Sun, moon, and stars, are each a sphere, The earth the same, (or very near), Sir Isaac has defined-- In circles each coin is cast, And hence our cash departs so fast, Cash--that no charm can bind. From you to us--from us it rolls To comfort other cloudy souls:-- If again we make it square,[A] Perhaps the uneasy guest will stay To cheer us in some wintry day, And smooth the brow of care. [A] The old Continental.--_Freneau's note._ [299] This appeared first as the regular New Year's sheet of the _Freeman's Journal_, January 1, 1785. Its original title was, "New Year's Verses, addressed to the Customers of the Freeman's Journal by the Lad who carries it." Text from the edition of 1809. PEWTER-PLATTER ALLEY[300] In Philadelphia (As it appeared in January, 1784) From Christ-Church graves, across the way, A dismal, horrid place is found, Where rushing winds exert their sway, And Greenland winter chills the ground: No blossoms there are seen to bloom, No sun pervades the dreary gloom! The people of that gloomy place In penance for some ancient crime Are held in a too narrow space, Like those beyond the bounds of time, Who darkened still, perceive no day, While seasons waste, and moons decay. Cold as the shade that wraps them round, This icy region prompts our fear; And he who treads this frozen ground Shall curse the chance that brought him here-- The slippery mass predicts his fate, A broken arm, a wounded pate. When August sheds his sultry beam, May Celia never find this place, Nor see, upon the clouded stream, The fading summer in her face; And may she ne'er discover there The grey that mingles with her hair. The watchman sad, whose drowsy call Proclaims the hour forever fled, Avoids this path to Pluto's hall; For who would wish to wake the dead!-- Still let them sleep--it is no crime-- They pay no tax to know the time. No coaches here, in glittering pride, Convey their freight to take the air, No gods nor heroes here reside, Nor powdered beau, nor lady fair-- All, all to warmer regions flee, And leave the glooms to Towne[A] and me. [A] BENJAMIN TOWNE, then Printer of the EVENING POST.--_Freneau's note._ [300] _Freeman's Journal_, February 23, 1795. ON THE DEATH OF THE REPUBLICAN PATRIOT AND STATESMAN, GENERAL JOSEPH REED[A] [A] First published in the _Freeman's Journal_, March 9, 1785, with the following introduction: