 | Poems, by Joseph Cottle |  |
What is the far-fam'd hero's boasted claim,
On pure-ey'd reason, and unsullied fame?
The waster's rude of Chili's happy land?
The blood-drunk Conqueror's of Indostan's strand?
And all the train of Warriors', as they rose,
Feasting, from age to age, on human woes?
What the fierce Rival's of Moscovian Czar,
Or His, who tore Darius from his car?
Scourgers of earth, and Heralds of dismay,
Pests of mankind, and whirlwinds of their day;
From whose example blushing History rakes
Her nest of Scorpions, and her brood of Snakes;
Who, plac'd on thrones like these, like these have hurl'd
War's wasting firebrands o'er a suff'ring world.
On pure-ey'd reason, and unsullied fame?
The waster's rude of Chili's happy land?
The blood-drunk Conqueror's of Indostan's strand?
And all the train of Warriors', as they rose,
Feasting, from age to age, on human woes?
What the fierce Rival's of Moscovian Czar,
Or His, who tore Darius from his car?
Scourgers of earth, and Heralds of dismay,
Pests of mankind, and whirlwinds of their day;
From whose example blushing History rakes
Her nest of Scorpions, and her brood of Snakes;
85
War's wasting firebrands o'er a suff'ring world.
| Poems, by Joseph Cottle | |