And like Old Jericho's proud wall,
Before our ram's horns prostrate fall."
This said, our 'squire yet undismay'd, 225
Call'd forth the constable to aid;
And bade him read in nearer station,
The riot-act, and proclamation;
Who now advancing tow'rd the ring,
Began, "Our sov'reign lord the king," 230
When thousand clam'rous tongues he hears
And clubs and stones assail his ears;
To fly was vain, to fight was idle,
By foes encompass'd in the middle:
In stratagem his aid he found,
And fell right craftily to ground:
Then crept to seek an hiding place,
'T was all he could, beneath a brace;
Where soon the conqu'ring crew espy'd him.
And where he lurk'd, they caught and ty'd
him.
At once with resolution fatal,
Both whigs and tories rush'd to battle:
Instead of weapons, either band
Seiz'd on such arms, as came to hand.
Romancing lovers did their mistress,
And brandishing the blade in air,
Struck terror through th' opposing war.
The whigs, unsafe within the wind
Of such commotion, shrunk behind.
With whirling steel around address'd,
Fierce thro' their thickest throng he press'd,
(Who roll'd on either side in arch,
Like Red-Sea waves in Israel's march)
And like a meteor rushing through,
Struck on their pole a vengeful blow.
Around, the whigs, of clubs and stones
Discharged whole vollies, in platoons,
That o'er in whistling fury fly;
But not a foe dares venture nigh.
And now perhaps with glory crown'd
Our 'squire had fell'd the pole to ground,
Had not some pow'r, a whig at heart,
Descended down and took their part; 280
(Whether 'twere Pallas, Mars, or Iris,
'Tis scarce worth while to make inquiries)
Who at the nick of time alarming,
Assumed the graven form of chairman,
Address'd a whig, in ev'ry scene
The stoutest wrestler on the green,
And pointed where the spade was found,
Late us'd to set their pole in ground,
And urg'd, with equal arms and might,
To dare our 'squire to single fight.
The whig thus arm'd, untaught to yield,
Advanced tremendous to the field:
Nor did M'Fingal shun the foe,
But stood to brave the desp'rate blow;
While all the party gaz'd, suspended
To see the deadly combat ended;
And Jove in equal balance weigh'd
The sword against the brandish'd spade,
He weigh'd; but lighter than a dream,
The sword flew up, and kick'd the beam. 300
Our 'squire on tiptoe rising fair
Lifts high a noble stroke in air,
Which hung not, but like dreadful engines, Descended on the foe in vengeance.
But ah! in danger, with dishonour
The sword, perfidious, fails its owner;
That sword, which oft had stood its ground,
By huge trainbands encompass'd round;
And on the bench, with blade right loyal,
Had won the day at many a trial,
Of stones and clubs had braved th' alarms,
Shrunk from these new Vulcanian arms,
The spade, so temper'd from the sledge,
Nor keen nor solid harm'd its edge,
Now met it from his arm of might,
Descending with steep force to smite;
The blade snapp'd short, and from his hand,
With rust embrown'd the glittering sand.
Swift turn'd M'Fingal at the view,
And call'd for aid th' attendant crew,
In vain: The tories all had run,
When scarce the fight was well begun;
Their setting wigs he saw decreas'd
Far in th' horizon tow'rd the west.
Amazed, he view'd the shameful sight, 325
And saw no refuge, but in flight:
But age unwieldy check'd his pace,
Tho' fear had wing'd his flying race;
For not a trifling prize at stake;
No less than great M'Fingal's back.
With legs and arms he work'd his course,
Like rider that outgoes his horse,
And labour'd hard to get away, as
Old Satan struggling on thro' chaos;
'Till looking back, he spy'd in rear
His bent knee fail'd, and void of strength
Stretch'd on the ground his manly length.
