Philip Freneau Poems
|2.||The American Soldier||5/21/2015|
|3.||The Vanity of Existence||6/27/2015|
|4.||To Mr. Blanchard, The Celebrated Aeronaut In America||12/25/2014|
|5.||To The Memory Of The Brave Americans||1/16/2015|
|7.||The Republican Genius Of Europe||1/13/2003|
|8.||To A New England Poet||1/13/2003|
|9.||On The Death Of Dr. Benjamin Franklin||1/13/2003|
|10.||On A Honey Bee||1/13/2003|
|11.||The Wild Honey-Suckle||1/13/2003|
|12.||The Indian Burying Ground||1/13/2003|
The Indian Burying Ground
In spite of all the learn'd have said;
I still my old opinion keep,
The posture, that we give the dead,
Points out the soul's eternal sleep.
Not so the ancients of these lands --
The Indian, when from life releas'd
Again is seated with his friends,
And shares gain the joyous feast.
His imag'd birds, and painted bowl,
And ven'son, for a journey dress'd,
Bespeak the nature of the soul,
Activity, that knows no rest.
His bow, for action ready bent,
And arrows, with a head of stone,
Can only mean that life is spent,
And not the finer essence...