TRANSLATED BY J. N. DEBLOIS.
WOULD you, my friend, true happiness attain, Do not too boldly tempt the boist❜rous main; While on the deep you dread the tempest's roar, With equal caution shun the rocky shore.
He that's content a middle path to tread,
A tranquil, and an easy
Exempt from miseries which the poor await,
And all the envied grandeur of the great.
The lofty pine by each rude blast is bent;
The highest hills are by the lightening rent;
The tallest tower but lifts its cloud capt wall,
To spread a wider ruin by its fall.
He that for changes can his mind prepare,
With fortitude the ills of life may bear;
But fears, when fortune smiles with brightest ray,
The flatt'ring prospects soon may fade away.
For good and ill succeed in constant rounds,
As cheering spring expels dread winter's frowns;
Nor does Apollo always bend his bow,
But from his harp oft bids sweet numbers flow.
When fickle fortune proves to you unkind,
With greatest courage fortify your mind,
If on your course, she waits with fav'ring gales, Let prudence trim with care your swelling sails
FAR in the south, where Del'ware's shores expand,
And smiling Ceres cheers a fertile land,
Where nature's stores have all their wealth displayed,
And Flora reigns in beauteous garb arrayed,
A soil propitious gave Decatur birth,
And shewed a hero to the admiring earth.
His gen'rous mind ne'er felt a coward's fear,
Though oft for other's woes he dropt a tear.
Glory his earliest, as his fondest aim,
His youthful bosom beat for martial fame.
In youth those virtues which his life adorn,
Shed their first lustre, as the rays of morn,
And like the rising sun's increasing light,
Burst on the world, with matchless splendor bright.
As thus to manhood's prime his age advanced,
His numerous gifts, by grace and form enhanced,
By chance directed, on a summer's day,
Along the Del'ware's stream he bent his way;
And near its brink, on verdant couch reclined,
Where round the elms the fragrant woodbine twined,
Lulled by the breeze, he sunk in calm repose;
When from the stream, the god of ocean rose.
Borne on the wave, he stood with placid mien,
And smiling, thus began his speech serene:-
"Long have I seen Columbia's growing name,
And marked her progress up the steep of fame;
Long have I sought some youth my charge to be,
And now with joy have fixed my
Thee, by my aid, thy country shall admire,
And praise thy gallant deeds, and martial fire.
From thy bold arm Britannia shall recede,
Africk's fierce Corsairs, by thy sword shall bleed.
Haste then, away, commence the noble strife,
And doubt not, for my arm shall guard thy life."
This said, great Neptune sudden left his theme,
And sunk majestic in the silver stream,
The God departing broke his sweet repose,
And filled with joyous hope, Decatur rose.
E'en now Columbia had for war declared,
And fired with wrongs, her navies had prepared,
Which to drear Africk's coast she hastes to send,
Her injured rights and commerce to defend ;
From slavery's chains, her long lost sons to free,
And give them heaven's best gift, sweet liberty.
With these our hero dares the eastern wave,
Trusting the promise, mighty Neptune gave.
Fired with a noble wish, to raise his name,
By glorious acts to everlasting fame.
Now wake, my Muse, thy loftiest numbers swell,
Of daring feats and battles dire to tell,
With noble thoughts, your youthful poet fire,
And with new energy, his verse inspire.
What martial deed ere waked the poet's song,
Whose tuneful verse its praises yet prolong,
That can with his, in chivalry compare,
When joined in combat with the rude Corsair ?
Through thousand foes he bent his daring course,
Accomplished wonders with his little force;
A captive frigate by his hand inflamed,
To trembling Tripoli his name proclaimed.
What heavenly power preserved Decatur's life,
And hovered o'er him in the dangerous strife,
When to revenge a brother's death he fought,
And through opposing foes, his murderers sought?
Then like the scathed and blasted mountain oak,
Rent by the lightening's desolating stroke,
Beneath his arm the treacherous Corsair bled,
And down to Pluto's realms indignant sped.
Nor must that act escape our humble lays,
Which gilds his name with never-fading praise;
When as the eagle, darting from on high,
Bears off her victim to the etherial sky,
He rushed to battle, o'er the foaming wave,
Resolved to conquer, or to find a grave.
The British Lion, sunk beneath his sword,
Above his ocean grave, our eagle soared,
And though full long her thundering cannon pealed.
The Macedonian was compelled to yield.
This glorious act proclaimed our hero's fame,
Astonished Britain trembled at his name.
Nor end his triumphs here, Africk again
Beholds her navies yield, her heroes slain;
At his command; she opes her prison doors,
And to their long lost homes her slaves restores,
Barbarian bondage breaks her iron chain,
And heavenly freedom sooths the captive's pain.
Our hero now fatigued with foreign toil,
Returns victorious to his native soil,
With wreaths of bays, and laurel chaplets, crowned, While with his praise, Columbia's shores resound.
But fickle fortune oft deserts the brave,
"The paths of honour lead but to the grave.
At fate's command death gave the cruel blow.
That blasted hope, and laid our hero low.
A pitying angel saw the cruel deed,
And weeping thus, announced what fate decreed ;—
"Columbia, mourn! thy choicest spirit's fled,
The brave Decatur's numbered with the dead,
Though sunk to rest, his fame shall ever live,
And unborn ages for his fate shall grieve;
His memory long shall patriot bosoms fire,
And long for him be strung the poet's lyre.
His praises shall resound through every clime,
And ride triumphant on the wings of time."
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