THE EQUALITY OF MANKIND.

THE EQUALITY OF MANKIND . BY MR. WODHULL . THERE was a time when from those hapless schools , Where Science droops , and pension'd Litchfield rules , Inhaling faction , with the Tory race On Right Divine , Hereditary Grace , Much did I waver , much did I unite The names of Patriot , and of Jacobite : Thanks to my friendly stars those days are o'er , And now , not meanly pinion'd as before , Untaught to bend the pliant knee , and join The slaves , who flock to Grandeur's tinsel shrine , Kindling at thy perpetual flame the brand Of honest Satire , with officious hand To thee , O Truth , I consecrate the blaze ; — Receive , exalt , invigorate my lays . The studious Pilgrim , as his bare feet tread O'er holy Carmel ! with religious dread , If , sunk in mouldering rubbish , he descries Where some old fane , or massive altar lies , Kneeling adores it with a stedfast gaze , And ruminates the works of mightier days , Feasts his rapt soul on pure devotion's fires , And slowly from the much-lov'd spot retires . Led by dark Legend on from clime to clime Amid th' historic ravages of Time , Thus the bold Muse asserts her liberal plan To mark the genuine privilege of man , To prove how Fiction , and how Fact agree , That God was just , and all Mankind were free . From Jura's mount , from those inclement skies , ( Where pale and wan Helvetia's Genius lies , His arms revers'd , his shield thrown idly by , To note the sad decays of Liberty ; ) Come , stern Philosophy , — that garb of woe Befits thee most , majestically slow Thy gait , while rais'd aloof thy red right hand Waves in the gale Resentment's flaming brand , Such as , from Seine's proud banks when Rosseau fled , Thy Vengeance hurl'd at mitred Beaumont's head : Beneath thy auspices in Albion's plain , While Justice triumphs in a George's reign , Alone , yet scorning Caution's coward mask , Will I encounter this adventurous task ; Tho' far too sanguine to conceal their rage , My Foes already curse each opening page , And Friends , half shrinking at so rude a test , Glance o'er my title , and forswear the rest . Back to Creation's infancy , when Earth Few revolutions dated from its birth , My theme invites : — poor Exile doom'd to rove Far from the sweets of Eden's happy grove Behold our first Progenitor ; — his race Plung'd in a lineal series of disgrace , Become a prey from that ill-fated hour To pain , disease , and death's remorseless power . Some evils soon attain'd their utmost prime , To perfect others was a work of time . Perhaps in those rude ages , when no law Kept the warm passions of mankind in awe , Rapine was frequent ; from his neighbour's fold Some proud Oppressor , of gigantic mold , His fleecy charge , his only treasure bore , And left the shepherd weltering in his gore : Yet then no dire necessity had made Murder a system , war a needful trade ; No Frederick , foe to nature and to man , Justice his pretext , tyranny his plan , Born every right of nations to betray , O'er Leipzick's walls had forc'd his desperate way ; Coarse was their food , their sordid dwelling small , Such was the lot of one , the lot of all : In some deep vale their shapeless altar stood Rais'd with the casual turf , or unhewn wood ; Thither , by grateful adoration taught , On some choice festival the Rustic brought A decent offering from his little stock , Fruits of the ground , or firstlings of his flock : No temple rear'd its fretted roof on high , No golden censer's blaze perfum'd the sky , No vain High-Priest with surly grandeur trod , As if to shame the meanness of his God . When , like the Titans , earth's rebellious crew To Heaven's high bulwarks rais'd their hostile view , In vain , their boastful arrogance to quell , Their leaders were dispers'd , their turret fell ; On Shinar's plains Despotic Power unfurl'd Her banner , and to vex the groaning world From shore to shore the strange contagion ran ; Fraternal concord ceas'd , and Monarchy began . Thus while the storms in hollow caverns sleep , And scarce a zephyr fans the quiet deep , Suddenly from the rock's impending brow A cumbrous fragment on the tide below Comes rushing downwards ; boils the vast profound , Waves upon waves dash'd on the beach resound . Detested Hunter ! Nimrod led the way , War was his savage pastime , man his prey ; For brutal strength by trembling vassals fear'd The walls of ancient Babylon he rear'd : In his high dome , with crayons rude portray'd , The warrior's dread atchievements were display'd ; Here pierc'd with darts th' expiring tyger lay , There rush'd embattled hosts in firm array ; There in his car the thickest ranks he broke , And nations yielded to his galling yoke . Such empire's origin : — with horrid yell From the black