James Madison - The aerial Journey of the poet Laureat of the cliosophic Society


The aerial Journey of the poet Laureat of the cliosophic Society

The rising sun his beams had shed
And each affrighted star had fled
When tuneful Spring in rural lays
Began to mourn his doleful case
New-englands sons4 around him came
And many a wanton ruddy dame
Who view’d him nigh a purling stream
Rais’d on a stump to sing his dream.
That very dream in which they say
His soul broke loose from mortal clay
And sought the muses dome on high
Resolv’d with all his art to try
To steal a spark of wit from thence
A scourge for whiggish impudence.
But hear the very words he spoke
As from his quivering lips they broke
“Hail gentle shepherds of the grove
Your flocks about this mead may rove
While you attend my mournful tale
And echo sounds it thro’ the vale
Soon as the lamp of day was gone
And evening shades oerspread the lawn
Tir’d with the business of the day
Down on the tender grass I lay.
When sleep had clos’d my slumbering eyes
I spurn’d the earth & peirc’d the skies
Thro’ unknown tracts of air I flew
And pas’d by worlds of various hue
Beseeching every thing to tell
The place on which the Muses dwell.
At length, when coasting thro’ the spheres
Apollo’s song invades my ears
With all the sweet harmonious nine
Whose warbling notes in concert join.
Then by degrees their domes I spy’d
Which blaz’d around on every side
Straight to apollo’s hall I went
Half dead with fear, my breath quite spent
Hoping somehow to lurk beneath
And rob him of a laurel wreath
And then a poet laureat rise
The dread of whigs of every size
But while I walk’d about the hall
apollo with the muses all
Came rushing in upon the thief
I cry’d in vain for some relief
The god of day provok’d to find
A villain of so base a mind
Seiz’d on a cudgel rough & great
& mash’d my jaws & crazy pate
Euterpe then a dishclout brought
With grease & boiling water fraught
And well [beswitched?]5 my sides & back
Which lost its hide at every whack
Urania threw a chamber pot
Which from beneath her bed she brought
And struck my eyes & ears & nose
Repeating it with lusty blows.
In such a pickle then I stood
Trickling on every side with blood
When Clio, ever grateful muse
Sprinkled my head with healing dews
Then took me to her private room
And straight an Eunuch out I come
My voice to render more melodious
A recompence for sufferings odious
She brought me to the earth again
And quel’d the Tumults of my brain
Softly wispering in my ear
While she dropt the parting tear
[‘]Dear friend accept this last behest
Conceal thy folly in thy breast
Forbear to write & only sing
And future sons shall talk of Spring
But mark me well if e’er you try
In poetry with Whigs to vie
Your nature’s bounds you then will pass
And be transformed into an ass[’]
Then brother shepherds pity Spring
Who dares not write but only sing—[”]
—When thus he finished his complaint
He quit the stump & off he went
But soon forgot what Clio said
And wrote an ode & then essay’d
to sing an hymn & lo! he bray’d
And now he stands an ass confess[ed]
Of every scribbling fool, the Jest
Postato da Alexander FreiAlexander Frei Dom, 16/06/2019 - 22:55


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