Had not some Pow'r, a Whig at heart, Descended down and took their part; 350 (Whether 'twere Pallas, Mars, or Iris, 'Tis scarce worth while to make inquiries)

355

Who at the nick of time alarming,
Assumed the solemn form of Chairman,
Address'd a Whig, in every scene
The stoutest wrestler on the green,
And pointed where the spade was
found,

Late used to set their pole in ground,
And urged, with equal arms and might,
To dare our 'Squire to single fight. 360
The Whig thus arm'd, untaught to
yield,

Advanced tremendous to the field:
Nor did M'Fingal shun the foe,
But stood to brave the desp'rate blow;
While all the party gazed, suspend-
ed,

365

Of stones and clubs had braved th' alarms,

Shrunk from these new Vulcanian arms. The spade so temper'd from the sledge, Nor keen nor solid harm'd its edge, Now met it, from his arm of might 385 Descending with steep force to smite; The blade snapp'd short-and from his hand,

With rust embrown'd the glittering sand.

Swift turn'd M'Fingal at the view,
And call'd to aid th' attendant crew. 390
In vain; the Tories all had run,
When scarce the fight was well begun;
Their setting wigs he saw decreas'd
Far in th' horizon tow'rd the west.
Amazed he view'd the shameful sight,
And saw no refuge but in flight.
But age unwieldy check'd his pace,
Though fear had wing'd his flying race;
For not a trifling prize at stake;
No less than great M'Fingal's back. 400
With legs and arms he work'd his
course,

396

Like rider that outgoes his horse,
And labor'd hard to get away, as
Old Satan struggling on through chaos;
"Till looking back, he spied in rear 405
The spade-arm'd chief advanced too

near:

Then stopp'd and seized a stone, that lay

410

An ancient landmark near the way.
Nor shall we, as old bards have done,
Affirm it weigh'd an hundred ton;
But such a stone, as at a shift
A modern might suffice to lift,
Since men, to credit their enigmas,
Are dwindled down to dwarfs and
pigmies,

And giants exiled with their cronies 415
To Brobdignags and Patagonias.
But while our Hero turn'd him round,
And tugg'd to raise it from the ground,
The fatal spade discharged a blow
Tremendous on his rear below.
His bent knee fail'd, and, void of
strength,

420

Stretch'd on the ground his manly length.

Like ancient oak, o'erturn'd he lay,
Or tower, to tempests fall'n a prey,
Or mountain sunk with all his pines, 425

Or flow'r the plow to dust consigns, And more things else but all men know 'em,

If slightly versed in epic poem.
At once the crew, at this dread crisis,
Fall on, and bind him, ere he rises; 430
And with loud shouts and joyful soul,
Conduct him prisoner to the pole.
When now the mob in lucky hour
Had got their en'mies in their power,
They first proceed, by grave command,
To take the Constable in hand.
Then from the pole's sublimest top
The active crew let down the rope,
At once its other end in haste bind,
And make it fast upon his waist-
band;.

436

440

Nor cut your poles down while I've breath,

Though raised more thick than hatchelteeth:

But leave King George and all his elves

To do their conq'ring work themselves." This said, they lower'd him down in

475

state, Spread at all points, like falling cat; But took a vote first on the question, That they'd accept this full confession, And to their fellowship and favor, Restore him on his good behavior. 480

Not so our 'Squire submits to rule, But stood, heroic as a mule. "You'll find it all in vain," quoth he, "To play your rebel tricks on me. All punishments the world can render Serve only to provoke th' offender; 486 The will gains strength from treatment horrid,

As hides grow harder when they're cur

With less profusion once was spread
Oil on the Jewish monarch's head,
That down his beard and vestments
ran,

And cover'd all his outward man.
As when (So Claudian sings) the Gods
And earth-born Giants fell at odds, 546
The stout Enceladus in malice
Tore mountains up to throw at Pallas;
And while he held them o'er his
head,

The river, from their fountains fed, 550 Pour'd down his back its copious tide,

And wore its channels in his hide: So from the high-raised urn the torrents

Spread down his side their various currents;

His flowing wig, as next the brim, 555
First met and drank the sable stream;
Adown his visage stern and grave
Roll'd and adhered the viscid wave;
With arms depending as he stood,
Each cuff capacious holds the flood; 560
From nose and chin's remotest end,
The tarry icicles descend;

Till, all o'erspread with colors gay,
He glitter'd to the western ray,
Like sleet-bound trees in wintry skies,

590

In triumph to his country seat:
With like devotion all the choir
Paraded round our awful 'Squire.
In front the martial music comes
Of horns and fiddles, fifes and drums,
With jingling sound of carriage bells, 595
And trebel creak of rusted wheels.
Behind, the crowd, in lengthen'd row
With proud procession, closed the show.
And at fit periods every throat
Combined in universal shout,
And hail'd great Liberty in chorus,
Or bawl'd "confusion to the Tories."
Not louder storm the welkin braves
From clamors of conflicting waves;
Less dire in Lybian wilds the noise 605
When rav'ning lions lift their voice;
Or triumphs at town-meetings made,
On passing votes to regulate trade.

600

But though his body lack'd physician,
His spirit was in worse condition.
He found his fears of whips and ropes
By many a drachm outweigh'd his
hopes.

As men in jail without mainprize 1 625
View every thing with other eyes,
And all goes wrong in church and state,
Seen through perspective of the grate:
So now M'Fingal's second-sight
Beheld all things in gloomier light; 630
His visual nerve, well purged with
tar,

Saw all the coming scenes of war.
As his prophetic soul grew stronger,
He found he could hold in no longer.
First from the pole, as fierce he shook,
His wig from pitchy durance broke, 636
His mouth unglued, his feathers flut-
ter'd,

His tarr'd skirts crack'd, and thus he utter'd:

"Ah, Mr. Constable, in vain

We strive 'gainst wind and tide and rain!

640

HECTOR ST.

JOHN DE CREVECŒUR (1731-1813)

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN FARMER

WHAT IS AN AMERICAN?

I wish I could be acquainted with the feelings and thoughts which must agitate the heart and present themselves to the mind of an enlightened Englishman, when he first lands on this continent. He must greatly rejoice that he lived at a time to see this fair country discovered and settled; he must necessarily feel a share of national. pride, when he views the chain of settlements which embellishes these extended shores; when he says to himself, this is the work of my countrymen, who, when convulsed by factions, afflicted by a variety of miseries and wants, restless and impatient, took refuge here. They brought along with them their national genius, to which they principally owe what liberty they enjoy, and what substance they possess. Here he sees the industry of his native country displayed in a new manner, and traces in their works the embryos of all the arts, sciences, and ingenuity, which flourish in Europe. Here he beholds fair cities, substantial villages, extensive fields, an immense country filled with decent houses, good roads, orchards, meadows, and bridges, where an hundred years ago all was wild, woody, and uncultivated! What a train of pleasing ideas this fair spectacle must suggest; it is a prospect which must inspire a good citizen with the most heartfelt pleasure.

The difficulty consists in the manner of viewing so extensive a scene. He is arrived on a new continent; a modern society offers itself to his contemplation, different from what he had hitherto seen. It is not composed, as in Europe, of great lords who possess every thing, and of a herd of people who have nothing. Here are no aristocratical families, no courts, no kings,