ARGUMENT.

Love of country, the subject proposed-prevalence of it, even in the most unfavourable climates and dangerous circumstances―reasons why the citizens of the United States ought to be particularly influenced by it—patriotism not incompatible with philanthropy-address to the Deity to be enabled to celebrate worthily that love by which the world was made for man— creation-man-his dignity inferred from his strange and complicated, but elevated nature—immortality of the soul—sympathy-affected sensibility false philosophy-existence of a Supreme Being demonstrable from his works-superiority of nature to art, and of man to all the other mundane works of God-from the nobleness of his qualities and conceptions, man ought to despise pseudo-patriotism—conquerors-good sove, reigns—every species of tyrannical government to be avoided— union recommended as necessary to preserve our liberty our peculiar advantages for maintaining our independence execration of discord and ambition-firmness of our government → determination of citizens of all ages and descriptions to repel invasion, or perish in the attempt motives to animate the rising generation deduced from our struggle for independence a review of its origin—the patriotic manner in which the Ameri can people were affected at the commencement of our revolu tion-arrival of the British and foreign troops-their chiefs preparations to resist the foe-eulogium of the principal offi, cers of the American army-happy termination of the war the revision of these interesting scenes excites an ardent desire in the author to revisit his native country indescribable sensations produced by love of country-concluding wish,

A POEM

ON THE

LOVE OF COUNTRY.

TO INDEPENDENCE consecrate, this day
Demands the tribute of my annual lay;
Protector of that gift of God Supreme,
Thou, Love of Country! be this day my theme.

Hail sacred Love of Country! mystic tie! That binds us to our native soil and sky! Indissolubly binds through each extreme

Of noxious climes. The native braves the beam ·

Where darts the crimson sun, with downward ray,

O'er tropic isles, insufferable day.

10

Beneath cold Zembla's clouds, the last of men
Pent with his wife and children in his den,

Six wintry months, while hail and thunder pour
O'er rocks of ice, the elemental roar,

While sweeping tempests ride night's raven wings,
Still to his frozen cave more closely clings.

15

Nor where dire earthquakes sleep by Lisbon's rock,

Thy sons, oh Tagus! who once felt the shock,
Fly ere again the sleeping vengeance wake,
And low in dust the rebuilt* city shake.
Nor yet Vesuvio's brow, with cinders bright,
Pouring red lavas through the noon of night,
Can make the peasant from his home retirę,
And shun betimes the falling flood of fire.

20

* Although the author had his residence for several years in Lisbon, it was on that high part of the city called Buenos Ayres, where no damage has ever been done by earthquakes. Near the river Tagus, the buildings which have more than once been destroyed, may probably bereafter experience a similar fate.

Will ye in love of country be surpast?
For you the lot in pleasant places cast,
No common share of happiness affords-
Your rights asserted by your conqu❜ring swords,
A government of your own choice possest,
With morals (surest pledge of freedom) blest;
Columbians! show ye love your favour'd lot,
By strong attachment to your natal spot.

25

30

Still Love of Country, on no narrow plan,

Exists consistent with the love of man.

In little circles love begins, not ends,

35

With parents, brothers, kindred, neighbours, friends:

As wave on wave, on circles circles press,

Our nation next we love, nor nature less:

Though still Columbia-best of parent names!-
The dearest proofs of filial fondness claims;
Man's general good this pref'rence not impedes,
Nor checks the soul from philanthropic deeds.

Illume my subject! tune my voice to sing!
Oh, thou who rid'st upon the whirlwind's wing,
(Majestic darkness!) or, in glory's beam,
Dwell'st inapproachable with light supreme!
If sweet philanthropy employs my care,
Hear, thou! on high th' undissipated pray'r!
Inspire my tongue to sing the wond'rous plan,
A world created for thy image, man.

