THE REPUBLICAN FESTIVAL

By Philip Morin Freneau

As late at a feast that she gave to Munroe,

Her mark of attention to show,

Young liberty gave her libations to flow,

To honor where honor is due.

Return'd from the country that trampled on crowns

Where high in opinion he stood,

Dark malace attack'd him, with sneers, and with frowns,

But he met the applause of the good.

To the Knight of the Sceptre unwelcome he came

But freedom his merit confess'd —

He look'd at their malice, and saw it was fame,

And pity forgave them the rest.

Good humor, and pleasure, and friendship did join,

And reason the pleasure increased;

And the hero, who captured the British Burgoyne,

Presided and honor'd the feast.

On a broomstick from hell, with a quill in his hand,

Baal-Zephou came riding the air;

He look'd, and he saw that among the whole band

Not a single apostate was there.

Disappointed, he sigh'd, but still hover'd about

Till the toasts, with a vengeance, began —

He met the first four; when the next they gave out

To his cavern he fled back again.