Early American Poetry: Selections from Bradstreet, Taylor, Dwight, Freneau, and Bryant

From Greenfield Hill

Greenfield Hill 139 Or wing thro' heaven his path to bliss refin'd: But his dear self, choice Dagon!2 to adore; To dress, to game, to swear, to drink, to whore; To race his steeds; or cheat, when others run; Pit tortur'd cocks, and swear 'tis glorious fun: His soul not cloath'd with attributes divine; But a nice watch-spring to that grand machine, That work more nice than Rittenhouse3 can plan, The body; man's chief part; himself, the man; Man, that illustrious brute of noblest shape, A swine unbristled, and an untail'd ape: To couple, eat, and die-his gloriOUS doomThe oyster's church-yard, and the capon's tomb. (1788?; 1788) 2. Philistine god. 70 75 3. David Rittenhouse, American astronomer and mathematician, especially noted for his planetarium. From Greenfield Hill PART I: THE PROSPECT FROM southern isles, on winds of gentlest wing, Sprinkled with morning dew, and rob'd in green, Life in her eye, and music in her voice, Lo Spring returns, and wakes the world to joy! Forth creep the smiling herbs; expand the flowers; New-Ioos'd, and bursting from their icy bonds, The streams fresh-warble, and through every mead Convey reviving verdure; every bough, Full-blown and lovely, teems with sweets and songs; And hills, and plainS, and pastures feel the prime. As round me here I gaze, what prospects rise? 5 10 140 Timothy Dwight Etherial! matchless! such as Albion's sons, Could Albion's isle an equal prospect boast, In all the harmony of numerous song, Had tun'd to rapture, and o'er Cooper's hilI,1 And Windsor's beauteous forest,2 high uprais'd, And sent on fame's light wing to every clime. Far inland, blended groves, and azure hills, Skirting the broad horizon, lift their pride. Beyond, a little chasm to view unfolds Cerulean mountains, verging high on Heaven, In misty grandeur. Stretch'd in nearer view, Unnumber'd farms salute the cheerful eye; Contracted there to little gardens; here outspread Spacious, with pastures, fields, and meadows rich; Where the young wheat it's glowing green displays, Or the dark soil bespeaks the recent plough, Or flocks and herds along the lawn disport. Fair is the landschape; but a fairer still Shall soon inchant the soul-when harvest full Waves wide its bending wealth. Delightful task! To trace along the rich, enamell'd ground, The sweetly varied hues; from India's com, Whose black'ning verdure bodes a bounteous crop, Through lighter grass, and lighter still the flax, The paler oats, the yellowish barley, wheat In golden glow, and rye in brighter gold. These soon the sight shall bless. Now other scenes The heart dilate, where round, in rural pride The village spreads its tidy, snug retreats, That speak the industry of every hand. How bless'd the sight of such a numerous train In such small limits, tasting every good Of competence, of independence, peace, And liberty unmingled; every house 1. Subject of a topographical poem by Sir John Denham. 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 2. Reference to "Windsor Forest," a topographical poem by Alexander Pope. Greenfield Hill 141 On its own ground, and every happy swain Beholding no superior, but the laws, And such as virtue, knowledge, useful life, And zeal, exerted for the public good, Have rais'd above the throng. For here, in truth, Not in pretence, man is esteem'd as man. Not here how rich, of what peculiar blood, Or office high; but of what genuine worth, What talents bright and useful, what good deeds, What piety to God, what love to man, The question is. To this an answer fair The general heart secures. Full many a rich, Vile knave, full many a blockhead, proud Of ancient blood, these eyes have seen float down Life's dirty kennel, trampled in the mud, Stepp'd o'er unheeded, or push'd rudely on; While Merit, rising from her humble skiff To barks of nobler, and still nobler size, Sail'd down the expanding stream, in triumph gay, By every ship saluted. Hail, 0 hail My much-Iov'd native land! New Albion hail! The happiest realm, that, round his circling course, The all-searching sun beholds. What though the breath Of Zembla's winter shuts thy lucid streams, And hardens into brass thy generous soil; Though, with one white, and...