The Poems of Philip Freneau is a Webnovel created by Philip Freneau.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
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He heard, and round with his black eye-b.a.l.l.s gaz’d, Full of despair, and curs’d, and rav’d, and swore: “And since this is my doom,” said he, “call up “Your wood-mechanics to my chamber door:
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“Blame not on me the ravage to be made; 345 “Proclaim,–even Death abhors such woe to see; “I’ll quit the world, while decently I can, “And leave the work to George my deputy.”
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Up rush’d a band, with compa.s.ses and scales To measure his slim carcase, long and lean– 350 “Be sure,” said he, “to frame my coffin strong, “You, master workman, and your men, I mean:
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“For if the Devil, so late my trusty friend, “Should get one hint where I am laid, from you, “Not with my soul content, he’d seek to find 355 “That mouldering ma.s.s of bones, my body, too!
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“Of hardest ebon let the plank be found, “With clamps and ponderous bars secur’d around, “That if the box by Satan should be storm’d, “It may be able for resistance found.” 360
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“Yes,” said the master workman, “n.o.ble Death, “Your coffin shall be strong–that leave to me– “But who shall these your funeral dues discharge?
“Nor friends nor pence you have, that I can see.”
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To this said Death–“You might have ask’d me, too, 365 “Base caitiff, who are my executors, “Where my estate, and who the men that shall “Partake my substance, and be call’d my heirs.
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“Know, then, that h.e.l.l is my inheritance, “The devil himself my funeral dues must pay– 370 “Go–since you must be paid–go, ask of him, “For he has gold, as fabling poets say.”
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Strait they retir’d–when thus he gave me charge, Pointing from the light window to the west, “Go three miles o’er the plain, and you shall see 375 “A burying-yard of sinners dead, unblest.
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“Amid the graves a spiry building stands “Whose solemn knell resounding through the gloom “Shall call thee o’er the circ.u.mjacent lands “To the dull mansion destin’d for my tomb. 380
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“There, since ’tis dark, I’ll plant a glimmering light “Just s.n.a.t.c.h’d from h.e.l.l, by whose reflected beams “Thou shalt behold a tomb-stone, full eight feet, “Fast by a grave, replete with ghosts and dreams.
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“And on that stone engrave this epitaph, 385 “Since Death, it seems, must die like mortal men; “Yes–on that stone engrave this epitaph, “Though all h.e.l.l’s furies aim to s.n.a.t.c.h the pen.
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“_Death in this tomb his weary bones hath laid,_ “_Sick of dominion o’er the human kind–_ 390 “_Behold what devastations he hath made,_ “_Survey the millions by his arm confin’d._
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“_Six thousand years has sovereign sway been mine,_ “_None, but myself, can real glory claim;_ “_Great Regent of the world I reign’d alone,_ 395 “_And princes trembled when my mandate came._
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“_Vast and unmatch’d throughout the world, my fame_ “_Takes place of G.o.ds, and asks no mortal date–_ “_No; by myself, and by the heavens, I swear,_ “_Not Alexander’s name is half so great._ 400
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“_Nor swords nor darts my prowess could withstand,_ “_All quit their arms, and bowd to my decree,_ “_Even mighty Julius died beneath my hand,_ “_For slaves and Caesars were the same to me!_
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“_Traveller, wouldst thou his n.o.blest trophies seek,_ 405 “_Search in no narrow spot obscure for those;_ “_The sea profound, the surface of all land_ “_Is moulded with the myriads of his foes._”
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Scarce had he spoke, when on the lofty dome Rush’d from the clouds a hoa.r.s.e resounding blast– 410 Round the four eaves so loud and sad it play’d As though all musick were to breathe its last.
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Warm was the gale, and such as travellers say Sport with the winds on Zaara’s barren waste; Black was the sky, a mourning carpet spread, 415 Its azure blotted, and its stars o’ercast!
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Lights in the air like burning stars were hurl’d, Dogs howl’d, heaven mutter’d, and the tempest blew, The red half-moon peeped from behind a cloud As if in dread the amazing scene to view. 420
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The mournful trees that in the garden stood Bent to the tempest as it rush’d along, The elm, the myrtle, and the cypress sad More melancholy tun’d its bellowing song.
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No more that elm its n.o.ble branches spread, 425 The yew, the cypress, or the myrtle tree, Rent from the roots the tempest tore them down, And all the grove in wild confusion lay.
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Yet, mindful of his dread command, I part Glad from the magic dome–nor found relief; 430 Damps from the dead hung heavier round my heart, While sad remembrance rous’d her stores of grief.
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O’er a dark field I held my dubious way Where Jack-a-lanthorn walk’d his lonely round, Beneath my feet substantial darkness lay, 435 And screams were heard from the distemper’d ground.
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Nor look’d I back, till to a far off wood, Trembling with fear, my weary feet had sped– Dark was the night, but at the inchanted dome I saw the infernal windows flaming red. 440