 | Churchill defended, a poem |  |
Gods! how I grow an Angel while I read—
Quick—plant a Dagger in my Hand with Speed,
And let me plunge it in a Villain's Breast,
Whoe'er he is, by whom a Land's distress'd;
Who to the Yoke a liberal Race would bring,
And with Delusion lulls an honest King.
See—see the Hangman comes to stop my Breath!
Well—I shall live for ever after Death:
Mine will be one of those Elysian Bowers,
Where Pleasure ever leads the roseate Hours;
Where Reguluses venerable Shade
Finds all the Torments of his Life well paid;
Where Curtius from the Gulph a Spirit sprung,
And all Elysium at his Entrance rung:
There Aristides, all his Hardships o'er,
Now meets with Greek Ingratitude no more.
Finds, notwithstanding human Disregard,
That Justice one Day meets its full Reward;
There Nought can possibly perplex the Blest,
There all is Transport, or Ambrosial Rest:
In their soft Sleep unruffled Fancy teems
With Entertainment of pacific Dreams;
Awake, the People of the blest Abode
Hold noble Converse on the Works of God;
Or to seraphic Notes they tune the Lyre;
Their Hands obey the beatific Fire;
Their Song is worthy of the Realms of Day,
And Streams and Groves return the silver Lay!
Quick—plant a Dagger in my Hand with Speed,
And let me plunge it in a Villain's Breast,
Whoe'er he is, by whom a Land's distress'd;
Who to the Yoke a liberal Race would bring,
And with Delusion lulls an honest King.
See—see the Hangman comes to stop my Breath!
Well—I shall live for ever after Death:
Mine will be one of those Elysian Bowers,
Where Pleasure ever leads the roseate Hours;
Where Reguluses venerable Shade
Finds all the Torments of his Life well paid;
Where Curtius from the Gulph a Spirit sprung,
And all Elysium at his Entrance rung:
11
Now meets with Greek Ingratitude no more.
Finds, notwithstanding human Disregard,
That Justice one Day meets its full Reward;
There Nought can possibly perplex the Blest,
There all is Transport, or Ambrosial Rest:
In their soft Sleep unruffled Fancy teems
With Entertainment of pacific Dreams;
Awake, the People of the blest Abode
Hold noble Converse on the Works of God;
Or to seraphic Notes they tune the Lyre;
Their Hands obey the beatific Fire;
Their Song is worthy of the Realms of Day,
And Streams and Groves return the silver Lay!
| Churchill defended, a poem | |