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David Humphreys
1753 - 1818  Famous poet

He was educated at Yale College, with Dwight, Thumbull, and Barlow, and soon after being graduated, in 1771, joined the revolutionary array, under General Parsons, with the rank of captain. He was for several years attached to the staff of General Putnam, and in 1780 was appointed aid-de-camp to General Washington, with the rank of colonel. He continued in the military family of the commander-in-chief until the close of the war, enjoying his friendship and confidence, and afterward accompanied him to Mount Vernon, where he remained until 1784, when he went abroad with Franklin, Adams and Jefferson, who were appointed commissioners to negotiate treaties of commerce with foreign powers, as their secretary of legation.(1)

Soon after his return to the United States, in 1786, he was elected by the citizens of his native town a member of the Legislature of Connecticut, and by that body was appointed to command a regiment to be raised by order of the national government. On receiving his commission, Colonel Humphreys established his head-quarters and recruiting rendezvous at Hartford; and there renewed his intimacy with his old friends Trumbull and Barlow, with whom, and Doctor Lemuel hopkins, he engaged in writing the "Anarchiad," a political satire, in imitation of the "Rolliad," a work attributed to Sheridan and others, which he had seen in London. He retained his commission until the suppression of the insurrection in 1787, and in the following year accepted an invitation to visit Mount Vernon, where he continued to reside until he was appointed minister to Portugal, in 1790. He remained in Lisbon seven years, at the end of which period he was transferred to the court of Madrid, and in 1802, when Mr. Pinckney was made minister to Spain, returned to the United States. From 1802 to 1812, he devoted his attention to agricultural and manufacturing pursuits; and on the breaking out of the second war with Great Britain, was appointed commander of the militia of Connecticut, with the rank of brigadier-general. His public services terminated with the limitation of that appointment. He died at New Haven, on the twenty-first day of
February, 1818, in the sixty-fifth year of his age.
The principal poems of Colonel Humphreys are an "Address to the Armies of the United States," written in 1772, while he was in the army; "A Poem on the Happiness of America," written during his residence in London and Paris, as secretary of legation; "The Widow of Malabar, or The Tyranny of Custom, a Tragedy, imitated from the French of M. Lemierre," written at Mount Vernon; and a "Poem on Agriculture," written while he was minister at the
court of Lisbon. The "Address to the Armies of the United States" passed through many editions in this country and in Europe, and was translated into the French language by the Marquis de Chatellun, and favourably noticed in the Parisian gazettes. The "Poem on the Happiness of America" was reprinted nine times in three years; and the "Widow of Malabar" is said, in the dedication of it to the author of "McFingal," to have met with "extraordinary success" on the stage. The "Miscellaneous Works of Colonel Humphreys" were published in an octavo volume, in New York, in 1790, and again in 1804. The Works contain, besides the authors poems, an interesting biography of his early friend and commander, General Putnam, and several
orations and other prose compositions. They are dedicated to the Duke de Rochefoucault, who had been his intimate friend in France. In the dedication he says: "In presenting for your amusement the trifles which have been composed during my leisure hours, I assume nothing beyond the negative merit of not having ever written any thing unfavourable to the interests of religion, humanity, and virtue."He seems to have aimed only at an elegant mediocrity, and his pieces are generally simple and correct, in thought and language. He was one of the "four bards with Scripture names," satirized in some verses published in London, commencing

" David and Jonathan, Joel and Timothy, Over the water, set up the hymn of the" etc.,

and is generally classed among the "poets of the
Revolution."....

(1) In a letter to Doctor Franklin, written soon after the appointment of Humphreys to this office, General Washington, says: "His zeal in the cause of his country, his pood sense, prudence, and attachment to me, have rendered him dear to me; and I persuade myself you will find no confidence which you may think proper to repose in him, misplaced. He possesses an excellent heart, good natural and acquired abilities, and sterling integrity, as well as sobriety, and an obliging disposition. A full conviction of his possessing all these good qualities makes me less scrupulous of recommending him to your patronage and friendship."
Sparks's Life of Washington, vol. ix. p. 40.

Biography From: The Poets And Poetry Of America, by Rufus Griswald, 1847 (Public Domain)

Sonnet I: Addressed to my Friends at Yale College, on my Leaving them to join the army.

