By traitors driven to ruin's brink Fair Freedom dreads united knaves, The world must fall if she must bleed;-- And yet, by heaven! I'm proud to think The world was ne'er subdued by slaves-- Nor shall the hireling herd succeed. Boy! fill the generous goblet high; Success to France, shall be the toast: The fall of kings the fates foredoom, The crown decays, its' splendours die; And they, who were a nation's boast, Sink, and expire in endless gloom. Thou, stranger, from a distant shore,[A] Where fetter'd men their rights avow, Why on this joyous day so sad? Louis insults with chains no more,-- Then why thus wear a clouded brow, When every manly heart is glad? [A] Addressed to the Aristocrats from Hispaniola.--_Freneau's note._ Some passing days and rolling years May see the wrath of kings display'd, Their wars to prop the tarnish'd crown; But orphans' groans, and widows' tears, And justice lifts her shining blade To bring the tottering bauble down. [1792] [54] This was published in the _National Gazette_, July 14, 1792, introduced as follows: "ODES ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. "_HE who does not read in the book of the Odes, is like a man standing with his face flat against a wall: he can neither move forward, nor stir an inch backward._--Hau Kiou Choaan." This was Ode I of the series. It was republished only in the edition of 1795, the text of which I have followed. [55] On July 14, 1789, the French people made their first armed stand against monarchial institutions, attacking and destroying the Bastile. TO CRISPIN O'CONNER A BACK-WOODSMAN[56] [Supposed to be written by Hezekiah Salem] Wise was your plan when twenty years ago From Patrick's isle you first resolved to stray, Where lords and knights, as thick as rushes grow, And vulgar folks are in each other's way; Where mother-country acts the step-dame's part, Cuts off, by aid of hemp, each petty sinner, And twice or thrice in every score of years Hatches sad wars to make her brood the thinner. How few aspire to quit the ungrateful soil That starves the plant it had the strength to bear: How many stay, to grieve, and fret, and toil, And view the plenty that they must not share. This you beheld, and westward set your nose, Like some bold prow, that ploughs the Atlantic foam, And left less venturous weights, like famished crows,-- To feed on hog-peas, hips, and haws, at home. Safe landed here, not long the coast detained Your wary steps:--but wandering on, you found Far in the west, a paltry spot of land, That no man envied, and that no man owned. A woody hill, beside a dismal bog-- This was your choice; nor were you much to blame: And here, responsive to the croaking frog, You grubbed, and stubbed, and feared no landlord's claim.