Where wandering brooks from mountain sources roll, He seeks at noon the waters of the shade, Drinks deep, and fears no poison in the bowl That Nature for her happiest children made: And from whose clear and gently-passing wave All drink alike--the master and the slave. The scheming statesman shuns his homely door, Who, on the miseries of his country fed, Ne'er glanc'd his eye from that base pilfer'd store To view the sword, suspended by a thread-- Nor that "hand-writing," grav'd upon the wall, That tells him--but in vain--"the sword must fall." He ne'er was made a holiday machine, Wheel'd here and there by 'squires in livery clad, Nor dreads the sons of legislation keen, Hard-hearted laws, and penalties most sad-- In humble hope his little fields were sown, A trifle, in your eye--but all his own. [38] Published in the _Daily Advertiser_, July 12, 1790. Reprinted in the _National Gazette_ under the title "The Pennsylvania Planter." Text from the 1795 edition. TOBACCO [Supposed to be written by a Young Beginner[39]] This Indian weed, that once did grow On fair Virginia's fertile plain, From whence it came--again may go, To please some happier swain: Of all the plants that Nature yields This, least beloved, shall shun my fields. In evil hour I first essayed To chew this vile forbidden leaf, When, half ashamed, and half afraid, I touched, and tasted--to my grief: Ah me! the more I was forbid, The more I wished to take a quid. But when I smoaked, in thought profound, And raised the spiral circle high, My heart grew sick, my head turned round-- And what can all this mean, (said I)-- Tobacco surely was designed To poison, and destroy mankind. Unhappy they, whom choice, or fate Inclines to prize this bitter weed; Perpetual source of female hate; On which no beast--but man will feed; That sinks my heart, and turns my head, And sends me, reeling, home to bed! [39] Published in the _Daily Advertiser_, July 31, 1790. Text from the edition of 1809. THE BANISHED MAN[40] Since man may every region claim, And Nature is, in most, the same, And we a part of her wide plan, Tell me, what makes The Banish'd Man. The favourite spot, that gave us birth, We fondly call our mother earth; And hence our vain distinctions grow, And man to man becomes a foe. That friendship to all nations due, And taught by reason to pursue, That love, which should the world combine, To country, why do we confine? The Grecian sage[A] (old stories say) When question'd where his country lay, Inspired by heaven, made no reply, But rais'd his finger to the sky. [A] Anaxagoras.--_Freneau's note._ No region has, on earth, been known But some, of choice, have made their own:-- Your tears are not from Reason's source If choice assumes the path of force.