Pinkster Ode

The 'Pinkster Ode' appeared in pamphlet form in Albany, 1803. The poem was reprinted as an item of interest in the New York Folklore Quarterly, Vol. 8, 1952. Following are the 1952 comments of the Quarterly's editor, and the full text of the Ode as it appeared in that journal.

PINKSTER ODE, ALBANY, 1803

Copied by Geraldine R. Pleat and Agnes N. Underwood

[Editor's Note: One of the treasures of the State Library at Albany is a pamphlet containing the following Ode, perhaps the earliest description of a folk festival in the United States. On the day following Pinkster (Pentecost or Whitmanday) the Negroes of Albany held revels on Pinkster Hill, the approximate site of the present State Capitol. Gradually the celebration extended far into the week until in April of 1811, the Common Council of Albany passed rules aimed at "boisterous rioting and drunkenness"—rules which were the knell of the Pinkster holidays with their African folk dances. King Charley, the great Negro drummer and master of ceremonies, died in 1924, when he was said to be one hundred and twenty-five years old. He is certainly one of the important figures in American folklore. Folklorists and historians will be interested also in the other members of the crowd which swirled around old Charley, but it is also to be remembered that those who danced on Pinkster Hill were Negroes and nearly all of them slaves. (Slavery in the State was not completely abolished until 1827.) The whites were spectators.]

[Title page]
A
PINKSTER ODE
For the Year 1803.
Most Respectfully Dedicated To
CAROLUS AFRICANUS, REX:
Thus Rendered in English:
KING CHARLES,
Capital-General and Commander in Chief
of the
PINKSTER BOYS.
By His Majesty's Obedient Servant,
ABSALOM AIMWELL, Esq.
Albany:
Printed Solely for the Purchasers and Others,
1803.

A Pinkster Song

When leave the fig tree putteth out,
When calves and lambs for mothers cry,
When toads begin to hop about,
We know of truth that summer's nigh.

So after Pos (Easter) when hens do cluck,
When gawky goblins peep and feed,
And boys get fewer eggs to suck,
We know that Pinkster comes indeed.

At Pinkster, flow'rs will deck the field,
And pleasures sweet will banish pain;
Love-broken-hearts shall all be heal'd,
Although they may be crack'd again.

Ay, hearts, tho' hard as blistered steel
And tough as nerves of turkey's thigh;
Must break, or melt, whene'er they feel
Bright Pinkster-sparks from Goonna's eye.

of Pinkster, who presumes to sing,
Must homage pay to Charles the King;
For Charles, like Israel's mighty Saul,
Is nobly born, well made and tall.
But Charles, like Saul, was never found
With naked people on the ground,
Dreaming about his father's asses;
No, no, King Charles dreams of the lasses.

On wing'd Pegasus, laureat Pye
May raise king George above the sky;
And Gallic poets strain their art,
To swell the fame of Bonaparte;
These bards of gas can never raise
A song that's fit for Charley's praise.
Tho' for a sceptre he was born,
Tho' from his tather's kingdom torn,
And doom'd to be a slave; still he
Retains his native majesty.

O could I loud as thunder sing,
Thy fame should sound, great Charles, the king,
From Hudson's stream to Niger's wave,
And rouse the friend of every slave.
But, cease to clank my hero's chain,
'Twill give his royal bosom pain-
Good Pinkster comes with merry glee,
And brings a gladsome Jubilee.

Rise then, each son of Pinkster, rise,
Snatch fleeting pleasure as it flies.
See Nature spreads her carpet gay,
For you to dance your care away.
"Care! what have we with care to do?
"Masters! Care was made for you.
"Behold rich free-men-see dull care
"Oft make their bodies lean and spare.
"How many weave the web of life,
"With wool of care, and warp of strife.
"With care of state and statesman groans,
"As if its weight would break his bones.
"But what have we with care to do,
"My Pinkster boys? 'tis not for you."
Thus spake the genius of the day,
As up the hill she led the way.

Now hark! the Banjo, rub a dub,
Like a washer-woman's tub;
And hear the drum, 'tis rolling now,
Row de dow, row de dow,.
The pipe and tabor, flute and fife,
Shall wake the dullest soul to life.

