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

THE HASTY PUDDING

"The Hasty Pudding" 363 facsimile compilation of his prose and poetry: The Works of Joel Barlow (Gainesville, Fla.: Scholars' Facsimiles & Reprints, 1970). Books VII and VIII of The Columbiad and "The Conspiracy of Kings" appear in Vernon L. Parrington's anthology, The Connecticut Wits (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Co., 1925; reprinted, 1969). The best biography is by James Woodress: A Yankee's Odyssey: The Life ofJoel Barlow (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Co., 1958). Extended study of Barlow's life and writing can be found in Arthur L. Ford's book, Joel Barlow, Twayne's United States Authors Series (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1971), and Leon Howard's work, The Connecticut Wits (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1943). For a detailed analysis of "The Hasty Pudding," readers should consult Robert D. Arner's article, "The Smooth and Emblematic Song: Joel Barlow's The Hasty Pudding," Early American Literature 7 (1972): 76-9l. THE TEXT This text of "The Hasty Pudding" follows the original New Haven edition of 1796 as reprinted in American Literature: Tradition and Innovation, ed. Harrison T. Meserole, Walter Sutton, and Brom Weber, vol. 1 (Lexington, Mass.: D.C. Heath and Company, 1969). THE HASTY PUDDING A POEM IN THREE CANTOS Canto I Ye Alps audacious, thro' the Heav'ns that rise, To cramp the day and hide me from the skies; Ye Gallic flags, that o'er their heights unfurl'd, Bear death to kings, and freedom to the world, I sing not you. A softer theme I choose, A virgin theme, unconscious of the Muse, But fruitful, rich, well suited to inspire The purest frenzy of poetic fire. 5 364 Joel Barlow Despise it not, ye Bards to terror steel'd, Who hurl 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. The milk beside thee, smoking from the kine, Its substance mingle, married in with thine, Shall cool and temper thy superior heat, And save the pains of blowing while I eat. Oh! could the smooth, the emblematic song Flow like thy genial juices o'er my tongue, Could those mild morsels in my numbers chime, And, as they roll in substance, roll in rhyme, No more thy awkward unpoetic name Should shun the muse, or prejudice thy fame; But rising grateful to th' accustom'd ear, All Bards should catch it, and all realms revere! Assist me first with pious toil to trace Thro' wrecks of time, thy lineage and thy race; Declare what lovely squaw, in days of yore, (Ere great Columbus sought thy native shore) First gave thee to the world; her works of fame Have lived indeed, but lived without a name. Some tawny Ceres,1 goddess of her days, First learn'd with stones to crack the well dried maize, Through the rough sieve to shake the golden show'r, In boiling water stir the yellow flour: The yellow flour, bestrew'd and stirr'd with haste, Swells in the flood and thickens to a paste, Then puffs and wallops, rises to the brim, Drinks the dry knobs that on the surface swim; 1. Roman goddess of agriculture. 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 "The Hasty Pudding" The knobs at last the busy ladle breaks, And the whole mass its true consistence takes. Could but her sacred name, unknown so long, Rise, like her labors, to the son of song, To her, to them, I'd consecrate my lays, And blow her pudding with the breath of praise. If 'twas Oella2 whom I sang before I here ascribe her one great virtue more. Not through the rich Peruvian realms alone The fame of Sol's sweet daughter should be known, But o'er the world's wide clime should live secure, Far as his rays extend, as long as they endure. Dear Hasty Pudding, what unpromised joy Expands my heart, to meet thee in Savoy! Doom'd o'er the world through devious paths to roam, Each clime my country, and each house my home, My soul is soothed, my cares...