 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton
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LXXXIII.
[Æl.]
If in this battle luck deserts our gare,
To Bristol they will turn their fury dire;
Bristol, and all her joys, will sink to air,
Burning perforce with unaccustomed fire.
Then let our safety doubly move our ire,
As wolves, wide-roving for the evening prey,
Seeing the lamb and shepherd near the briar,
Doth th'one for safety, th'one for hunger slay.
Then when the raven croaks upon the plain,
Oh! let it be the knell to mighty Dacians slain!
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Chatterton
| |
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