But cease, nor with too daring aim Encroach upon this giant flood; No rights reserved by nature, claim, Nor on his ancient bed intrude:-- The river may in rage awake And time restore him all you take. The eastern stream, his sister, raves To see such moles her peace molest A London built upon her waves, The weight of mountains on her breast: With quicken'd flow she seeks the main As on her bed new fabrics gain. Bold streams! and may our verse demand Is there not coast for many a mile, And soils, as form'd by nature's hand That border all Manhattan's isle: Then why these mounds does avarice raise And build the haunts of pale disease. Yet in your aim to clip their wing (It asks no wizard to descry,) That time the woful day will bring When Hudson's passion, swelling high, May in a foam his wrongs repay And sweep both house and wharf away. ODE IX[139] ON THE FRIGATE CONSTITUTION "And in those days men settled themselves on the waters, and lived there, not because land was wanting, but that they wished to be slaves to such as were great and mighty on the land."--_Modern History._ Thus launch'd at length upon the main And soon prepar'd the seas to roam, In your capacious breast ere long Will many an idler find a home That sells his freedom for a song, Quits fields and trees For boisterous seas, To tread his native soil no more, And see--but not possess the shore. Well! let them go--can there be loss In those who Nature's bounty slight, From rural vales and freedom's shades To this dull cage who take their flight, The axe, the hoe, The plough forego, The buxom milk-maid's simple treat, The bliss of country life forget, For tumult here And toil severe, A gun their pillow when they sleep, And when they wake, are wak'd to weep. Dick Brothers said, "The time will come, "When war no more shall prowl the sea, "Nor men for pride or plunder roam, "And my millenium brings them home, "How'eer dispers'd through each degree." If Richard proves a prophet true, Why may not we be quiet too, And turn our bull-dogs into lambs, Saw off the horns of battering rams As well as Europe's sons? Ye Quakers! see with pure delight, The times approach when men of might, And squadrons roving round the ball, Shall fight each other not at all, Or fight with wooden guns. And yet that Being you address Who shaped old Chaos into form, May speak--and with a word suppress The tryant and the storm. ODE X[140] TO SANTONE SAMUEL The Millennial Prophet, on his System of Universal Pacification