confines of his native hell Emerg'd the Demon of tyrannic pride , And Vice came onward with a larger stride : Ungrateful were the task , and endless toil To trace its progress thro' each distant soil Fertile of Tyrants . Craft with Prowess join'd Soon tam'd the generous fierceness of mankind . Dominion first was gain'd by lawless might ; The claim of long Hereditary Right Succeeded ; when to varnish o'er each flaw , And bow the world with superstitious awe , The Priests dress'd up some bugbear of their own , Call'd him a King , and plac'd him on a throne ; Then caught the weakness of those darker times , And dragg'd in Heaven to sanctify his crimes . Search well its inmost source , and tell whence springs This sacred claim of Israel's vaunted Kings : When that audacious crew renounc'd their God , Despis'd his mercies , brav'd his heaviest rod ; And for his Patronage too mighty grown Set up a little Idol of their own : Say , did their Prophet urge Saul's Right Divine ? — His incense blaz'd not at so vile a shrine . Or did some ill in mystic leaves foretold , And chronicled by gravest seers of old , While on delusive hopes they fondly built , O'erwhelm them with involuntary guilt ? No ; 'twas their baffled pride whose last resource Dragg'd this perdition on their heads by sorce . From that black period each intenser crime , That brands with infamy its parent clime , Assail'd the palace , overspread the land , And in their temple took its guilty stand . The seat of Chemosh by the purple vine Was planted , and at Moloch's brazen shrine , As with inhuman zeal the trembling sire Consign'd his shrieking infants to the fire , While with loud din their hideous cymbals rung , His Worshippers obscene their uncouth orgies sung . Belief , in various senses understood , Is man's severest curse , or surest good . Thus , in the meads where hallow'd Jordan glides , Enriching Palestine with copious tides , Where springs the branching palm , where streams the oil , Where fruitful vineyards bless the peasant's toil ; Deep in the heart of Siddim's odious vale , Impregnating with death each tainted gale , The black Asphaltes from its slimy bed Sees pitchy clouds , sulphureous vapours , spread . Let Mecca tell , big with aspiring schemes , Seraphic trances , counterfeited dreams , How subtle Mahomet , of servile birth , Diffus'd his tenets thro' th' astonish'd earth , By fire and sword the Nations undeceiv'd Confess'd their former errors , and believ'd . In Judah's soil the tree of knowledge grew , Whose fruit unsound , yet specious to the view , Entrusted to the treacherous Levite's care , Fell , ere it ripen'd , in that baleful air ; Relentless Cowards ! with a brutal hand Urging their fraudful progress thro' the land , O'er Nature's parting agonies they trod , And slaughter'd millions in the name of God , Each right of arms infringing , nor forbore To dip their reeking blades in infant gore ; Till mighty conscience , whose prevailing call Opes the dread volume of her laws to all , Bewail'd them darken'd by so strong a taint ; That none discern'd the villain from the saint . Far other fame the Christian doctrine gain'd , From Heaven transmitted , and by Heaven maintain'd , With scepter'd arrogance to vex the earth , Yet most those realms which gave his grandeur birth , To make divided Faith and Virtue foes , On its firm base no second David rose : Yet from this pure and unpolluted source , Ere long , the streams in a perverted course Ran foul : Fanatics soon began to call Merit a sound , Religion all in all ; Infuriate Priests the bonds of nature tore , And Persecution drench'd the world with gore . Arm'd with the Cross , o'er Asia's ravag'd lands , See sainted Champions pour their desperate bands , A dreaming Hermit leads them , and aloud Preaches salvation to the frantic crowd : Zeal whets the poniard , and with ruthless joy They come , they sack , they ravish , they destroy . The Muse rejecting this historic draught With bitter truths , strict testimonies fraught , Its civil discords , and religious strife O'erlooks , to take a fairer view of life ; Borne on the rapid wings of Thought she flies , Opes new creations , seeks for other skies , Revolving all that sportive Ovid told Of cloudless suns , of ages wing'd with gold , Those ages , when in Peneus' chearful grove Man knew no sorrows , no disease but Love ; When Nature's self was unconstrain'd and young , And Bards rang'd lawless as the Gods they sung . Ye happier times of innocence and truth , Pleasing instructors of my thoughtless youth , When none the image of his God belied , No Minions crouch'd beneath a Sultan's pride , No wealth ensnar'd , no poverty distress'd , No ruffians plunder'd , and no kings oppress'd ; Tho' doom'd to grovel