The sea serpent vs. the poets, 1817
Few events escaped the attention of 19th-century amateur American poets, and the sea serpent was no exception. A whimsical poem printed in the Newburyport Herald was answered by another in the Boston Patriot, and neither will be recorded as great moments in American literature.
“Jonathan” spreads a thin layer of humor and hyperbole over a conversation with the aquatic marvel, stretching its length from the usual 100 feet to half a mile and crediting it with driving herring to the fisherfolk of Cape Ann.
A couple notes: The “monster on Parnassus” would be a less-than-lyrical poet, Parnassus being sacred to the god Apollo, who oversaw poetry, among other things. “Airs of Palestine” is a long poem by John Pierpont, just published in 1816. At this time, “non-descript” meant “not described,” in the sense of a biologist describing the characteristics of a species.
“The Sea-Monster,” by “Jonathan.” Newburyport Herald, Commercial and Country Gazette [Newburyport, Massachusetts] 2 September 1817 [Tuesday]; p. 4.
Jonathan catechiseth the Great Serpent,—talketh with him in a friendly manner,—and showeth that there is as monstrous a monster on Parnassus as there is in Cape-Ann harbour.
Good mister Monster, pray how big art thou?
What is thy shape?—How art thou made?
Art fashion’d like a fish, snake, horse, or how?
Come to the land and talk with me;
Be not afraid
And I will tell thee what folks think of thee.
’Tis said, when stretch’d at length upon the ocean,
That thou wilt reach a half a mile, or so,
Looking like rum-casks swimming in a row;
And when thy train thou writhest to and fro,
The sea is thrown in terrible commotion.
Like other bloated reptiles, fill’d with pride,
Thy head thou rearest high above the tide,
And seem’st, in op’ning thy huge jaws, to say,
Like them, ‘ye pigmies, keep out of my way.’
Where are there kept to sell
The raw materials of thy ball-proof shell?
A coat like yours would be a clever thing
For many a war-like President and King.
What is thy colour? Diff’rent people say
That thou art black, white, brown, and green & grey,
And that thy eyes, not with “hell’s sparkles” glow,*
But that they are two hells in embryo.
Thou’st fond of mutton, too, they say;
For sometimes thou wilt sweep
Out of the sea to catch a harmless sheep:—
How many hundreds could’s thou eat a day?
Pray, great Sir Monster, whither dost thou roam?
And tell us wherefore thou hast left thy home.
Where is thy home?—What ocean gave thee birth?
Wast born in frozen regions of the Pole,
Where Northern seas their icy billows roll,
And Hecla’s thunders shake the solid earth?
Hast heard the Baltic with hoarse clangour rave?
Or, as thy beard and whiskers say indeed,
Art thou a Musselman of Turkish breed?
And hast thou bath’d in the Ægean wave?
Why hast thou left thy home?
Like Europe’s peasants, have you learn’d to hate
Your native clime, and hence expatriate?
Or dost thou hither come,
Flying from justice, a French refugee,
To this “asylum of oppress’d humanity?”
Or art thou,—like the Yankies [sic] who, of late,
Expect to find, sans labour, care, or money,
A place which overflows with milk and honey,—
To western lands about to emigrate?
In one thing thou hast been more wise than they,
Who to this earthly Eden beg their way;
Thy monstrous shoal of herring long will last
To give thee, ev’ry day, a rich repast:
Twas kind in thee to drive them to Cape-Ann,
Where every being is a fisherman.
Didst ever see a whale? Some folks there are,
Who say thou art a whale, and e’en declare,
The very one, in whose capacious crop
Old Jonah liv’d, like King in butcher’s shop.
That thou art the Behemoth some believe,—
Some, the Leviathan of which Job writ,—
Some, the same serpent that beguiled Eve,—
And some that thou are Satan from the pit.
Thou seem’st whate’er folks say, whate’er thou be,
At least, the mighty Mogul of the sea.
—
*A spark of hell lies burning on his eye.
Airs of Palestine.
JONATHAN.
“Ora’s” sea serpent answers “Jonathan” in biblical history thickly studded with apostrophes.
“The Sea-Serpent’s Answer to Jonathan,” by “Ora.” Boston Patriot and Daily Chronicle [Boston, Massachusetts] 26 September 1817 [Friday]; p. 2.
As late I trod the sounding shore,
And listen’d to the ocean’s roar;
Sad gazing o’er the wat’ry way,
My thoughts with one that’s far away;
I saw the curling waves divide,
And floating proudly on the tide
The Serpent came! his glitt’ring crest
Rose high above the billow’s breast;
His brilliant scales of varied glow
Reflected in the wave below;
While flash’d his eye with glance severe
Like sun-beam on a glitt’ring spear:
Pow’rless, inert, I stood amaz’d,
While haughty round, the monster gaz’d;
Then spoke; his voice was like the breeze
Rushing amidst the forest trees:—
What first he said, I could not hear,
My senses were benumb’d by fear;
He seem’d to speak of some address
Made through the medium of the press,
Then cried, “I wish that man to see,
“Who fram’d this strange address to me,
“For he must be, (none can deny)
“As much a non-descript as I;—
“He asks me many a question wise}
“About my form, my shell and eyes;}
“To those I scorn to give replies:}
“Some few I’ll answer of the best;
“Who pleases answer all the rest.—
“He asks, “what ocean is my home?”
“ ’Tis through each ocean’s depths to roam:
“I have no home, is my reply,
“The wandering Jew of ocean I.
“He asks, “what ocean gave me birth?”
“I was not born on sea or earth;
“I sprang to life, at God’s command,
“Ere Man was moulded by his hand;
“Then I possess’d the pow’r to rove
“O’er hill or dale, through mead or grove;
“Aloft, on any a circling spire,
“With scale of gold, and eye of fire:
“Admir’d, admiring; fearing none,
“In splendid pride—unmatch’d—alone—
“Curs’d be the day I left the main,
“To sport on earth’s enamel’d plain!
“Or sought the gates of Paradise,
“And wanton’d in its groves of spice.
“Wearied, at length, I sank to rest;
“I woke with dreadful weight opprest!
“In vain I strove, with artful wile,
“To free myself from Satan’s toil;
“In vain I sought to reach the wave,
“I felt myself a passive slave;
“A fire was in my breast and brain;
“I know not how I reach’d the plain
“Where rich in fruit and fragrance stood,
“The Test of Man, the Tree of God!
“Near it, array’d in ev’ry grace,
“A faultless form, an angel’s face,
“The Woman stood; I will not tell}
“The guilty act by which she fell.—}
“ ’Tis mourn’d in Heaven, and prais’d in Hell!}
“With rapid speed I left the tree,
“I felt again that I was free;
“By instinct urg’d I sought to fly,
“Joy swell’d my heart, and hope mine eye;
“For, from the taste of that dread tree,
“I knew that speech remain’d to me;
“Short was my rapture—judgment came;
“Well is my sentence known to fame!
“Still does that fire in me remain;
“And I a tenant of the main.—
“Five thousand years and more, have flown,
“And still I live, and live alone.
“My life must last while earth remains;
“Fain would I die, but Heaven restrains:
“On me how useless are your arts!
“Pow’rless your balls—pointless your darts:
“Vainly your puny nets are spread;
“My Fate withholds me from the dead!”
He ceas’d—and plunging in the sea,
Left me from fear, and danger free.
With rapid step I left the shore,
Nor saw the “Great Sea-Monster” more.
ORA.
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