Classic Poem

Written IN THE Year 1793.

FRENCHMAN .

Oh! happy swain! from whose well taper'd reed,
Soft flowing numbers to repose succeed:
Whilst I must wander from my native home
An exile, doom'd thro' distant realms to roam,
You, stretch'd recumbent in the shady grove,
Teach list'ning woods to echo to your love.
My gracious king has granted this repose,
My loyal heart with kind affection glows.
To guard his throne nor bleating flocks I'll spare,
These flocks shall yield a tribute to his care.
To him they owe paternal fields to graze,
And I to wander in sweet Hymen's lays.

FRENCHMAN .

Not envious I, of this your happy state,
But sighing mourn my bleeding country's fate,
Where civil war respects not sex or age,
Nor hallow'd priesthood 'scapes the gibbet's rage.
There forc'd to leave, to merc'less hands consign'd,
The hope and comfort of my age behind.
But lo! the eagle from the eastern sky,
In rumbling thunder boads destruction nigh;
From the north-west the hollow sounding oak,
Pours forth its vengeance in o'er whelming smoke,
Say then the name of this all-bounteous king,
And whence the source, these mighty blessings spring?

IRISHMAN .

Freedom, long press'd beneath religion's yoke,
In hoary age the mould'ring shackles broke,
She smil'd when humbly, at the royal throne,
I sought those rights which whilom were my own.
When to the senate vainly I apply'd,
Nor smil'd bright freedom, nor were fields my pride,
Tho' free I gave them with unsparing hand.
And bow'd with patience to the law's command,
Scarce ought remain'd, nor cou'd I safety find
To guard the pittance that was left behind.

FRENCHMAN .

Why then complain? when here the shady plain,
The bending orchard, and the yellow grain;
The purple clusters pending from the wall,
All seem'd obedient to your only call.

IRISHMAN .

What else remain'd to break the servile rod,
And worship freely our one common God:
Whilst codes restrictive held our swains in awe,
And harpies revel'd in the penal law;
'Till George benignly, for whose prosp'rous reign
Our annual gambols frolic o'er the plain,
Hath giv'n my herds o'er certain fields to play,
And me to till them to my latest day.

FRENCHMAN .

Oh! happy man your peaceful lands afford
Sufficient plenty for your locial board.
Tho' barren tracts o'er other lands appear,
And fields uncultur'd bode a fruitless year,
Your pregnant ewes shall crop the wonted blade,
Nor noxious murrain will your steers invade.
Where purling streams in youth were wont to please,
The cooling breeze will fan your drooping days.
The humming bees will, from yon thyme set steep,
With filmy wings promote refreshing sleep.
The noisy wood-man, from the rock above,
Will join in concert with the cooing dove.

IRISHMAN

First shall fleet frags on airy pinions soar,
And skipping fishes bound along the shore;
First changing climes, the hardy Swede shall go
To cool him panting in the winding Po;
Ere from my breast his royal boon be ras'd;
I'll hold it treasur'd in my grateful breast.

FRENCHMAN .

But I, alas! my flocks and cottage lost,
Had houseless dweit on Alrick's thirsty coast,
'Till led by fame, I sought Hibernia's isle,
Where strangers meet an hospitable smile.
Shall I once more, long toss'd thro' various skies,
Behold the cot my labours bid to rise?
Or shall Danton, my new-made fallow sow,
Or Tallien, my ready harvest mow?
All human law to bloody discord yields,
And foreign foes may occupy our fields!
You still may graft the vine, and mellow pear,
Farewell my flocks, and all I once held dear!

IRISHMAN .

Then here with me partake my rushy chair,
And pass the night forgetful of your care.
The pail just frothing from the lowing kine,
And mellow fruit with cheerful heart be thine.
The column'd smoke portends the kindling blaze,
And shades strike double from the setting rays.