Adieu! thou Yale! where youthful poets dwell,
No more I linger by thy classic stream.
Inglorious ease and sportive songs farewell!
Thou startling clarion! break the sleeper's dream!
And sing, ye bards! the war-inspiring theme.
Heard ye the din of battle? clang of arms?
Saw ye the steel 'mid starry banners beam?
Quick throbs my breast at war's untried alarms,
Unknown pulsations stirr'd by glory's charms.
While dear Columbia calls, no danger awes,
Though certain death to threaten'd chains be join'd.
Though fails this flesh devote to freedom's cause,
Can death subdue th' unconquerable mind?
Or adamantine chains ethereal substance bind?
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  • Analysis ( hide ) This is less a refined poem, more a raw manifesto. It violently rejects the whole idea of being an ivory-tower poet in favor of becoming a battlefield patriot.
  • Archaic ‘thou/thee’ language ain’t just decoration. It cranks up the formality and urgency, making this a back-slap pledge between comrades, not a quiet diary entry.
  • It’s a direct spit in the face of its own era’s poetic norms. Most guys back then were writing about wistful shepherds; this guy’s all about the “din of battle” and “starry banners” of an actual rebellion.
  • For this writer, it’s typical content in a wildly personal package. He always pushed patriotic verse, but framing it as a goodbye to his college buddies gives it a street-level, boots-on-the-ground authenticity.
  • The classic sonnet setup gets a grenade thrown in it at the end. The final couplet isn’t about love - it’s a defiant, almost punk-rock taunt against death and tyranny. (ai)
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Sonnet V: On Life

Ere we can think of time—the moment's past—
And straight another since that thought began:
So swift each instant mingles with the last,
The flying now exists—no more for man.
With consciousness suspended ev'n by sleep,
To what this phantom, life, then likest seems?
Say thou! whose doubtful being (lost in dreams)
Allows the wilder'd but to wake and weep,
So thoughtless hurried to th' eternal deep!
'Tis like a moon-light vision's airy shade,
A bubble driving down the deep beneath
Then, ere the bubble burst, the vision fade,
Dissolv'd in air this evanescent breath!
Let man, not mortal, learn true life begins at death.
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*

  • Analysis ( hide ) This thing sounds old-school because it is: words like ere and straight crank the urgency, making the feeling of time slipping away immediate and breathless, not just a gentle observation.
  • Compared to the author's other work cheering on soldiers and freedom, this is a total vibe shift into heavy, personal doom-spirals about our tiny, fleeting existence.
  • *It starts with brainy clock-time but ends with ghost metaphors - bubbles and moon visions - * showing a collapse from logic into pure, desperate feeling as the idea overwhelms him.
  • The final line is a classic enlightenment-era bait-and-switch: it spends 13 lines calling life a sad phantom just to drop the mic with a lesson that "real" life is the eternal one waiting after you croak.
  • The whole frantic structure - dashes, rushed questions - mirrors the panic of a mind trying to grasp a vanishing moment before it's gone forever. (ai)
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An Elegy On A Patriot

I.
IN yonder dark and narrow lodging,
There rests a patriot's body,
Which, after many a slip and dodging,
Death took in safe custody.

II.
What though to earth his corse consign'd
Must moulder and be rotten;
His name, while it is kept in mind,
Will never be forgotten.

III.
O'er him the muse a tomb shall raise,
(Or she's an idle strumpet,)
And fame (if she wo 'nt sound his praise)
May throw away her trumpet.

IV.
Mine be the task to celebrate
This hero sly and nimble;
Whose praise shall last, in spite of fate—
Who knows not WILLIAM WIMBLE?

V.
To fellow creatures he was kind,
To brethren, staunch and hearty;
He help'd the weak, and led the blind,
Whene'er he led his party.

VI.
Nor is it true, what some have said,
His kindness did not stop here—
The mean in spirit, oft he fed,
To wit, himself and Copper.

VII.
Though he was lib'ral, wise, and gallant,
As warmest friends could wish one;
'Twas own'd by all, his chiefest talent
Lay most in composition.

VIII.
No one could equal him for style,
For art and elocution;
For dismal periods of a mile,
The genius of confusion.

IX.
His race of ancestors was long—
Indeed, it was pretended
His race was young—but that was wrong;
From Gimblet he descended.

X.
The heralds prov'd his ancient blood,
By race of sire and madam,
Had crept through scoundrels from the flood,
And reach'd almost to Adam.

XI.
Two pillars rampant were his arms—
A beam, with slender cable,
(I think I've got the herald's terms,)
A cart and coffin sable.

XII.
Should man from ills be free, t' were strange,
'Twould be on earth a rarity;
So our good hero had the mange, The itch of popularity.

XIII.
He was so courteous and so bland,
Throughout the whole dominion;
He shook each lubber by the hand,
And stole his good opinion.

XIV.
He shone in many an office fair,
By honorable seeking;
The Army, Church, and State, his care,—
A Delegate and Deacon.

XV.
Adman, of Congress, asked, thus:
"How comes it, Poet Timbrel! "Your State doth send a fool to us, "Whose name is WILLIAM WIMBLE?"

XVI.
The poet did this speech relate—
"From honest views, we sent him;
"The fools are many in our State—
"He goes to represent 'em."

XVII.
And yet, though wicked wits kept sneering,
'Tis plain as nose in face is;
'Twas only by electioneering,
He got and held his places.

