laborious mind,
Develope all thy springs of bliss to man;
Soon would politic visions fleet away,
Before awakening truth! Utopias then,
Ancient and new, high fraught with fairy good,
Would catch no more the heart. Philosophy
Would bow to common-sense; and man, from facts,
And real life, politic wisdom learn.

Ah then, thou favour'd land, thyself revere!
Look not to Europe, for examples just
Of order, manners, customs, doctrines, laws,
Of happiness, or virtue. Cast around
The eye of searching reason, and declare
What Europe proffers, but a patchwork sway;
The garment Gothic, worn to fritter'd shreds,
And eked from every loom of following times.
Such as his sway, the system shows entire,
Of silly pomp, and meanness train'd t' adore;
Of wealth enormous, and enormous want;
Of lazy sinecures, and suffering toil;
Of grey-beard systems, and meteorous dreams;
Of lordly churches, and dissention fierce,
Rites farsical, and phrenzied unbelief.
See thick and fell her lowering gibbets stand,
And gibbets still employ'd! while, through thy realms,
The rare-seen felon startles every mind
And fills each mouth with news. Behold her jails
Countless, and stow'd with wretches of all kinds!
Her brothels, circling, with their tainted walls,
Unnumber'd female outcasts, shorne from life,
Peace, penitence, and hope; and down, down plung'd
In vice' unbottom'd gulph! Ye demons, rise,
Rise, and look upward, from your dread abode;
And, if you've tears to shed, distil them here!
See too, in countless herds, the mistress vile.
Even to the teeth of matron sanctity,
Lift up her shameless bronze, and elbow out
The pure, the chaste, the lovely angel-form
Of female excellence! while leachers rank, and
Bloated, call aloud on vengeance' worms,
To seize their prey, on this side of the grave.
See the foul theatre, with Upas steams,
Impoisoning half mankind! See every heart
And head from dunghills up to thrones, moon'd high
With fashion, frippery, falling humbly down
To a new head-dress; barbers, milliners,
Taylors, and mantua-makers, forming gods,
Their fellow-millions worship! See the world
All set to sale; truth, friendship, public trust,
A nation's weal, religion, scripture, oaths,
Struck off by inch of candle! Mark the mien,
Out-changing the Cameleon; pleasing all,
And all deceiving! Mark the snaky tongue,
Now lightly vibrating, now hissing death!
See war, from year to year, from age to age,
Unceasing, open on mankind the gates
Of devastation; earth wet-deep with blood,
And pav'd with corpses; cities whelm'd in flames;
And fathers, brothers, husbands, sons, and friends,
In millions hurried to th' untimely tomb;
To gain a wigwam, built on Nootka Sound,
Or Falkland's fruitful isles; or to secure
That rare soap-bubble, blown by children wise,
Bloated in air, and ting'd with colours fine,
Pursu'd by thousands, and with rapture nam'd
National honour. But what powers suffice
To tell the sands, that form the endless beach,
Or drops, that fill the immeasurable deep.

Say then, ah say, would'st thou for these exchange
Thy sacred institutions? thy mild laws?
Thy pure religion? morals uncorrupt?
Thy plain and honest manners? order, peace,
And general weal? Think whence this weal arose.
From the same springs it still shall ceaseless rise.
Preserve the fountains sweet, and sweetest streams
Shall still flow from them. Change, but change alone,
By wise improvement of thy blessings rare;
And copy not from others. Shun the lures
Of Europe. Cherish still, watch, hold,
And hold through every trial, every snare,
All that is thine. Amend, resine, complete;
But still the glorious stamina retain.
Still, as of yore, in church, and state, elect
The virtuous, and the wise; men tried, and prov'd,
Of steady virtue, all thy weal to guide;
And HEAVEN shall bless thee, with a parent's hand.

When round I turn my raptur'd eyes, with joy
O'erflowing, and thy wonderous bliss survey,
I love to think of those, by whom that bliss
Was purchas'd; those firm councils, that brave band,
Who nobly jeoparded their lives, their all,
And cross'd temptation's whirlpool, to secure,
For us, and ours, this rich estate of good.
Ye souls illustrious, who, in danger's field,
Instinct with patriot fire, each terror brav'd;
And fix'd as these firm hills, the shock withstood
Of war's convulsing earthquake, unappall'd,
Whilst on your labours gaz'd, with reverent eyes,
The pleas'd and wondering world; let every good,
Life knows, let peace, esteem, domestic bliss,
Approving conscience, and a grateful land,
Glory through every age, and Heaven at last,
To crown the splendid scene, your toils reward.