Like ancient oak o'erturn'd, he lay,
Or tow'r to tempests fall'n a prey,
Or mountain sunk with all his pines,
Or flow'r, the plow to dust consigns,
And more things else-but all men know 'em,
If slightly versed in epic poem.
At once the crew at this dread crisis,
Fall on and bind him ere he rises;
And with loud shouts and joyful soul
Conduct him pris'ner to the pole.
When now the mob in lucky hour,
Had got their en'mies in their pow'r,
They first proceed by wise command,
To take the constable in hand;
Then from the pole's sublimest top
They speeded to let down the rope,
At once its other end in haste bind,
And make it fast unto his waistband,
Till like the earth, as stretch'd on tenter,
He hung self-balanc'd on his center.
Then upwards all hands hoisting sail,
They swung him like a keg of ale,
Till to the pinnacle so fair,
He rose like meteor in the air.
As Socrates of old first did,
To aid philosophy, get hoisted,
I'll never join with British rage,
Nor help lord North, or gen'ral Gage,
Nor lift my gun in future fights,
Nor take away your charter'd rights,
Nor overcome your new-rais'd levies,
Destroy your towns, nor burn your navies, 400
Nor cut your poles down while I've breath,
Tho' rais'd more thick than hatchel-teeth;
But leave King George and all his elves
To do their conqu'ring work themselves."
This said, they lower'd him down in
state,
Spread at all points, like falling cat;
But took a vote first on the question,
That they'd accept this full confession,
And to their fellowship and favour,
Restore him on his good behaviour.
Not so, our 'squire submits to rule,
But stood heroic as a mule.
"You'll find it all in vain, quoth he,
To play your rebel tricks on me.
All punishments the world can render, 415
Serve only to provoke th' offender;
The will's confirm'd by treatment horrid,
As hides grow harder when they're curried.
No man e'er felt the halter draw,
With good opinion of the law;
Or held in method orthodox
His love of justice in the stocks; Or fail'd to lose by sheriff's shears At once his loyalty and ears.
And found his thoughts flow strangely clear, Swung in a basket in mid air:
Have you made Murray look less big,
Or smoak'd old Williams to a whig?
Did our mobb'd Ol'ver quit his station,
Or heed his vows of resignation?
Has Rivington, in dread of stripes,
Ceas'd lying since you stole his types?
And can you think my faith will alter,
By tarring, whipping, or the halter?
I'll stand the worst; for recompence
I trust King George and providence.
And when, our conquest gain'd, I come, 435
Array'd in law and terror home,
You'll rue this inauspicious morn,
With all his plagues, without his pa
Our culprit thus in purer sky,
With like advantage rais'd his eye;
And looking forth in prospect wide,
His tory errors clearly spy'd,
And from his elevated station,
And curse the day you e'er were born, In Job's high style of imprecations,
With bawling voice began addressing:
"Good gentlemen, and friends, and kin,
For heav'n's sake hear, if not for mine!
I here renounce the pope, the Turks,
The king, the dev'l, and all their works; 390
And will, set me but once at ease,
Turn whig or christian, what you please;
And always mind your laws as justly,
Should I live long as old Methus❜lah,
Then thro' the town attendant ride him,
In cart with constable beside him,
And having held him up to shame,
Bring to the pole from whence he came."
Forthwith the crowd proceed to deck 465
With halter'd noose M'Fingal's neck,
While he, in peril of his soul,
Stood ty'd half-hanging to the pole;
Then lifting high the pond'rous jar,
Pour'd o'er his head the smoking tar:
With less profusion erst was spread
The Jewish oil on royal head,
That down his beard and vestments ran,
And cover'd all his outward man.
Like sleet-bound trees in wintry skies, 495
Or Lapland idol carv'd in ice.
And now the feather-bag display'd,
Is wav'd in triumph o'er his head,
And spreads him o'er with feathers missive
And down upon the tar adhesive:
Not Maia's son, with wings for ears,
Such plumes around his visage wears;
Nor Milton's six-wing'd angel gathers
Such superfluity of feathers.
