And brandishing the blade in air,
Struck terror through th' opposing war.
The Whigs, unsafe within the wind
Of such commotion, shrunk behind.
With whirling steel around address'd,
Fierce through their thickest throng he press'd,
(Who roll'd on either side in arch,
Like Red Sea waves in Israel's march)
And like a meteor rushing through,
Struck on their Pole a vengeful blow.
Around, the Whigs, of clubs and stones.
Discharged whole vollies, in platoons,
That o'er in whistling fury fly;
But not a foe dares venture nigh.
And now perhaps with glory crown'd
Our 'Squire had fell'd the pole to ground,
Had not some Pow'r, a whig at heart,
Descended down and took their part; 1
(Whether 'twere Pallas, Mars or Iris,
'Tis scarce worth while to make inquiries)
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.
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, suspended
To see the deadly combat ended;
1 The learned reader will readily observe the allusions in this scene, to the single combats of Paris and Menelaus in Homer, Æneas and the Turnus in Virgil, and Michael and Satan in Milton. [Several footnotes to the rest of this selection, in which the author cites parallel passages from Virgil, Milton, and Juvenal, are omitted.]
And Jove in equal balance weigh'd
The sword against the brandish'd spade,
He weigh'd; but lighter than a dream,
The sword flew up, and kick'd the beam.
Our 'Squire on tiptoe rising fair
Lifts high a noble stroke in air,
Which hung not, but like dreadful engines,
Descended on his foe in vengeance.
But ah! in danger, with dishonor
The sword perfidious fails its owner;
That sword, which oft had stood its ground,
By huge trainbands encircled round;
And on the bench, with blade right loyal,
Had won the day at many a trial,1
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,
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,
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.
With legs and arms he work'd his course,
Like rider that outgoes his horse,
1 It was the fashion in New-England at that time, for judges to wear swords on the bench.
And labor'd hard to get away, as
Old Satan struggling on through chaos;
'Till looking back, he spied in rear
The spade-arm'd chief advanced too near:
Then stopp'd and seized a stone, that lay
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 to their cronies
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
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,
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;
And with loud shouts and joyful soul
Conduct him prisoner to the pole.
[Timothy Dwight, another of the more famous "Hartford Wits," was the grandson of Jonathan Edwards. He was born in Northampton, Mass., in 1752, and was graduated from Yale College in 1769. He was a tutor in his Alma Mater at the same time as Trumbull, with whom he collaborated in literary work. For a year he was chaplain in the Continental army. Afterward he tried farming and teaching, and served a term in the state legislature. In 1783 he became pastor at Greenfield Hill, in Fairfield, Conn., and from 1795 to his death in 1817 he was president of Yale College.
Many writings of President Dwight were published, the majority of them being on religious and theological subjects. Only those most interesting to the student of American literary history can be mentioned here. "Columbia," a song written while he was a chaplain in the army, was for a long time popular. "The Conquest of Canaan,” an epic first published in 1785, was said to have been written before 1774, but several references to Revolutionary battles must have been inserted after these events took place, and it is not unlikely that the whole poem was revised just before it was published. In 1794 appeared "Greenfield Hill," a poem in seven parts. It was originally intended that each part should be in the manner of some popular English poet, and although this plan was abandoned, the imitation is obvious in many passages. In 1797 Dwight published a bitter verse satire, "The Triumph of Infidelity." The year after his death five volumes of his sermons were published with the title "Theology explained and defended"; and in 1821 his "Travels in New England and New York" was issued in four volumes. The last-named work is based on notes of all sorts made during the journeys which occupied many of the author's vacations while he was president of Yale.
As a writer of verse, Dwight had command of a small but intense poetic vocabulary, and produced many monotonously sonorous lines in imitation of the eighteenth-century English poets. He was deficient in a sense of humor, and in real poetic insight, and little of his work can truly be called poetry. His satirical and controversial writings are especially unfortunate. The "Travels" shows his credulity, his religious narrowness, and an odd fondness for sensational anecdotes, but it also shows his appreciation of the historic importance of details, and is his most readable, and perhaps his most valuable, work.
The version of "Columbia" here given is from the "Columbian Muse," New York, 1794. The selections from "The Conquest of Canaan," "Greenfield Hill," and the "Travels" are from the first editions of each, published respectively in 1785, 1794, and 1821.]
Columbia, Columbia, to glory rise,
The queen of the world, and child of the skies!
Thy genius commands thee; with raptures behold,
While ages on ages thy splendours unfold.
Thy reign is the last, and the noblest of time,
Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime.
Let the crimes of the east ne'er encrimson thy name,
Be freedom, and science, and virtue, thy fame.
To conquest, and slaughter, let Europe aspire,
Whelm nations in blood, and wrap cities in fire.
Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend,
And triumph pursue them, and glory attend.
A world is thy realm: for a world be thy laws,
Enlarg'd as thine empire, and just as thy cause;
On Freedom's broad basis, that empire shall rise,
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies.
Fair Science her gates to thy sons shall unbar,
And the east see thy morn hide the beams of her star.
New bards, and new sages, unrival'd shall soar
To fame, unextinguish'd, when time is no more;
To thee, the last refuge of virtue design'd,
Shall fly from all nations the best of mankind;
Here, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring
Their incense, more fragrant than odours of spring.
Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend,
And Genius and Beauty in harmony blend;
The graces of form shall awake pure desire,
And the charms of the soul ever cherish the fire;
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refin'd,
And Virtue's bright image, instamp'd on the mind,
With peace, and soft rapture, shall teach life to glow,
And light up a smile in the aspect of woe.
Thy fleets to all nations thy pow'r shall display, The nations admire, and the ocean obey;
Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold,
And the east and the south yield their spices and gold.
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