The Works of Thomas Love Peacock

There was a time when Freedom's seraph smile
With heav'nly radiance, bless'd this prosp'rous Isle,
When Peace and Plenty led their joyful band
And pour'd down bliss and pleasure on the land,
When Truth and Justice in the realm were found,
And British bosoms dwelt on British ground.

There was a time (but ah! that time is fled)
When crown'd with honors Virtue rais'd her head:
When, never failing rev'rence to inspire,
Was heard the manly voice of Patriot fire:
Heard now no more—no more is Virtue found
With joy regarded and with glory crown'd:
He who but prays to Heav'n the realm to save,
Receives from power—a dungeon and a grave.

Long, long alas! “to gath'ring ills a prey”
Has British Freedom mourn'd her quick decay!
Long, long alas! the iron hand of power
Has aim'd its fury at her rock-built Tower,
That Tow'r which, led by Truth's and Justice' fires,
Rais'd to her blest domain our fame-crown'd sires

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And piece by piece, has hurl'd its ruins wide
To the black gulph of Tyranny and Pride!
Who shall restore, (just Heav'n!) her hallow'd reign
And rear the sacred edifice again?
Who shall to Virtue Liberty restore,
And give us all the rights we held before?
Alas, our fire is with that Freedom fled,
In whose dear cause our great forefathers bled.
This was the land where, dear to age and youth,
Reign'd Virtue, Freedom, Innocence, and Truth,
Where Britons saw, whoe'er in pow'r appear'd,
Their rights respected and their laws revered!

This is the land where War's destructive train
With blood-stain'd sceptre hold their iron reign,
Where Persecution's ever hated sway
Stamps with black mis'ry each revolving day,
Where, while all ties of Justice are contemn'd,
To be suspected is to be condemn'd,
Where Innocence in dreary dungeons thrown
Is left unpitied and unheard to groan,
And where sweet Liberty's unfeeling foes
Exult and riot in a Nation's woes.

O ye, who whilst sweet Concord's flag is furled,
Let War's red Demons loose upon the World!
Ye, who have sent full many a Hero brave
An early victim to a distant grave!
By whom [confin'd] in many a dreary cell,
Truth, Virtue, Justice, bid the world farewell!
Yet know, that Heaven which rules above the sky,
Views all your actions with impartial eye,

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The Widow's pray'rs that Heaven with pity hears
And beams compassion on the Orphan's tears,
Yes, and that Heaven to which all pow'r belongs,
That Heav'n which pities can avenge their wrongs.

University of Virginia Library

LIBERTY

PART OF A LETTER TO A FRIEND