Heavens, what a matchless group of beauties rare
Southward expands! where, crown'd with yon tall oak,
Round-hill the circling land and sea o'erlooks;
Or, smoothly sloping, Grover's beauteous rise,
Spreads it's green sides, and lifts its single tree,
Glad mark for seamen; or, with ruder face,
Orchards, and fields, and groves, and houses rare,
And scatter'd cedars, Mill-hill meets the eye;
Or where, beyond, with every beauty clad,
More distant heights in vernal pride ascend.
On either side, a long, continued range,
In all the charms of rural nature dress'd,
Slopes gently to the main. Ere Tryon sunk
To infamy unfathom'd, thro' yon groves
Once glister'd Norwalk's white-ascending spires,
And soon, if HEAVEN permit, shall shine again.
Here, sky-encircled, Stratford's churches beam;
And Stratfield's turrets greet the roving eye.
In clear, full view, with every varied charm,
That forms the finish'd landschape, blending soft
In matchless union, Fairfield and Green's Farms
Give lustre to the day. Here, crown'd with pines
And skirting groves, with creeks and havens fair
Embellish'd, fed with many a beauteous stream,
Prince of the waves, and ocean's favorite child,
Far westward fading in confusion blue,
And eastward stretch'd beyond the human ken,
And mingled with the sky, there Longa's Sound
Glorious expands. All hail! of waters first
In beauties of all kinds; in prospects rich
Of bays, and arms, and groves, and little streams,
Inchanting capes and isles, and rivers broad,
That yield eternal tribute to thy wave!
In use supreme: fish of all kinds, all tastes,
Scaly or shell'd, with floating nations fill
Thy spacious realms; while, o'er thy lucid waves,
Unceasing Commerce wings her countless sails,
Safe in thy arms, the treasure moves along,
While, beat by Longa's coast, old ocean roars
Distant, but roars in vain. O'er all thy bounds,
What varied beauties, changing with the sun,
Or night's more lovely queen, here splendid glow.
Oft, on thy eastern wave, the orb of light
Refulgent rising, kindles wide a field
Of mimic day, slow sailing to the west,
And fading with the eve; and oft, through clouds;
Painting their dark skirts on the glassy plain,
The strong, pervading lustre marks th' expanse,
With streaks of glowing silver, or with spots
Of burnish'd gold; while clouds, of every hue,
Their purple shed, their amber, yellow, grey,
Along the faithful mirror. Oft, at eve,
Thron'd in the eastern sky, th' ascending moon,
Distain'd with blood, sits awful o'er the wave,
And, from the dim dark waters, troubled calls
Her dreary image, trembling on the deep,
And boding every horror. Round yon isles,
Where every Triton, every Nereid, borne
From eastern climes, would find perpetual home,
Were Grecian fables true, what charms intrance
The fascinated eye! where, half withdrawn
Behind yon vivid slope, like blushing maids,
They leave the raptur'd gaze. And O how fair
Bright Longa spreads her terminating shore,
Commix'd with whit'ning cliffs, with groves obscure,
Farms shrunk to garden-beds, and forests fallen
To little orchards, slow-ascending hills,
And dusky vales, and plains! These the pleas'd eye
Relieve, engage, delight; with one unchang'd,
Unbounded ocean, wearied, and displeas'd.

Yet scarce six suns are pass'd, since these wide bounds,
So still so lovely now, were wanton'd o'er
By sails of British foes, with thunders dread
Announcing desolation to each field,
Each town, and hamlet; in the sheltering night
Wafting base throngs of plunderers to our coast,
The bed of peace invading; herds and flocks
Purloining from the swain; and oft the house
Of innocence and peace, in cruel flames
With sell revenge, encircling. Now, afar
With shame retir'd, his bands no more, no more
(And oh may HEAVEN the fond prediction seal)
Shall hostile bands, from earth's extended bounds,
Th' infernal talk resume. Henceforth, through time,
To peace devoted, 'till millenian suns
Call forth returning Eden, arts of peace
Shall triumph here. Speed, oh speed, ye days
Of bliss divine! when all-involving HEAVEN,
The mystery finish'd, come the second birth
Of this sin-ruin'd, this apostate world,
And clos'd the final scene of wild misrule,
All climes shall clothe again with life, and joy,
With peace, and purity; and deathless spring
Again commence her bright, etherial reign.

O who can paint, like Nature? who can boast
Such scenes, as here inchant the lingering eye?
Still to thy hand, great parent of the year!
I turn obsequious; still to all thy works
Of beauty, grandeur, novelty, and power,
Of motion, light, and life, my beating heart
Plays unison; and, with harmonious thrill,
Inhales such joys, as Avarice never knew.

Ah! knew he but his happiness, of men
Not the least happy he, who, free from broils,
And base ambition, vain and bust'ling pomp,
Amid a friendly cure, and competence,
Tastes the pure pleasure of parochial life.
What though no crowd of clients, at his gate,
To falshood, and injustice, bribe his tongue,
And flatter into guilt; what though no bright,
And gilded prospects lure ambition on
To legislative pride, or chair of state;
What though no golden dreams entice his mind
To burrow, with the mole, in dirt, and mire;
What though no splendid villa, Eden'd round
With gardens of enchantment, walks of state,
And all the grandeur of superfluous wealth,
Invite the passenger to stay his steed,
And ask the liveried foot-boy, "who dwells here?"
What though no swarms, around his sumptuous board,
Of soothing flatterers, humming in the shine
Of opulence, and honey, from its flowers,
Devouring, 'till their time arrives to sting,
Inflate his mind; his virtues, round the year,
Repeating, and his faults, with microscope
Inverted, lessen, 'till they steal from sight:
Yet, from the dire temptations, these present,
His state is free; temptations, few can stem;
Temptations, by whose sweeping torrent hurl'd
Down the dire steep of guilt, unceasing fall,
Sad victims, thousands of the brightest minds,
That time's dark reign adorn; minds, to whose grasp
Heaven seems most freely offer'd; to man's eye,
Most hopeful candidates for angels' joys.

