The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys Late Minister Plenipotentiary from the United States of America to the Court of Madrid |
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 | The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys |  |
Ye sons of genius, who the pencil hold,
Whose master strokes, beyond description bold,
Of other years and climes the hist'ry trace,
Can ye for this neglect your kindred race?
Columbia calls—her parent voice demands
More grateful off'rings from your filial hands.
And soon some bard shall tempt the untry'd themes,
Sing how we dar'd, in Fortune's worst extremes;
What cruel wrongs th' indignant patriot bore,
What various ills your feeling bosoms tore,
What boding terrors gloom'd the threat'ning hour,
When British legions, arm'd with death-like pow'r,
Bade desolation mark their crimson'd way,
And lur'd the savage to his destin'd prey;
When fierce Germania her battalions pour'd,
And Rapine's sons, with wasting fire and sword,
Spread death around: where'er your eyes ye turn'd,
Fled were the peasants, and the village burn'd.
How did your hearts for others' suff'rings melt!
What tort'ring pangs your bleeding country felt!
What! when you fled before superior force,
Each succour lost, and perish'd each resource!
When nature, fainting from the want of food,
On the white snow your steps were mark'd in blood!
When through your tatter'd garbs you met the wind,
Despair before, and ruin frown'd behind!
When nought was seen around, but prospects drear,
Th' insulting foe hung dreadful on your rear,
And boastful ween'd, that day to close the scene,
And quench your name, as though it ne'er had been.
Whose master strokes, beyond description bold,
Of other years and climes the hist'ry trace,
Can ye for this neglect your kindred race?
Columbia calls—her parent voice demands
More grateful off'rings from your filial hands.
And soon some bard shall tempt the untry'd themes,
Sing how we dar'd, in Fortune's worst extremes;
What cruel wrongs th' indignant patriot bore,
What various ills your feeling bosoms tore,
What boding terrors gloom'd the threat'ning hour,
When British legions, arm'd with death-like pow'r,
Bade desolation mark their crimson'd way,
And lur'd the savage to his destin'd prey;
When fierce Germania her battalions pour'd,
And Rapine's sons, with wasting fire and sword,
Spread death around: where'er your eyes ye turn'd,
Fled were the peasants, and the village burn'd.
How did your hearts for others' suff'rings melt!
What tort'ring pangs your bleeding country felt!
What! when you fled before superior force,
Each succour lost, and perish'd each resource!
When nature, fainting from the want of food,
On the white snow your steps were mark'd in blood!
When through your tatter'd garbs you met the wind,
Despair before, and ruin frown'd behind!
When nought was seen around, but prospects drear,
Th' insulting foe hung dreadful on your rear,
And boastful ween'd, that day to close the scene,
And quench your name, as though it ne'er had been.
| The miscellaneous works of David Humphreys | |