All beneath the shady tree
There they hold the jubilee.
Charles, the king, will then advance,
Leading on the Guinea dance,
Moving o'er the flow'ry green,
You'll know him by his graceful mien;
You'll know him on the dancing ground,
For where he is folks gather round;
You'll know him by his royal nose,
You'll know him by his Pinkster clothes,
You'll know him by his pleasant face,
And by his hat of yellow lace;
You'll know him by his princely air,
And his politeness to the fair;
And when you know him, then you'll see
A slave whose soul was always free.
Look till the visual nerves do pain,
You'll "never see his like again."

Ill-omen'd stars! malignant shone,
When Demons dragg'd thee from thy throne!
Afric with all her gold was poor,
When thou vast wafted from her shore.
Ah! when will Heaven, in justice drest,
Avenge the wrongs of the opprest!
Or will Heaven's Lord in vengeance swear,
Tyrants shall never enter there!
But-hush-now Charles the King harangues,
A hundred fiddles cease their twangs.
"Harken, ye sons of Ham, to me;
"This day our Bosses make us free;
"Now all the common on the hill,
"Is ours, to do what e'er we will.
"And let us by our conduct show,
"We thank them as we ought to do.
"While Demo hot and fiery Fed,
"Boast who for freedom most have bled;
"Let us, each woman, man and boy,
"Strive, who call freedom most enjoy;
"While on hot politics they sup,
"And mostly drink a bitter cup;
"Let us with grateful hearts agree
"Not to abuse our liberty.
"Tho' lordlings proud may domineer,
"And at our humble revelsjeer,
"Tho' torn from friends beyond the waves,
"Tho' fate has doom'd us to be slaves,
"Yet on this day, let's taste and see
"How sweet a thing is Liberty,
"What tho' for freedom we may sigh
"Many long years until we die,
"Yet nobly let us still endure
"The ills and wrongs we cannot cure.
"Tho' hard and humble be our lot,
"The rich man's spleen we envy not.
"While we have health, whence pleasure springs,
"And peace to purchase fiddle-strings,
"Let's with united voice agree
"To hail this happy jubilee.
"Behold for as green lawns are spread
"O'er graves of British heroes dead.
"Behold for us the vernal field,
"A thousand blooming pleasures yield.
"Zephyrs which play on bosoms fair,
"Will wonton on our woolly hair;
"While every bird on every tree,
"Proclaims our happy jubilee:
"Let us be jovial be as they,
"All on this holy holiday."

Thus spake King Charles, when all the crowd,
Roused full strong, long and loud,
And thank'd kind Heaven on bended knee,
For this, their short-lived liberty.

Reader, what here the bard relates,
Is what the muse anticipates;
As prophets erst were wont do to,
When all they said was certain true.
Now they strive the lyre again,
With louder and with louder strain.
The fiddles touch their sweetest strings,
While the ebon lassie sings;
And the pipe and tabor plays,
Brisk and merry rounde lays.
Again the fife and hollow drum
Calls you-come together come,
And sing a little, and laugh a little,
And fiddle a little, and foot it a little,
And while you swig the flowing cann,
Always be an honest man.
Africa's daughters full of glee,
Join the jolly jubilee.
Up the green and round the ring,
They will throng about their king;
Dancing true in gentle metre,
Moving every limb and feature.
Or under shades they talk and laugh,
And the cheering nectar quaff.
Handsome Phillis sings and shows
Fine white teeth in ivory rows;
And suffers him she fain would please,
To give her now and then a squeeze.
While the young Africs every where
Merry as the pipers are.

Charles! didst thou ever see
A hundred monkeys on a tree,
A hundred more upon the ground,
With orang outangs playing round?
Such numbers there might be, and noise;
From such a multitude of boys.
But should the rubble, wrong and rude,
Dare on your dancing lines intrude,
Then beat the banjo, rub a dub,
And send the rogues to Beelzebub.

Now, there will be, the eye to lure,
All the world in miniature.
Men of every grade you'll see,
From lowest born to high degree.
Indians from the west will come,
And people from the rising sun.
There you'll see brave mountaineers-
The independent Vermonteers.
You'll hear them ask for warlike news,
Of Bonaparte and Jarsey blues.
Then point out all the ways and means,
To drive the French from New-Orleans;
Where jealous Spain, our trade to stop,
Has damm'd the Mississippi up.

There, among the sons of Herman,
You'll meet with many an honest German,
Who will smoke and see it out,
Mit' cool strong peer and sour crout.

The Burgomaster in his place,
Will move along with sober pace;
Smoking, forest oat of the train,
_____ will answer yaw and nayn.

And next the Yankee, deep in trade,
Riding on his pacing jade,
Pull of learning, courage too,
He whistles yankee doodle do.