XVIII.
So once, upon the Ides of May,
When great men quit their spouses,
To Hartford come, in best array,
And sit in both the Houses:

XIX.
To take a seat, then, WIMBLE came,
As every man supposes;
But soon 't was found he'd lost the same,
When they had counted noses.

XX.
How strangely does dame fortune frown,
How strangely do times alter!
What long ago would buy a crown,
Will purchase now a halter.

XXI.
Then straightway evils came apace:
By sheriff being cited,
And judges taking each his place,
He stood of crimes indicted:

XXII.
Then he, among the goose-cap tribes,
With one Joe Copper,* leaguing,
Bought votes, and sold the geese for bribes,
With other vile intriguing.

XXIII.
Then, forc'd against his will, to stand
Before twelve sturdy fellows;
And only holding up his hand,
They all turn'd fortune tellers.

XXIV.
Who said, (ah, wonderful to tell!)
By what they could discover,
Though now the man was sound and well,
His days would soon be over.

XXIV.
And so it did this wight betide,
Just like to Tyburn's fashion,
Sublime, on two-wheel'd car, to ride,
And make a fine oration.

XXVI.
But sad and mournful was his part;
He scarce had made an end on 't,
When off they drove the two-wheel'd cart,
And left the speaker pendent.

XXVII.
Still, as great men to death draw higher,
They rise, and prove they're true wits;
So his last day he mounted higher,
Like Haman, fifty cubits.

XXVIII.
Ye statesmen all, so blithe and gay,
In life's delusive morning,
Here learn each dog must have his day,
And from this fate take warning:

XXIX.
No further seek his faults to learn,
No further search his glory—
Our fame, how short! and, mortal man,
Good lack! how transitory!

XXX.
Yet shall the foolish folks, for aye,
Whose brains would fill a thimble,
Striking their pensive bosoms, say,
"Here lies poor WILLIAM WIMBLE."
Occasioned by the awful and untimely Death of the Honorable WILLIAM WIMBLE, who, by the coroner's inquest, was found to have come to his end by suffocation.
"Hic cinis, ubique fama."
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  • Analysis ( hide ) This poem is a sarcastic piece masking contempt as fake grief, turning the era's expected mournful elegies into a brutal takedown. It's the author spitting out a hit piece where you'd normally expect a hymn.
  • It breaks from the author's usual serious, nation-building poems to mock a political rival with street-level ridicule. It’s a gossip column in verse, focusing on bribes, lost elections, and skin diseases instead of lofty ideals.
  • The old-timey words like "corse" and "dodging" aren’t just for show - they dress cheap insults in a fancy formal suit, making the mockery even more cutting by using the target's own dignified language against him.
  • Form-wise, the simple, bouncy ballad meter makes the vicious satire catchy and memorably cruel, like a nasty tavern tune you can’t get out of your head.
  • The heraldry section is pure parody, using the complex language of family coats-of-arms to "prove" the subject's lineage is trash, showing how empty symbols of power really are.
  • Overall, it’s a cautionary tale dressed as a joke, warning that flashy, corrupt politicians will get their comeuppance, with the final fake-grave marker as the ultimate punchline. (ai)
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Sonnet XII: On Receiving the News of the Death of General Washington

Hark! friends! what sobs of sorrow, moans of grief,
On every gale, through every region spread!
Hark! how the western world bewails our chief,
Great Washington, his country's father dead!
Our living light expiring with his breath
His bright example still illumes our way
Through the dark valley of thy shadow, death!
To realms on high of life without decay.
Faint, he relied on heav'nly help alone
While conscience cheer'd th' inevitable hour;
When fades the glare of grandeur, pomp of pow'r,
And all the pageantry that gems a throne:
Then from his hallow'd track, who shall entice
Columbia's sons to tread the paths of vice?
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  • Analysis ( hide ) Rips theatrical grief straight out Classical epic stage directions. His other poems use hero-worship too, but here the "HARK!" shoves public mourning in your face - it's propaganda-level decibel.
  • Switches from funeral march to hellfire sermon real quick. First comes the national sob story, then boom: a question about steering society. His other soldier-bard stuff loves a moral lectern.
  • Spits scripture like everyone in 1800 did. That "dark valley" nonsense is straight-up Psalm 23 repurposed. Typical for the time: cloak your dead president in Bible verses to make him a saint.
  • Shines a light on the Republic's bare bones, not a throne's jewels. While Europe still wrote odes for kings, this ditches "grandeur" and "pomp" to focus on the man's "track" and his "example" - pure revolutionary branding.
  • Ends with a guilt-trip to keep the kids in line. A dead leader can't make policy, so instead, it asks who'll dare sin now? Other period elegies end peaceful - this one’s a warning shot to stay righteous. (ai)
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