What pity that here is no insular spot, Where quarrels, and murder, and malice are not: Where a stranger might land, to recruit his worn crew, Replenish the casks, and the water renew. On this Empire of waves, this expanse of the main, In the track we are sailing, no island is seen: The glow of the stars, and the breath of the wind Are lost!--for they bring not the scent of the land! Huge porpoises swim, where there should be an isle, Where an Eden might bloom, or a Cyprus might smile-- From Palma,[A] thus far, with a tedious delay, Salt water and æther is all we survey! [A] The most north-westerly of the Canary Islands.--_Freneau's note._ Like an artist that's busy in melting his lead, At random it falls, and is carelessly spread, So Nature, though wisely the globe she has planned, Left the surface to chance--to be sea, or be land. [168] Unique in the edition of 1809. STANZAS[169] To the memory of General WASHINGTON, who died December 14, 1799 _Terra tegit, populus mæret, cælum habet!_ Departing with the closing age To virtue, worth, and freedom true, The chief, the patriot, and the sage To Vernon bids his last adieu: To reap in some exalted sphere The just rewards of virtue here. Thou, Washington, by heaven design'd To act a part in human things That few have known among mankind, And far beyond the task of kings; We hail you now to heaven received, Your mighty task on earth achieved. While sculpture and her sister arts, For thee their choicest wreaths prepare, Fond gratitude her share imparts And begs thy bones for burial there; Where, near Virginia's northern bound Swells the vast pile on federal ground. To call from their obscure abodes The Grecian chief, the Roman sage, The kings, the heroes, and the gods Who flourish'd in time's earlier age, Would be to class them not with you,-- Superior far, in every view. Those ancients of ferocious mould, Blood their delight, and war their trade, Their oaths profaned, their countries sold, And fetter'd nations prostrate laid; Could these, like you, assert their claim To honor and immortal fame? Those monarchs, proud of pillaged spoils, With nations shackled in their train, Returning from their desperate toils With trophies,--and their thousands slain; In all they did no traits are known Like those that honor'd Washington. Who now will save our shores from harms, The task to him so long assign'd? Who now will rouse our youth to arms Should war approach to curse mankind? Alas! no more the word you give, But in your precepts you survive.