in a baser age , Will I from Memory's enchanting page Retrace your scatter'd annals . — When of old Arcadia's peaceful shepherds uncontroul'd Their ranging flocks thro' boundless pastures drove , Or tun'd their pipes beneath the myrtle grove , Their laws on brazen tablets unimprest Were deeply grav'd on each ingenuous breast , No proud Vicegerent of Astrea reign'd , Astrea's self her own decrees maintain'd . Books , useless lumber , yet in embryo slept , No Damon rav'd in rhime , no Delia wept ; Nor had , nor needed they the casuist's page , Plain were the duties of that simpler age : For Nature , best of mothers , pleas'd to teach Virtues no modern theorist can reach ; With characters indelible , on high Blazon'd her system of Equality . Alas ! how gladly would Illusion's beam For ever vibrate on this glittering theme : Here let me finish ; nor , my soul to wring , From Fable's sweets proceed to Fable's sting : I must ; — these fairy dreams have had their space , And now the dreadful sequel claims a place . Like the presumptuous Mariner , whose sails , Wasted from port with soft Etesian gales , Urge his o'erweening eagerness to brave Without a Pilot the perfidious wave , Soon o'er whose bark th' impetuous tempests sweep , And bury all his fortunes in the deep : Seduc'd by Fancy's charms , amidst a grove Of pleasing errors have I dar'd to rove , Till , half desponding , comfortless , aghast , I but survey bright Freedom's form at last , To see her perish by as sure a wound Mid these enchantments , as on vulgar ground . Fond Epimetheus ! when thy luckless hand Scatter'd Pandora's curses o'er the land , Forth from the casket glittering to the view Scepters , and crowns , delusive trumpery , flew ; Man ey'd the bait , and with an ideot joy Eagerly rush'd to snatch the gilded toy : Freedom thenceforth , and Peace , and Justice fled , Infernal Discord rear'd her snaky head From blackest Erebus , whose scorpions hurl'd By dread Oppression curb'd a wretched world ; Too late remorse congeal'd each guilty soul , And forky lightnings flash'd from pole to pole . Where-e'er we search the vast instructive page Of Fact , or Fiction , we in every age See Saints impal'd and tortur'd at the stake Thro' fervent zeal , and for Religion's sake ; Murders and sorceries , and Men , whose heart Ne'er prompted one humane , one generous part , While some vain Mortal , arbiter os ill , Govern'd the rest ; at whose imperious will Millions of slaughter'd Heroes bit the dust To soothe a Tyrant's pride , a Strumpet's lust ; Till loathing both the present , and the past , We learn this melancholy truth at last ; " On Life's rough sea by stormy passions tost , " Freedom and Virtue were together lost . " Shame on our vaunted reason , when we find No creature else so senseless , and so blind ; The Brutes indeed to force superior yield , And leave the strongest master of the field , Yet this imperial claim to none descends , With the possessor's strength his title ends ; Nor , if their enterprizing Leader calls , Do they forsake their well-replenish'd stalls , And with heroic frenzy risk their life , Fomenting some unnecessary strife . Unfall'n , and uncorrupted , they fulfil Their Nature's end , their mighty Maker's will : Stoop then , ye sons of Reason , stoop , and own The veriest beast more worthy of a throne . The Chain , whose two Extremities unite , Presenting still a middle to our sight , Where link by link in fruitless search we tend , Yet find not a beginning , or an end , Talk as we please , dissemble how we can , Presents a just similitude of Man ; Who , in each state of life constrain'd to own A strict dependance , useless when alone , Cleaves , tho' a Monarch , to his native dung , And venerates the soil from whence he sprung . View first the Slave , whom his unhappy fate In galling fetters to some foreign state Tears from his dearest home ; there basely sold By those , who truck humanity for gold , Abus'd , neglected , sinking with distress , When all is dark , and Hope alone can bless ; Ev'n then thro' Life's dim curtain he descries Some happier regions , and serener skies , Where Commerce never rears her impious head , No Fiends approach , no Missionaries tread . Next him the Peasant , whose incessant toil , Harshly requited , tills the rugged soil , Press'd by the barbarous insults of the great , The foolish prodigality of state : Yet his low couch no thorny cares molest , His even spirits yield unbroken rest . Those restless Beings next in order place , Whose motley stations wear a doubtful face , Who dragg'd by Fortune into Middle Life , That vortex of malevolence and strife , Envying the great , and scoffing at the mean , Or swol'n with pride , or wasted with chagrin , Like Mahomet's