Joel Barlow Quotes

He open'd calm the universal cause, To give each realm its limit and its laws, Bid the last breath of tired contention cease, And bind all regions in the leagues of peace; Till one confederate, condependent sway Spread with the sun and bound the walks of day, One centred system, one all-ruling soul Live thro the parts and regulate the whole.

In preparing this work for publication it seems proper to offer some observations explanatory of its design. The classical reader will perceive the obstacles which necessarily presented themselves in reconciling the nature of the subject with such a manner of treating it as should appear the most poetical, and at the same time the most likely to arrive at that degree of dignity and usefulness to which it ought to aspire.

The gazing crowd, of glittering State afraid, Adore the Power their coward meanness made; In war's short intervals, while regal shows Still blind their reason and insult their woes.

Hail the mild morning, where the dawn began, The full fruition of the hopes of man. Where sage Experience seals the sacred cause, And that rare union, Liberty and Laws, Speaks to the reas'ning race “to freedom rise, Like them be equal, and like them be wise."

There are those who strive to stamp with disrepute The luscious food, because it feeds the brute; In tropes of high-strain'd wit, while gaudy prigs Compare thy nursling man to pamper'd pigs; With sovereign scorn I treat the vulgar jest, Nor fear to share thy bounties with the beast.

But here tho' distant from our native shore, With mutual glee we meet and laugh once more, The same! I know thee by that yellow face, That strong complexion of true Indian race, Which time can never change, nor soil impair, Nor Alpine snows, nor Turkey's morbid air; For endless years, thro' every mild domain, Where grows the maize, there thou art sure to reign. But man, more fickle, the bold license claims, In different realms to give thee different names. Thee soft nations round the warm Levant Palanta call, the French of course Polante; E'en in thy native regions, how I blush To hear the Pennsylvanians call thee Mush! On Hudson's banks, while men of Belgic spawn Insult and eat thee by the name suppawn. All spurious appellations, void of truth: I've better known thee from my earliest youth, Thy name is Hasty-Pudding! thus our sires Were wont to greet thee fuming from the fires.

Lords of themselves and leaders of mankind. On equal rights their base of empire lies, On walls of wisdom see the structure rise; Wide o'er the gazing world it towers sublime, A modell'd form for each surrounding clime. To useful toils they bend their noblest aim, Make patriot views and moral views the same, Renounce the wish of war, bid conquest cease, Invite all men to happiness and peace, To faith and justice rear the youthful race, Till Truth's blest banners, o'er the regions hurl'd, Shake tyrants from their thrones, and cheer the waking world.

And didst thou hope, by thy infuriate quill To rouse mankind the blood of realms to spill? Then to restore, on death devoted plains, Their scourge to tyrants, and to man his chains? To swell their souls with thy own bigot rage, And blot the glories of so bright an age? First stretch thy arm, and with less impious might, Wipe out the stars, and quench the solar light : “For heav'n and earth," the voice of God ordains, “Shall pass and perish, but my word remains," Th' eternal Word, which gave, in spite of thee, Reason to man, that bids the man be free.

From slavery then your rising realms to save, Regard the master, notice not the slave; Consult alone for freemen, and bestow Your best, your only cares, to keep them so. Tyrants are never free; and, small and great, All masters must be tyrants soon or late; So nature works; and oft the lordling knave Turns out at once a tyrant and a slave, Struts, cringes, bullies, begs, as courtiers must, Makes one a god, another treads in dust, Fears all alike, and filches whom he can, But knows no equal, finds no friend in man. Ah!

See the long pomp in gorgeous glare display'd, The tinsel'd guards, the squadron'd horse parade; See heralds gay, with emblems on their vest, In tissu'd robes, tall, beauteous pages drest; Amid superior ranks of splendid slaves, Lords, Dukes and Princes, titulary knaves, Confus'dly shine their crosses, gems and stars, Sceptres and globes and crowns and spoils of wars.

Hail Man, exalted title! first and best, On God's own image by his hand imprest; To which at last the reas'ning race is driv'n, And seeks anew what first it gain'd from Heav'n.

But grant to kings and courts their ancient play, Recall their splendour and revive their sway; Can all your cant and all your cries persuade One power to join you in your wild crusade? In vain ye search to earth's remotest end; No court can aid you, and no king defend.

Think not, ye knaves, whom meanness styles the Great, Drones of the Church and harpies of the State, — Ye, whose curst sires, for blood and plunder fam'd, Sultans or kings or czars or emp'rors nam'd, Taught the deluded world their claims to own, And raise the crested reptiles to a throne, — Ye, who pretend to your dark host was given The lamp of life, the mystic keys of heaven; Whose impious arts with magic spells began When shades of ign'rance veil'd the race of man; Who change, from age to age, the sly deceit As Science beams, and Virtue learns the cheat; Tyrants of double powers, the soul that blind, To rob, to scourge, and brutalize mankind, Think not I come to croak with omen'd yell The dire damnations of your future hell, To bend a bigot or reform a knave, By op'ning all the scenes beyond the grave. I know your crusted souls: while one defies In sceptic scorn the vengeance of the skies, The other boasts, — “I ken thee, Power divine, “But fear thee not; th' avenging bolt is mine." No! 'tis the present world that prompts the song, The world we see, the world that feels the wrong, The world of men, whose arguments ye know, Of men, long curb'd to servitude and wo, Men, rous'd from sloth, by indignation stung, Their strong hands loos'd, and found their fearless tongue; Whose voice of fire, whose deep-descending steel Shall speak to souls, and teach dull nerves to feel.

Behold, illumin'd by th' instructive age, That great phenomenon, a Sceptred Sage. There Stanislaus unfolds his prudent plan, Tears the strong bandage from the eyes of man, Points the progressive march, and shapes the way, That leads a realm from darkness into day.

Despise it not, ye Bards to terror steel'd, Who hurl'd your thunders round the epic field; Nor ye who strain your midnight throats to sing Joys that the vineyard and the still-house bring; Or on some distant fair your notes employ, And speak of raptures that you ne'er enjoy. I sing the sweets I know, the charms I feel, My morning incense, and my evening meal, The sweets of Hasty-Pudding. Come, dear bowl, Glide o'er my palate, and inspire my soul.