PHILIP FRENEAU.

PHILIP FRENEAU, an American sea-captain, journalist, and poet, born at New York in 1752; died near Freehold, N. J., in 1832. He studied at Princeton College, N. J., where he wrote his "Poetical History of the Prophet Jonah." During the war of the Revolution he wrote numerous burlesques in prose and verse, which were very popular at the time. In 1865 these were brought together and edited with a "Memoir and Notes," by Evert A. Duyckinck. Freneau had intended to study law, but instead of this he "followed the sea." In 1780 he was captured by a British vessel, and confined in the prison-ship at New York, an event which he commemorated in his poem "The British Prison Ship." In 1789 Freneau was given the place of French translator in the State department, and at the same time he was editor of the Na tional Gazette, a newspaper hostile to the administration of Washington. This journal was discontinued in 1793, and two years later he started a newspaper in New Jersey, and still later in New York, The Time Piece, a tri-weekly, in which appeared his cleverest prose essays. His newspaper undertakings were unsuccessful, and he again entered upon seafaring occupations. During the second war with Great Britain he wrote several spirited poems, glorifying the successes of the American arms. His mercantile undertakings were not prosperous, and he at length retired to a little farm which he owned in New Jersey. At the age of eighty he lost his way at night in a violent snow-storm, and was found next morning dead in a swamp near his residence.

Freneau may fairly be styled the earliest American poet; and, apart from this, not a few of his poems deserve a permanent place in our literature.

THE EARLY NEW ENGLANDERS.

THESE exiles were formed in a whimsical mold,

And were awed by their priests, like the Hebrews of old,

Disclaimed all pretenses to jesting and laughter,

And sighed their lives through to be happy hereafter.
On a crown immaterial their hearts were intent,
They looked toward Zion, wherever they went,

Did all things in hopes of a future reward,

And worried mankind for the sake of the Lord. .
A stove in their churches, or pews lined with green,
Were horrid to think of, much less to be seen;

Their bodies were warmed with the linings of love,
And the fire was sufficient that flashed from above.
On Sundays their faces were dark as a cloud;
The road to the meeting was only allowed;

And those they caught rambling, on business or pleasure,
Were sent to the stocks, to repent at their leisure.
This day was the mournfullest day of the week;
Except on religion none ventured to speak;
This day was the day to examine their lives,

To clear off old scores, and to preach to their wives.
This beautiful system of Nature below
They neither considered, nor wanted to know,
And called it a dog-house wherein they were pent,
Unworthy themselves, and their mighty descent.
They never perceived that in Nature's wide plan
There must be that whimsical creature called Man
Far short of the rank he affects to attain,
Yet a link, in its place, in creation's vast chain.
Thus feuds and vexations distracted their reign —
And perhaps a few vestiges still may remain;
But time has presented an offspring as bold,
Less free to believe, and more wise than the old.
Proud, rough, independent, undaunted and free,
And patient of hardships, their task is the sea;
Their country too barren their wish to attain,
They make up the loss by exploring the main.
Wherever bright Phoebus awakens the gales,
I see the bold Yankees expanding their sails,
Throughout the wide ocean pursuing their schemes,
And chasing the whales on its uttermost streams.
No climate for them is too cold or too warm;
They reef the broad canvas, and fight with the storm,
In war with the foremost their standards display,
Or glut the loud cannon with death, for the fray.
No valor in fable their valor exceeds;
Their spirits are fitted for desperate deeds;
No rivals have they in our annals of fame,
Or, if they are rivaled, 'tis York has the claim.

THE NEV YAK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

R

THE DUTCH AND THE ENGLISH IN NEW YORK.

THE first that attempted to enter this strait
(In anno one thousand six hundred and eight)
Was Hudson (the same that we mentioned before),
Who was lost in the gulf that he went to explore.
For a sum that they paid him (we know not how much)
This captain transferred all his rights to the Dutch;
For the time has been here (to the world be it known),
When all a man sailed by, or saw, was his own.
The Dutch on their purchase sat quietly down,
And fixed on an island to lay out a town;

They modeled their streets from the horns of a ram:

And the name that best pleased them was New Amsterdam.

They purchased large tracts from the Indians for beads,
And sadly tormented some runaway Swedes,

Who (none knows for what) from their country had flown,

To live here in peace, undisturbed and alone.

New Belgia the Dutch called their province, be sure;

But names never yet made possession secure,

For Charley (the Second that honored the name)

Sent over a squadron asserting his claim.

Had his sword and his title been equally slender,
In vain had they summoned Mynheer to surrender.
The soil they demanded, and threatened the worst,
Insisting that Cabot had looked at it first.
The want of a squadron to fall on their rear
Made the argument perfectly plain to Mynheer.
Force ended the contest; the right was a sham,
And the Dutch were sent packing to hot Surinam.
'Twas hard to be thus of their labors deprived,
But the age of Republics had not yet arrived.

Fate saw (though no wizard could tell them as much)
That the Crown in due time, was to fare like the Dutch.

THE BATTLE OF STONINGTON, CONN., AUGUST, 1814.

FOUR gallant ships from England came
Freighted deep with fire and flame,

And other things we need not name,
To have a dash at Stonington.