unsettled ashes , dwell , Midway suspended , between Heaven and Hell . Clad with those Titles antient Justice gave To grace the wise , the generous , and the brave , O'er these ascend the Sycophants of Power , Their master's tools , the minions of an hour . Last of the Group , to close this irksome scene , Childishly great , and eminently mean , Behold the Monarch , whose exalted throne , Dupes to their fear , his Eastern Vassals own ; When by the toil , which earns the Hind's hard bread , His splendor is maintain'd , his lux'ry fed ; Is not a wretch like this , to either side Of Life's perverse extremities allied ? Here to its source the line revolving tends , Here close the points , and here the circle ends . When lust , when rapine , when ungovern'd rage Strongly characteris'd the iron age , Law soon became a necessary ill , Vice edg'd the sword , and gave it force to kill ; Monarchs , we see , were then at first design'd A general good , a blessing unconfin'd : For public welfare , not for private ends , From sire to son the regal crown descends . When Kings support afflicted Virtue's cause , Curb potent Vice , and vindicate the laws , Our high respect deservedly they share , Not for themselves , but for the trust they bear . As on the slippery pinnacle they stand Of brittle grandeur , with rapacious hand If they assume unlimited domain , And madly govern with perverted rein The vast Machine of Empire ; to the skies Ascend the widow's tears , the orphan's cries ; A Cato's spirit , or a Cicero's tongue With keen resentment animates the throng ; Some Hampden hears his gasping country's groan , And in just vengeance shakes a guilty throne . Should inauspicious Fortune tear away From Virtue's grasp the triumphs of a day , Should Tyranny , by long success grown great , Crush the defenceless victims of her hate , Grim Superstition with an haggard eye Points to the spoils , and rears her torch on high , From regal conquest her own inference draws , And blends with that of Heaven its dearer cause . Blind to the treacherous snare , when Fate decreed That Troy should perish by the wooden steed ; The rest stood fix'd with hesitating fear , While bold Laocoon hurl'd his forcesul spear Against the monster , from whose knotty side Resounding arms , and Grecian shrieks replied : Stung by a snake the pious Priest expir'd , While Folly gaz'd , and Ignorance admir'd ; This moral curb'd th' infatuated crew — " The sacrilegious wretch Minerva slew . " When virtuous Lord Brooke , see Clarendon's History . Greville thus in civil strife Crown'd with that honest prayer his closing life ; Can we unmov'd with indignation bear To see grave Clarendon , whose stile , whose air , 'Twixt tortur'd facts , and scripture-phrases quaint , Shews half the royalist , and half the saint , Stamp on his ashes with a dotard's pride , And execrate the cause for which he died ? Ye fields of Naseby , where the thundering hand . Of Freedom greatly prosper'd ; where that band Of hardy Patriots resolutely bore , Thro' storms of horror , and thro' seas of gore , Their country's charter , snatch'd in happiest hour From Sacerdotal wrath , and Kingly power : Oft as your towers , on which dread Vengeance wrote Strong characters , and blasted where she smote , In youth's gay season fix'd my roving eye , How did I hail that scene of victory ! Ev'n now methinks I see brave Fairfax tread Th' ensanguin'd plain ; — to grace the warrior's head From Fame's unsullied grove let Virtue bring Those laurels green with everlasting spring : Illustrious meed , too oft profusely strewn To deck the precincts of Ambition's throne , To crown some proud Infringer of the laws : But due to vengeance , due to Britain's cause . Nor , tho' the Muse forlorn and helpless stray O'er thy bare coast , nor glean one fragrant bay , Bleak Caledonia , shalt thou pass unsung , For Freedom on thy hills her arm new-strung : When thy firm sons , who lov'd the public weal , Or inly burn'd to see tyrannic Zeal Against their altars lift an impious hand , And threat th' accustom'd worship of the land , From their huge cliffs descending like a flood , Stood forth , prepar'd to seal their faith with blood ; At their approach while perjur'd Holland fled , False to his Master's cause , his Master's bed ; And Hierarchy , that fiend , whom Scripture paints Drunk with the blood of Martyrs and of Sai n ts , Consign'd by Fate in penal chains to dwell , Slunk unregarded to her native hell . Curse on the shouts of that licentious Throng , Whose merriment ( more brutal than the song Of mad Agave , when wild Haemus o'er Her Pentheus' mangled limbs the mother bore ; ) Proclaims the fall of Liberty : — ye shades Of mighty Chiefs , from your Elysian glades Look down benign , avert