Upon a very ANCIENT DUTCH HOUSE on LONG-ISLAND. Philip Morin Freneau Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. N09742 Freneau, Philip Morin, 1752-1832. The American village, a poem. : To which are added, several other original pieces in verse. / By Philip Freneau, A.B. ; [Two lines in Latin from Horace.] New-York Printed by S. Inslee and A. Car, on Moor's Wharf. 1772 M,DCC,LXXII. pp. 26-27. [2], 27, [1] p. ; (4to)

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Upon a very ANCIENT DUTCH HOUSE on LONG-ISLAND . BEHOLD this antique dome by envious time , Grown crazy , and in ev'ry part decay'd ; Full well , alas , it claims my humble rhyme , For such lone haunts and contemplation made . Ah see the hearth , where once the chearful fire ! Blaz'd high , and warm'd the winter trav'lers toes ; And see the walls , which once did high aspire , Admit the storms , and ev'ry wind that blows . In yonder corner , now to ruin gone , The ancient housewife's curtain'd bed appear'd , Where she and her man JOHN did sleep alone , Nor nightly robber , nor the screach owl fear'd . There did they snore full oft' the whole night out , Smoking the sable pipe , 'till that did fall , Rest from their jaws by Somnus ' sleepy rout , And on their faces pour'd its scorched gall . And in the compass of yon' smaller gang , The swain BATAVIAN once his courtship made , To some DUTCH lass , as thick as she was long ; " Come then , my angel , come , the shepherd said , " And let us for the bridal bed prepare ; For you alone shall case my future life , And you alone shall soften all my care , My strong , my hearty , and industrious wife . " Thus they — but eating ruin now hath spread Its wings destructive o'er the antique dome ; The mighty fabrick now is all a shed , Scarce fit to be the wand'ring beggar's home . And none but me it's piteous fate lament , None , none but me o'er it's sad ashes mourn , Sent by the fates , and by APOLLO sent , To shed their latest tears upon it's silent urn .