Rhode Island Republican

POETRY.

TO CARE.

Written at the age of 18...published in 1800, in
the AMERICAN FARMER.

Hail! zest of pleasure (pepper'd sauce-bowl world)
Thou art indeed like wormwood, but no curse;
'Tis safe, I will attest, though critics growl;
Thou'rt not indeed, so pleasant quite, as custard,
But who'd dispense with pepper, ginger, mustard,
Because, forsooth, they make an infant scowl?
Who would not smile, to hear a son of dust,
(Lamenting see that some o'erwhelming gust
Had swept his crop) thus Providence beseech;
"Let Sol's bright rays in ceaseless radiance pour
Upon my corn--let wind and rain no more,
In hostile forms, my growing barley reach."
Reader, suppose some wight (no matter who,
The thing is possible--'tis common too)
Should thus lament, in bitterness of soul:
"How sweet this prospect, how sublime, how grand!
'Twould seem like some enchanted fairy land,
But yon huge mountain (curse it) spoils the whole!"
"The man's a fool!" thou sayest--be it so.
I but am the man, my friend, for ought I know,
Tho' on my conscience, sir, I meant no harm;
Perhaps thou ne'er hast arg'd thy solemn prayer,
That Heaven from thee would drive unwelcome CARE,
And place thee where no anxious tho'ts alarm.
As when a vessel, wi' propitious gales,
O'er Ocean's vast expanse, unfurls her sails,
Each day rolls on, a dull, insipid round;
Anon the awful tempest loudly roars,
While through the gloom the rushing torrent pours,
And mournful cries augment the horrid sound!
But safe in port arriv'd all danger flown,
With added splendor Mirth resumes her throne,
The past adventure wakes the soul to bliss:
With double relish Tom tips round the bowl,
Jack fondly meets the idol of his soul,
Patt Carr adds pleasure to the greeting kiss.
"Begone dull Care," mistaken mortals cry--
"Far from our breasts to other regions fly,
Let soft repose upon our bosom's rest."
From vexing Care the sour misanthrope flies,
To gloomy shades, and scenes of fancied ease.
And vents th'effusions of his spleen-struck breast.
From thence, O Care! (as tho' thou wert a ghost)
The tipling gentry to the tavern fly,
And drown their senses and their reason there;
Behind the shield of Bacchus, from thy face,
The thoughtless drunkard seeks a hiding place,
And makes himself a beast to banish Care!
Why shrinks the mortal, frightened, from thy view?
Thou art not always comely it is true,
But still thy form I never wish to shun:
To hate'er feast of mortal life I look,
I see thee acting as the foremost cook,
Where thou art not, all true enjoyment's done.
E'en childhood has its Care: the sportive throng
Strive who plays best, who's nimblest, ho met
E'en here ambition actuates the mind:
Oft riper age they act--(tho' not in vice!)
One turns a soldier--one a beau, so nice:
And oft, e'en here, we may instruction find.
The youth. ascending from his childish sport.
On manhood's verge, to thee repairs his court--
Surveys his breast, and finds a vacancy there;
The object found, no obstacles control,
But serve to fan the ardor of his soul,
He loves and rushes on a world of Care!
Arriv'd at manhood's prime, the bliss is found,
The greatest, sweetest Cares of life surround,
A tender offspring claims the fostering hand;
Here all is center'd: here the grand pursuit,
"To teach the young idea how to shoot,"
And bid the mind's progressive power expand.
For what'to man, was reason's treasure given,
Why was he made the noblest work of Heaven,
But to be active, and improve his mind?
Who that could walk, would, like a reptile, creep?
Who, that could think, would waste his life in sleep?
Or grovel, worm-like, to the earth confin'd?
The madman, idiot, and the untutor'd beast,
Of Care's vexations, surely feel the least,
Yet who would wish a lot so low to share?
New thoughts, anxieties, desires and pains
Attend each new enjoyment man attains;
Instruction's but another name for Care.
When some pure stream, obstructed, crooked, babbling,
Here flowing smooth, there rocks its progress Flowe, clear as crystal. sweet as vernal dew:
Remove the rocks--a straighter course direct.
Les it be smooth--be all its babbling check'd--
When lo! a stagnant nauseous ditch we view!
Thus flows the stream of life: its varied course
Now gently murmuring, now in torrents hoarse,
Oft intercepted by "perplexing Care:"
This Care dispel--anxiety remove--
The breast is cold, the heart forgets to love--
Life stagnates--pleasure vanishes in air!
Then cease, ye sons of faction, to pourtray