No actor was he, or concerned with the stage, No audience, to awe him, appeared; Yet oft in his shop (like a crowd in a rage) The voice of a hissing was heard. Tho' steelling[78] was certainly part of his cares, In thieving he never was found; And, tho' he was constantly beating on bars, No vessel he e'er ran aground. Alas and alack! and what more can I say Of Vulcan's unfortunate son?-- The priest and the sexton have borne him away, And the sound of his hammer is done. [77] Published in the _National Gazette_, September 18, 1793. Text from the 1809 edition. TO SYLVIUS[79] On his Preparing to Leave the Town Can love of fame the gentle muse inspire Where he that hoards the most has all the praise; Where avarice, and her tribe, each bosom fire, All heap the enormous store for rainy days; Proving by such perpetual round of toil That man was born to grovel on the soil? Expect not, in these times of rude renown That verse, like your's, will have the chance to please: No taste for plaintive elegy is known, Nor lyric ode--none care for things like these-- Gold, only gold, this niggard age delights, That honours none but money-catching wights. Sink not beneath the mean abusive strain Of puny wits, dull sycophants in song, Who, post, or place, or one poor smile to gain, Besiege Mambrino's door, and round him throng Like insects creeping to the morning sun To enjoy his heat--themselves possessing none. All must applaud your choice, to quit a stage Where knaves and fools in every scene abound; Where modest worth no patron can engage-- But boisterous folly walks her noisy round; Some narrow-hearted demi-god adores, And Fortune's path with servile step explores. [78] "Tho' steelling of axes was part of his cares."--_1795 Ed._ [79] Text from the 1809 edition. This was Freneau's valedictory on leaving Philadelphia after the failure of the _National Gazette_. THE BLESSINGS OF THE POPPY[80] --_Opifer per Orbem dicor._ "In this the God, benevolent to man, Lulls every woe, and deadens every pain." When the first men to this world's climates came Smit by the winter's rude inclement blast, Unskilled to raise the wall, or wake the fire, Badly, in narrow huts, their lives they passed. Conscious of pains they knew not how to cure, In vain they sighed, and sighing begged relief, No druggist came, by art or reason taught With strength of potent herbs, to calm their grief. Fierce tortures to allay, some reverend sage Preach'd Patience to the pangs, that could not hear; For restless anguish doomed her victim still To groan thro' life, and sigh from year to year, At length from Jove, and heaven's etherial dome Sky-walking Hermes came to view these plains: He looked--and saw what fate or gods had done, And gave the Poppy, to relieve all pains.