His lot, that wealth, and power, and pride forbids,
Forbids him to become the tool of fraud,
Injustice, misery, ruin; saves his soul
From all the needless labours, griefs, and cares,
That avarice, and ambition, agonize;
From those cold nerves of wealth, that, palsied, feel
No anguish, but its own; and ceaseless lead
To thousand meannesses, as gain allures.

Though oft compell'd to meet the gross attack
Of shameless ridicule, and towering pride,
Sufficient good is his; good, real, pure,
With guilt unmingled. Rarely forc'd from home,
Around his board, his wife and children smile;
Communion sweetest, nature here can give,
Each fond endearment, office of delight,
With love and duty blending. Such the joy,
My bosom oft has known. His, too, the task,
To rear the infant plants, that bud around;
To ope their little minds to truth's pure light;
To take them by the hand, and lead them on,
In that straight, narrow road, where virtue walks;
To guard them from a vain, deceiving world;
And point their course to realms of promis'd life.

His too th' esteem of those, who weekly hear
His words of truth divine; unnumber'd acts
Of real love attesting, to his eye,
Their filial tenderness. Where'er he walks,
The friendly welcome and inviting smile
Wait on his steps, and breathe a kindred joy.

Oft too in friendliest Association join'd,
He greets his brethren, with a flowing heart,
Flowing with virtue; all rejoic'd to meet,
And all reluctant parting; every aim,
Benevolent, aiding with purpose kind;
While, season'd with unblemish'd cheerfulness,
Far distant from the tainted mirth of vice,
Their hearts disclose each contemplation sweet
Of things divine; and blend in friendship pure,
Friendship sublim'd by piety and love.

All virtue's friends are his: the good, the just,
The pious, to his house their visits pay,
And converse high hold of the true, the fair,
The wonderful, the moral, the divine:
Of saints, and prophets, patterns bright of truth,
Lent to a world of sin, to teach mankind,
How virtue, in that world, can live, and shine;
Of learning's varied realms; of Nature's works;
And that bless'd book, which gilds man's darksome way,
With light from heaven; of bless'd Messiah's throne
And kingdom; prophesies divine fulfill'd,
And prophesies more glorious, yet to come,
In renovated days; of that bright world,
And all the happy trains, which that bright world
Inhabit, whither virtue's sons are gone:
While GOD the whole inspires, adorns, exalts,
The source, the end, the substance, and the soul.

This too the task, the bless'd, the useful task,
To' invigour order, justice, law, and rule;
Peace to extend, and bid contention cease;
To teach the words of life; to lead mankind
Back from the wild of guilt, and brink of woe,
To virtue's house and family; faith, hope,
And joy, t' inspire; to warm the soul,
With love to GOD, and man; to cheer the sad,
To fix the doubting, rouse the languid heart;
The wandering to restore; to spread with down,
The thorny bed of death; console the poor,
Departing mind, and aid its lingering wing.

To him, her choicest pages Truth expands,
Unceasing, where the soul-intrancing scenes,
Poetic fiction boasts, are real all:
Where beauty, novelty, and grandeur, wear
Superior charms, and moral worlds unfold
Sublimities, transporting and divine.

Not all the scenes, Philosophy can boast,
Tho' them with nobler truths he ceaseless blends,
Compare with these. They, as they found the mind,
Still leave it; more inform'd, but not more wise.
These wiser, nobler, better, make the man.

Thus every happy mean of solid good
His life, his studies, and profession yield.
With motives hourly new, each rolling day,
Allures, through wisdom's path, and truth's fair field,
His feet to yonder skies. Before him heaven
Shines bright, the scope sublime of all his prayers,
The meed of every sorrow, pain, and toil.

Then, O ye happy few! whom GOD allows
To stand his messengers, in this bad world,
And call mankind to virtue, weep no more,
Though pains and toils betide you: for what life,
On earth, from pains and toils was ever free?
When Wealth and Pride around you gaily spread
Their vain and transient splendour, envy not.
How oft (let virtue weep!) is this their all?
For you, in sunny prospect, daily spring
Joys, which nor Pride can Taste, nor Wealth can boast;
That, planted here, beyond the wintery grave
Revive and grow with ever vernal bloom.

Hail these, oh hail! and be 't enough for you,
To 'scape a world unclean; a life to lead
Of usefulness, and truth; a Prince to serve,
Who suffers no sincere and humble toil
To miss a rich reward; in Death's dark vale,
To meet unbosom'd light; beyond the grave
To rise triumphant, freed from every stain,
And cloth'd with every beauty; in the sky
Stars to outshine; and, round th' eternal year,
With saints, with angels, and with CHRIST, to reign.