power
To scan the future, and draw back the veil,
That people of the present may behold
The scenes and fates which lie secluded there;
To tell strange stories of the time to come,
The kind of life which is awaiting some;
Whereat the heart doth shudder to behold
What it shall be, of revel mirth propelled,
Or bound in joys licentious and wild,
Inoculate with sin of blackest hue,
Verging on crime—yea, crime in hideous form,
To crown the ruin of this hapless one.
     If any of this God-like race remain,
Who pry the future with such wondrous skill,
Pass on the pages of this book a glance,
And tell if ye can see upon the time to come,
Aught which is worthy in the art of rhyme;
If from this rugged riplet ye can glean

A flower or two which bear poetic worth;
And if ye see the stream go gliding on
In pleasant ways, through the far distance, spread
On fertile banks, till it at length attain
A fair and undisturbéd flow, and give
A beauty to the scenes which round it lie,
Or if it ripple for a weary while,
And die at length into a marshy waste,
Give choice to say the former; for the voice
Of him who doth a tiding good convey
Is sweeter far than his which speaketh ill.

TO THE SAGE.

     Ye sages, wise and good, or, if not good,
Though wise, the more thy loss, attend and hear
Awhile, though but a pensive ear ye lend,
If ye will deign to hearken as I speak.
More wont are ye to hear the well-tuned voice
Of classic writer flow in brilliant thought,
Poured from a noble mind, and deep and clear.
Learned of the liberty I take, resolved,
I come thy favor to seduce, and crave
That ye will hearken with a patient heed
Until my story hath been fully told.
Spurn not a man because his years are few,

Or that he seems a novice at the first;
But lend a fair and an impartial heed,
Till he can prove if aught which he can bring,
Is fit to harbour for the worth it holds.
The fame of all the great, first as a bud appears,
And daily spreads till gay perfections shine;
So must it ever be to those who rise;
And thus I claim indulgence at thy hand.
Raised with fair hope, I leave thee to the task,
And trust that of a judgment wise and good
Ye will declare a fair decision, such
As Justice (ever just) would deem it right
To give to one confiding for the truth.
I hold no purpose dark, but proudly tell
I long to bear the barrier down which stays
The narrow path unto the hill of Fame,
And win a way unto the lustrous heights,
When, looking hence, behold the seat of toil,
And they who labor, striving to ascend;
And now in sweet reflection view once more
The days of old, when the like toil was mine.

TO THE PEOPLE.

     All ye who form, each in thy mite, the vast
And countless chaos of humanity,

Named, as of use, “The Public,” I dispute
No term as base or just, but join thereto
An atom with the motley crowd, resigned,
Of kings, and lords, and people, all as one,
Who hold no claim as critic, seer, or sage,
And spurn the name of Sloth as loathsome to
The ear; who dwell within the pale, and breathe
The air of this delirious age, when pomps
And fashions rage throughout the land, and half
Of all the people know not why they live,
But live to feast on sensual delights,
And deck the body with insipid show;
When they who are not would be great and high;
And, if their fortune doth not bear them on
With the incessant speed they seek, then fraud
Is called to aid, until the bubble bursts,
Because the pressure is beyond the means;
And they are cast, in anguish and despair,
Unto the depths of ruin, there to lie
With jeers of many pouring on to them.
Unto the speech these times give slippery words,
And to the tongue alike a flattering robe;
That falsehood seems like unto sacred truth,
And enmities the bonds of friendship seem.
O rife Perfidity!  O Vanity!
O Pride!  Great are thy ravages among

This simple race, who for a lucre strive,
And pomp, and gain, with an unquenchèd thirst;
Whose hand is avaricious, and who hold
No check upon it; but, to swell their store
In overflowing barns, do from the poor
Extort unjust and utmost usury,
Nor scruple have to snatch the morsel from
The widow’s mouth, or leave the orphan bare.
When kings and rulers do for glory pant,
Till thousands of their fellow mortals fall,
In dead or wounded, at a single blow
Laid prostrate, thus to feed their evil lust,
Their satiate thirst which can no limit know.
Or it may be for one’s offended pride,
Or some imagined insult to avenge
With the outpouring of a people’s blood.
Oh! it doth seem an awful thing indeed
That the wild demon should so rage in man,
And that the learning of the present age
Should not advance his wisdom more than now;
But that, with vengeance rising from his path,
He should in heedless haste go driving on
To the dark pits of torture calléd “Hell.”
     Arise, ye slothful people! ye who live
In the soft ways of luxury and ease;
Awake and sit in mooted ease no more,

But count the stern realities of life.
Ye who in drowsy slumber have destroyed,
Have slept all these fair golden hours away,
Whose footprints are inscribed upon thy brow,
Think of the marks of sin against thy name,
And say if no reproach doth sting thy soul.
For why was man created?  I may deem
It were for nobler purpose than to waste—
To sin and loll in idleness away—
The only life which he shall ever live,
Save in the long and last eternity.
Cast idle sloth and sinfulness away,
All ye who are the people; and, methinks,
When that is done, I see a nobler race
Begin to crown the land with joy and love,
And tranquil, sweet, and fair prosperity.
     Power is supreme, and power in unity
Is thine, renown to give or keep, if ye
Are of the few who walk in ways upright,
(For it is joy to think there yet are some
Who to their ways do give an earnest heed),
Or with the crowd, who heed not how they go,
But walk in blindness and in corrupt ways
Unto a death which they will long to shun.
Though foolish ye may deem me thus to come,
And reason say this were a doubtful way

To seek abroad for favor, yet it is
Thy goodly favor which I come to ask;
And I am but a novice, yet will hope
Ye will not that withhold which seemeth just
To give.  Fair maidens, more than all, ’tis thine
Approval which I long the most to gain.
Ambition bids me rise, aspiring, bids
Me seek from thee a word of favor, kind;
For ye are more compassionate than man,
And give your judgments in a softer way.
If ye, and if the public, see it fit
To render me a judgment good, then will
My joy be full, and I shall strive anew;
But, if ye give opposing judgment, then
I yield my pen to better hands, and seek
No more to speak, and from the quest of fame
Return to calm seclusiveness again.