Ode to St. Tammany

When Superstition's dark and haughty plan

Fettered the genius and debased the man.

Each trifling legend was as truth received;

The priest invented, and the crowd believed;

Nations adored the whim in stone or paint,

And gloried in the fabricated saint.

Some holy guardian, hence, each nation claims --

Gay France her Denis and grave Spain her James.

Britons at once two mighty saints obey --

Andrew and Greorge maintain united sway.

O'er humbler lands the same odd whim prevails;

Ireland her Patrick boasts, her David wails.

We Pennsylvanians these old tales reject,

And our saint think proper to elect --

Immortal Tammany, of Indian race.

Great in the field and foremost in the chase,

No puny saint was he, with fasting pale.

He climbed the mountain and he swept the vale;

Rushed through the forest in unequal flight --

Your ancient saints would tremble at the sight --

Caught the swift boar and swifter deer with ease,

And worked a thousand miracles like these.

To public views he added private ends,

And loved his country most, and next his friends.

With courage long he strove to ward the blow,

(Courage we all respect e'en in a foe),

And when each effort he in vain had tried,

Kindled the flame in which he bravely died!

To Tammany let well-filled horns go round;

His fame let every honest tongue resound;

With him let every generous patriot vie

To live in freedom, or with honor die!

Nor shall I think my labors too severe,

Since ye, wise sachems, kindly deign to hear