Brisk French Monsieurs, who come from far,
_____ all at once, we, we, be gar;
Sing Carmanole and libertie,
With footre jang and sac cra je.
The solemn Scot, whose ancient blood,
Swell'd royal veins form Noah's flood.
Can prove the kirk of Scotland stands
Higher on hills than level lands.
Explains predestination's law,
Ken's the who' plan of Adams's fa';
Claims right divine to heap abuse
On Papists, Turks, and stubborn Jews:
And will from 'lection creed not swerve;
He'd sooner hang, or burn, or starve.

Saint Patrick's sons will here and there
Give you a bold and manly stare,
For Shela's children when they roam,
Oft lave their modesty at home;
Or wear it out by travelling far,
And fighting either side, in war.

From high Welch mountains there will be
Saint Davy's sons, the brave and free.
Peace to these good industrious men,
May every one increase to ten.
May every ship find pleasant gales,
That brings the honest sons of Wales.

A few, who came from Albion's isle,
With envious, or contemptuous smile,
Will look around, surcharg'd with spleen,
And tell what they've in London seen.
And how their beef is better far,
Than ours, which smells so strong of tar.
How pitch-pine-knots ar'n't half so good
As English coal, for dressing food;
Declare we mostly cook our meat,
Not fit for gentlemen to eat-
Yet eat, and stuff themselves so full,
We shall find them proud and dull.

Oh, yonder stump stands Jack the Rover,
Who travell'd all the wide world over;
Harangues, and tells you where he's been,
What wonderous things he's heard and seen.
Tells how the ships at anchor ride
Where sixty feet's a common tide.
The wafts you from the Bay of Funda,
And blows you thro' the Straits of Sunda.
From Aetna dips out boiling lava,
Which, when 'tis cool, he leaves at Java,
Then rides you in a dreadful storm,
From Cape of Hope to Cape of Horn.
Describes the island of Delight,
The native charma of Otaheite.
Shows you, at Owybee, Cook's bones,
And his red blood, still on the stones;
Tells how the savage gave a yell,
When that BRAVE TAR ignobly fell.
Coasts every little island round,
And brings you safe to Nootka Sound:
Tells how he went a hunting there,
And caught an old Kampscatka bear.
Outruns a Lapland deer with ease,
Sails all between the Hebriddees,
After after all becomes a wreck,
Within ten miles of Boston-neck.
At Boston, he describes a play;
Ay, Boston where they us'd to pray,--
Declare the girls in Blue Beard sing
Chick a ching, chick a ching.
And then, a wiser song, some think,
In tink a tink, tink a tink!

Mimics Virginia negro players,
Wish other sentimental airs,
As, when he comes a rainy day,
Plant Tobacco Joshua.
So ends his travels with a jump,
To let Jo Growler mount the stump.

Jo is a politician; he
Thro' thick and think bawl'd Liberty!
Curst all the speculation laws,
Made but to pamper mister's maws.
Tells how the great Leviathan,
Last winter, "laid a monstrous plan;
"And join'd the great ones of the deep-
"First hush'd the centinels to sleep:
"And then fell too with main and might,
"Work'd double tides both day and night
"And form'd , a Bank, so strong and stout,
"It damm'd the little fishes out.
"Yes, friends, it was this monster's wish,
"To eat up all the little fish.
"And then to season such a fry,
"He cast about with eager eye.
"At length he spy'd (his nose's fault)
"He spy'd the Onondaga Salt!
"And with an appetite so keen,
"He would have lick'd it all up clean;
"And drank the lake, with every spring,
"As if it were a little thing.
"O had he swallow'd them by LAW!
"They'd make a fire within his maw,
"That soon would try his inward ____
"What! think to quiz a democrat!
"Zounds! federals never us'd us so,
"Nor gave us such a deadly blow.
"By - whoever tempts the Western Whale
"Must be more cautious of his tail.
"O one of us! O Jefferson!
"Where will thy head-strong children run!"
"Then left the rostrum, rav'd and swore,
Worse then he'd ever done before;
When erst, the treatry form'd by Jay,
Had barter'd all our rights away.
The faithful heard him with applause,
And curst the power that made the laws;
Declar'd the maj'sty of the People,
Was higher than the church's steeple.
Drank their lov'd whiskey all up clean,
If healths to Gid, and Gallatin,
Then for the Mammoth shouted loud,
And sally'd forth among the crowd.