the dire presage , Nor with two Charles's brand one sinful age . O , my poor country ! what capricious tide Of Fortune swells the Tyrant's motley pride ! Around his brows yon servile Prelates twine The stale and blasted wreath of Right Divine ; While Harlots , like the Coan Venus fair , Move their light feet to each lascivious air . Hence with your orgies ! — righteous Heaven ordains A purer worship , less audacious strains . When falls by William's sword ( as soon it must ) This Edifice of bigotry and lust , The Muse shall start from her inglorious trance , And give to Satire's grasp her vengeful lance , At Truth's historic shrine shall victims smoke , And a fresh Stuart bleed at every stroke : Thine too , perfidious Albemarle ( whose steel , Drawn to protect embroil'd Britannia's weal , Shrunk from thy coward arm , consign'd the reins Of power to Charles , and forg'd a nation's chains ) Compar'd with nobler villainies or old , High deeds , on plates of adamant enroll'd , Shall meet the felon's undistinguish'd fate , Sure of contempt , unworthy of our hate . Once more emerging from this baleful reign Of Stuart Kings , and from the Pontiff's chain , By Boyne's swift current Freedom rear'd her head , When from those banks the Papal Tyrant fled ; Then every vale with lo Paeans rung As the glad reaper at his harvest sung , Thee , great Nassau , benevolently brave , Equally born to conquer , and to save , When Glory's sounding trump to Gallia's shore , Th' exulting shouts of British Freedom bore , Dismay'd she saw the kindling ardor burn , And Seine hung trembling o'er her wasted urn . Warm with the same benevolence of mind , Friends to the native rights of human kind , Succeeding Kings extend the generous plan , And Brunswick perfects what Nassau began . Thrice happy Albion ! in whose favour'd land Impartial Justice with a steady hand Poises the scales of empire ; where the names Of servile tenure , and the seudal claims Of Norman Peers in musty tomes decay , Swept by obliterating years away . But if in Faction's loud and empty strain Yon frontless rabble vex a gentle reign , In Peace itself ideal dangers find , Provoke new wars , and challenge half mankind ; What tho' another Tully at their head From breast to breast the rank contagion spread : Say , what are we ? some pension'd Patriot's tools , Meer artless , unsuspecting , British fools . Born in a changeful clime , beneath a sky Whence storms descend , and hovering vapours fly , Stung with the fever , tortur'd with the spleen , Boisterously merry , churlishly serene , By each vague blast dejected or elate , Dupes in their love , immoderate in their hate , With strange formality , or bearish ease , Then most disgufiful , when they strive to please , No happy mean the sons of Albion know , Their wavering tempers ever ebb and flow , Rank contraries , in nothing they agree ; Untaught to serve , unable to be free . While parties rage , O Truth ! with honest zeal To thee , protectress of my lays , I kneel ; O deign to shew me in their real light , Stript of that glare which cheats the dazzled sight , The Chiefs , whose blazon'd deeds and sounding worth Usurp a sphere above the sons of earth ; Ope dark Futurity's instructive womb , Conduct me to the mansions of the tomb , Where titles cease , where worldly pomp is o'er , Mute are the Nine , and Flattery soothes no more : So may I take a more impartial view , Forget the rank , and give the man his due . Yet what regards it or the world , or me , How Fame awards her posthumous decree , If man , unconscious of her loudest breath , Sleep a cold tenant of the vale of death ? Let the delirious Siamois compute How Sommonokodon his worshipp'd brute , Thro' being's long progressive stages trod , Began an Ox , and ended in a God . Our fleeting souls let the weak Pythagoras . Samian trace In birds , in beasts , and all the finny race ; These baseless structures , fictions light and vain , Coin'd in the foldings of an idle brain , To their absurd inventors I resign , They are not in the Church's creed , or mine . But shall the Peasant from his turf-bound grave Or rise no more , or wake again a Slave ? And shall the Monarch in a future state , With the same visionary pomp elate , Resume the trappings of his lost command , And wield a mimic scepter in his hand ? Tho' gloomy Bigots paint a partial God , Bare his red arm , and lift his scorpion rod ; Tho' on a text perverting Zealots dwell , Till Scripture suits the purposes of hell ; Think for thyself ; — suppose life's voyage o'er ; Think for thyself , and envy Kings no more : Resign'd and calm await that awful hour , That crisis of all sublunary power , When wreaths of glory shall adorn the Just , And Empire's proud Colossus sink to dust .