Till all complete appears our 'squire,
Like gorgon or chimera dire;
No more could boast, on Plato's plan,
To rank amid the race of man,
Or prove his claim to human nature,
As a two-legg'd, unfeather'd creature.
Then on the two-wheel'd car of state,
They rais'd our grand duumvirate;
And as at Rome a like committee,
That found an owl within their city,
With solemn rites and sad processions,
At ev'ry shrine perform'd lustrations;
And, lest infection should abound
From prodigy with face so round,
All Rome attends him thro' the street,
In triumph to his country seat:
With like devotion, all the choir
Paraded round our feather'd 'squire;
In front the martial music comes
Of horns and fiddles, fifes and drums,
With jingling sound of carriage bells,
And treble creak of rusted wheels;
Behind, the crowd in lengthen'd row,
With grave procession clos'd the show;
And at fit periods ev'ry throat
Combin'd in universal shout,
And hail'd great Liberty in chorus,
Or bawl'd confusion to the tories.
Not louder storm the welkin braves,
From clamours of conflicting waves;
Less dire in Lybian wilds the noise,
When rav'ning lions lift their voice;
Or triumphs at town-meetings made,
Or passing votes to reg'late trade.
Thus having borne him round the town,
Last at the pole they set him down,
And tow'rd the tavern take their way,
To end in mirth the festal day.
And now the mob dispers'd and gone,
Left 'squire and constable alone.
The constable in rueful case
Lean'd sad and solemn o'er a brace,
And fast beside him, cheek by jowl,
Stuck 'squire M'Fingal 'gainst the pole,
Glued by the tar t' his rear apply'd,
Like barnacle on vessel's side.
But tho' his body lack'd physician,
His spirit was in worse condition,
He found his fears of whips and ropes
By many a drachm outweigh'd his hopes.
As men in jail without mainprize,
View everything with other eyes,
And all goes wrong in church and state,
Seen thro' perspective of the grate:
So now M'Fingal's second sight
Beheld all things in diff'rent light;
His visual nerve, well purg'd with tar,
Saw all the coming scenes of war.
As his prophetic soul grew stronger,
He found he could hold in no longer;
First from the pole, as fierce he shook, 565
His wig from pitchy durance broke,
His mouth unglued, his feathers flutter'd.
His tarr'd skirts crack'd, and thus he utter'd
510 "Ah, mr. Constable, in vain
The glorious close of the war of Independence gave to America a poetic theme that seemed to the new generation the greatest that had ever filled the pens of poets,-the future glories of the new republic. Upon none of them was this idea more tremendously impressed than upon Joel Barlow, who even in his college days at Yale-he was graduated class poet in 1778-had begun upon that colossal poem that was to widen into the Vision of Columbus, and finally, after many years, into the ocean-like Columbiad. In his early period he showed real poetic promise. He was chosen to make a version of the Psalms for use as a hymn book, and his version stands high in poetic quality. Again, while in France, he wrote another poem of real excellence, his Hasty-Pudding, a mock heroic pastoral that in parts suggests the Whittier of a later generation. Of his ponderous epic The Vision of Columbus, later absorbed in his Columbiad with its ten books, less can be said. The theme is not unpoetic. Hesper takes Columbus into a high mountain and shows him Columbia, and unfolds to him the history to be. But size, or even glorious subject, cannot alone make a great epic. The poem is turgid in style, often bombastic, and always heavy. In one respect however it ranks as the greatest poem in American literature. The first edition of it, in huge quarto, was a magnificent volume, and according to Barrett Wendell it was in size "among the most impressive books to look at in the world." It helped its author to various important diplomatic positions abroad undoubtedly, but little more can be said of it. An attempt to give the land of Niagara and the Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains and the great plains an epic of equal magnitude, is an attempt that is sure to result not only in failure but even in ridicule.
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