40

45

50

Through realms of darkness, dreary, unenjoy'd,
Where anarchy and uproar rul'd the void,
Forth went th' eternal word, and far was driv'n
Primeval night before the pow'r of heaven-
What time he bade th' abyss with light rejoice,
Confusion fled and chaos heard his voice:
Th' Almighty fiat mark'd the spacious round,
Concent'ring land and water learn'd their bound;
This ball emergent from th' oblivious flood,
The great Creator saw and call'd it good.

55

60

Celestial beings view'd with vast delight,
A new-born star rise twinkling on their sight,
And as 'mid worlds of light the wonder hung,
Each sister orb with unknown music rung.

For whom was earth's stupendous fabric made?
For whom such pomp ineffable display'd?
What made the rolling spheres with music ring,
And sons of God symphonious concerts sing?
'Twas man's inexplicable, doubtful form,
Sprung from non-entity-a God—a worm-
The high-born spirit, native pure of day-

65

70

The body gross, but animated clay

With parts so pure, so gross-enigma strange!

Alive, though dead-the same, though seen to change

'Twas God's last work that fir'd angelic quires,

75

Gave worlds to space and themes to heav'nly lyres.

What though to death a prey, this earthy crust
Dissolves and moulders with its mother dust;
Th' inserted part a graff divine appears,
From heav'n translated to this vale of tears
Not long in alien air to waste its bloom,
Nor shall the grave the falling shoot inhume;
More beauteous rising from the deathful strife,
Immortal offspring of the tree of life!

Thou child of heav'n and earth! a stream divine
From the first fountain feeds your veins and mine.
Oh man, my brother! how, by blood allied,
Swells in my breast the sympathetic tide?
Shall I not wish thee well, not work thy good,
Deaf to th' endearing cries of kindred blood?
What! shall my soul, involv'd in matter dense,
(Obdur'd this bosom and benum'd each sense),
Lose, grateful sympathy! thy genial ray,
Quench'd in the dampness of this crust of clay?
No, give me, heav'n! affections quick, refin'd,
The keen emotions that entrance the mind-
What youthful bards, what ardent heroes feel,
The lover's rapture and the patriot's zeal;

80

85

90

95

The zeal that aims humanity to bless,

Oh, let me feel, and, what I feel, express!

100

With feelings not less strong than others born, Affected sensibility I scorn.

Nor finds my breast benevolence or joy,

By generalising feeling, to destroy.

S

I hate that new philosophy's strange plan,

105

That teaches love for all things more than man;
To love all mortals save our friends alone,
To hold all countries dearer than our own;
To take no int'rest in the present age,
Rapt to th' unborn with philanthropic rage;
To make the tutor'd eyes with tears o'erflow,
More for fictitious than for real woe!

110

Then let my breast more pure sensations prove,
And on just objects fix appropriate love:
First on that God whose wond'rous works I scan,
Next on the noblest of his creatures, man.
A God, the soul of Being, still the same,
Through everlasting days, his deeds proclaim:
Whose arm created where no eye can pierce,
Systems on systems through the universe?
And who propell'd their orbs? in motion keeps?
Say, Atheist! say-whose eye-lid never sleeps?
Whose breath's existence? Omnipresence, space?
And who sustains thy life, blasphemer of his grace?

Say, live there mortals form'd with organs such,
They nature prize too little, art too much?
I love th' immortal marble's breathing form,
With life instinct, with animation warm;
Where pictur'd canvass glows with living dyes,
Charm'd, I behold a new creation rise:
Nor less I love of human skill the pride,
The tall bark bounding on the billowy tide:
Or art's consummate task, the city grac'd
With Grecian columns or with Tuscan taste.
If such delight art's curious works afford,
Shall I not rather love creation's Lord?
To me, oh nature! all thy music bring,

O'er all heav'n's other works of man to sing.

Thy varied voice in every breeze I hear, Delightful nature! mingling in my ear.

115

120

125

130

135

140

Though sweet the sound of zephyr's whispering breath,
And leaves that rustle o'er the furzy heath;

Though sweet the babbling brook, the patt'ring show'r,
And echo mocking from the neighb'ring tow'r;