Poem of the Day: ‘On the Death of Dr. Benjamin Franklin’

Like his literary descendents, the Transcendentalists, Philip Freneau (1752–1832) was the sort of poet whose body of work largely illustrates that his real gift was for the essay. Wikipedia lists Freneau’s occupations as “poet, writer, polemicist,” which is accurate enough, though possibly it would be more accurate if the order were reversed. In the early 1770s, after abortive stints at teaching and the study of theology, Freneau first attracted literary notice not for poetry, but for anti-British essays as the Revolutionary War loomed. His six-week incarceration on a British prison ship during the war did lead to the writing and publication of a long poem called, unsurprisingly, “The British Prison Ship” — a poem that might have been more compelling, and had more staying power, as an essay. Nobody else was in the running for “Poet of the American Revolution,” however, so that crown landed on Freneau’s head.Today’s Poem of the Day appears on April 17, the anniversary of the day on which its subject, Benjamin Franklin (1706–1790), died. Freneau’s “On the Death of Dr. Benjamin Franklin” amounts to a verse essay establishing the greatness of its subject, in regular abab tetrameter quatrains that culminate in a six-line encomium. As a poem, it’s digestible and easy to memorize; in it we can discern the seeds of influence that would later germinate in the work of the Fireside Poets. And in fact, on this day, the poem does remind us not only of the long, varied, impressive life of Benjamin Franklin, but of the old public habit, fast slipping away from us, of remembering great people as great. On the Death of Dr. Benjamin Franklin by Philip Freneau Thus, some tall tree that long hath stood The glory of its native wood, By storms destroyed, or length of years, Demands the tribute of our tears. The pile, that took long time to raise, To dust returns by slow decays: But, when its destined years are o’er, We must regret the loss the more. So long accustomed to your aid, The world laments your exit made; So long befriended by your art, Philosopher, ‘tis hard to part! — When monarchs tumble to the ground, Successors easily are found: But, matchless Franklin! what a few Can hope to rival such as you, Who seized from kings their sceptered pride, And turned the lightning’s darts aside! ___________________________________________With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems are drawn from the deep traditions of English verse: the great work of the past and the living poets who keep those traditions alive. The goal is always to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.

Poem of the Day: ‘On the Death of Dr. Benjamin Franklin’

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