Joel Barlow Quotes

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.

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.

Indignant Man resumes the shaft he gave, Disarms the tyrant, and unbinds the slave, Displays the unclad skeleton of kings, Spectres of power, and serpents without stings.

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.

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.

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!