 | Occasional Poems |  |
IV.
IV. 1.
Fill high the measure of your shame,In bloody pomp prepare
The sable block, the tort'ring wheel,
The axe's horrent glare;
Then mask'd in Falsehood's varnish'd guise,
In mock'ry cheat the world with lies:
Decree, with hearts which only feel
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The sacred blood of royalty to flow:
Deep brand the hateful nation's fame,
Whilst all, to consecrate your crimes,
The hoary doating judges stand
Perverting Justice' scale, with corrupt hand;
Disgrace of senates! chain'd on the blast of scorn,
Meet recompence, through future times,
With public infamy your guilt be borne.
IV. 2.
Treason! what pow'r arrests thine armIn palsied stupor bound!
What magic charms thy hand disarm!
High rais'd to give the wound.
Or does the thunder of the sky
Confound the guilty head?
Or does the voice of Conscience cry,
All hell is in the deed?
Soon these shall pour vindictive storm
Of fire, and wrath, and plagues deform:
Meanwhile, in earnest of the fate
That hangs indignant o'er the rebel state,
Albion, to whom the godlike pow'r is given,
To wield tremenduous the scourge of Heav'n,
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Thee, Keith! whose dauntless presence sinks the bold,
And martial menace, like her chiefs of old,
Shot through each heart dismays the hideous crew.
IV. 3.
Lo! where his lion-port he rears,Dreadful with awe-commanding frown,
And blasts the proud with freezing fears,
His looks to Gorgon terror grown:
Like inspiration on his kindling soul,
The island-genius comes, and clothes his brow
With bold demeanor to controul,
And fires with loyal zeal, and gives his eyes to glow.
See, in his mighty hand he grasps, to bear
Terrific thunders of Britannia's spear:
Vengeful, aloft, the chief displays
Her brandish'd lightnings forky blaze;
'Mid splendors fierce her sevenfold shield,
Ægis of Jove, whose flaming ray
Darts heav'n-bred horrors o'er the blood-stain'd field;
Despair, and hasty rout, and flying wild dismay.
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