No tongue can tell, no pen describe The phrenzy of a numerous tribe, Who, by distemper'd fancy led, Insult the memory of the dead.
Of old, there were in every age Who stuff'd with gods the historian's page, And raised beyond the human sphere Some who, we know, were mortal here.
Such was the case, we know full well, When darkness spread her pagan spell; Mere insects, born for tombs and graves, They changed into celestial knaves;
Made some, condemn'd to tombs and shrouds, Lieutenant generals in the clouds. In journals, meant to spread the news, From state to state — and we know whose —
We read a thousand idle things That madness pens, or folly sings. Was, Washington, your conquering sword Condemn'd to such a base reward?
Was trash, like that we now review, The tribute to your valor due? One holds you more than mortal kind, One holds you all ethereal mind,
This puts you in your saviour's seat, That makes you dreadful in retreat. One says you are become a star, One makes you more resplendent, far;
One sings, that, when to death you bow'd, Old mother nature shriek'd aloud. We grieve to see such pens profane The first of chiefs, the first of men.—
To Washington — a man — who died, As abba father well applied? Absurdly, in a frantic strain, Why ask him not for sun and rain?—
We sicken at the vile applause That bids him give the ocean laws. Ye patrons of the ranting strain, What temples have been rent in twain?
What fiery chariots have been sent To dignify the sad event?— O, ye profane, irreverent few, Who reason's medium never knew:
On you she never glanced her beams; You carry all things to extremes. Shall they, who spring from parent earth, Pretend to more than mortal birth?
Or, to the omnipotent allied, Control his heaven, or join his side? O, is there not some chosen curse, Some vengeance due, with lightning's force
That far and wide destruction spreads, To burst on such irreverent heads! Had they, in life, be-praised him so, What would have been the event, I know
He would have spurn'd them, with disdain, Or rush'd upon them, with his cane. He was no god, ye flattering knaves, He own'd no world, he ruled no waves;
But — and exalt it, if you can, He was the upright, Honest Man. This was his glory, this outshone Those attributes you doat upon:
On this strong ground he took his stand, Such virtue saved a sinking land.
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