Now turn thy feet another way,
Where the lads and lasses stray;
Troops of whom you soon will meet,
So gay, so delicate and sweet,
That by their faces you can't tell,
Which is beau, or which is belle.
But other signs will let you know,
The pretty belle from pretty beau.
Now, whether Yankee, Gaul or Don,
If he have green goggles on;
If to be quite the thing he tries;
If his fore-hair grows o'er his eyes;
If it sho uld make him almost blind,
If very short 'tis cut behind;
Or if he wear a Brutus wig,
With pantaloons all black and big,
These and segors, will let you know.
That it is certainly a beau.

If she has eyes as black as jet,
Is something of a smart coquette;
If her white bosom rises fair,
As though it low'd to take the air;
If her sweet lips appear to view
Like "rose-buds moist with morning dew,"
If she is either low or tall,
Or over plump or over small;
Or if she reaches just that height
Which gives your eye the most delight;
If her white dress be very thin,
Embracing close her snowy skin,
That, breezes blowing in her face,
Shews Venus much improv'd in grace;
By symbols such as these, we tell
That rose of life, a charming belle-
You'll see them now in couples pass,
Bonny lad with bonny lass.
Pleasures sweet they follow still,
Up the slope and down the hill.
There they find it all around,
On the merry Pinkster ground.

Every colour revels there,
From ebon black to lilly fair.
Ah! how much happiness they see,
In one short day of Liberty!
And now they move around the ring,
To see again the jovial king.
Charles rejoices at the sight
And dances, bowing most polite.

Now if you take a farther round
You'll reach the Africs' burying ground.
There as I rambled years ago,
To pass an hour of love-lorn woe;
I found a stone at Dinah's grave,
On which was carv'd the following stave:
Here lies Dinah, Sambo wife,
Sambo lub him like he life,
Dinah die 'bout sik week go,
Sambo massa tell he so.

"Theron in his travels found
A broken grave-stone on the ground,"
Time, mould and snow had overgrown,
The sculpture of the crumbling stone:
But yet, tis said, "with much ado,
He guess'd and spelt out Scipio."
So from this stone the teeth of Time,
Had knaw'd off part of every line,
That I could learn but only half
This most affecting epitaph.

"Enough," said Watts, "I'll drudge no more,
In turning the dull stoics o'er."
"Enough, says I, to Dinah's shade,
Thou too, wilt drudge no more, with spade,
Nor hoe, nor pot, nor washing tub,
Nor clean away-nor sweep, nor scrub.
Sleep on good wench, or only doze,
I'll not disturb thy blest repose.

Thy honest soul has wing'd its flight,
Beyond the reach of tyrant's sway;
In realms of everlasting light-
To meet good Benezet and Ley."

Oh! 'tis the Jews-harp's well known chord,
Which once was play'd to please the Lord,
That harp three thousand years ago,
With magic spell, could soften woe'
And still dispenses purest joy
O'er all the world, to very boy.

That harp, whose little tongue of steel,
Oft made the tribes of Israel feel,
That very harp which David play'd,
To lay a ghost or charm a maid.

But now the sun declining shows,
The day is drawing to a close,
When boys and girls should quiet their sport,
And to their mother's have resort.
Yet pleas'd they rove about the hill,
To wait the song of Whipper Will.
Then to the city all repair,
T'avoid the damps of evening air.
Except a few whose nerves are strong,
They join the revels all night long.
May-hap some nymph these may be found
Unwilling yet to leave the ground.
Of these, we trust there are but few,
Thus rambling o'er the nightly dew;
For if they romp beyond the jail,
'Tis ten to one but they are frail.
'Tis ten to one they find a lover,
With Joseph Growl or Jack the Rover,
These, with a few from every clime
Hail friends well met, at any time.
Hot blooded blades, who love a riot,
More than a Quaker loves his quiet.
With scum of whig and scum of tory,
Who walk in darkness seeking glory.
Paddles with big shelalies there,
Will take possession of the fair,
Then under cover of the night,
May have their choice-to run or fight.

While Charles reigns unmolested still,
The high commander of the hill;
Thro' all his camps, Peace, smiling reigns,
And no rude act his glory stains.
But, night is now advancing far,
We know it by the morning star.
Let Charles retire and rest his feet,
In gentle slumber soft and sweet:
Till light shall on the mountains play
And gild another Pinkster day.

Now let us sing, long live the king,
To reign on merry ground;
While Pinkster boys, replete with joys,
_____ his pavillion round.

FINIS