But, with all your quiet flow, Do you not some quarrels know! Lately, angry, how you ran! All at war--and much like man. When the shower of waters fell, How you raged, and what a swell! All your banks you overflow'd, Scarcely knew your own abode! How you battled with the rock! Gave my willow such a shock As to menace, by its fall, Underwood and bushes, all: Now you are again at peace: Time will come when that will cease; Such the human passions are; --You again will war declare. Emblem, thou, of restless man; What a sketch of nature's plan! Now at peace, and now at war, Now you murmur, now you roar; Muddy now, and limpid next, Now with icy shackles vext-- What a likeness here we find! What a picture of mankind! APPENDIX A. THE AMERICAN VILLAGE, &C. B. LIST OF OMITTED POEMS. C. BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE POETRY OF PHILIP FRENEAU. THE AMERICAN VILLAGE.[212] WHERE yonder stream divides the fertile plain, Made fertile by the labours of the swain; And hills and woods high tow'ring o'er the rest, Behold a village with fair plenty blest: Each year tall harvests crown the happy field; Each year the meads their stores of fragrance yield, And ev'ry joy and ev'ry bliss is there, And healthful labour crowns the flowing year. THOUGH _Goldsmith_ weeps in melancholy strains, Deserted Auburn and forsaken plains, And mourns his village with a patriot sigh, And in that village sees Britannia die: Yet shall this land with rising pomp divine, In it's own splendor and Britannia's shine. O muse, forget to paint her ancient woes, Her Indian battles, or her Gallic foes; Resume the pleasures of the rural scene, Describe the village rising on the green, It's harmless people, born to small command, Lost in the bosom of this western land: