 | The miscellaneous essays and occasional writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq |  |
42
VERSES
Inscribed to the officers of the 35th regiment on their embarkation for the expedition against Louisbourg.
Now warmer suns, once more bid nature smile,
The new-born spring peeps from the teaming soil:
From ice the streams, the fields from snow are free,
And blossoms swell on every pregnant tree:
The softened season melts in sudden show'rs,
And April all her flow'ry treasures pours;
Well might I sing the early warbling lay
Of rural songsters at the dawn of day;
The riv'let winding thro' the long drawn vale,
The new cloth'd mountain, the green tufted dale;
Or shepherd's pipe, that in melodious strains,
Welcomes the spring to valleys, hills and plains.
But these I leave, and for the aspiring muse,
A nobler theme, a loftier subject choose.
This is the season whose warm rays inspire,
Heroic bosoms with a martial fire:
To war's alarms all softer pleasures yield,
And ev'ry Briton burns to take the field.
The drums loud beat, the fife's shrill soaring lay,
The trumpet's clangor, the dread cannon's play;
All, all conspire to bid the heroes go
And thunder vengeance on the daring foe.
Ye who have roll'd the winter months away,
In scenes of pleasure and in pastimes gay;
At home endow'd with ev'ry art to please,
Of free politeness and becoming ease;
Abroad, the noble champions of our cause,
Protectors of our liberties and laws.
The new-born spring peeps from the teaming soil:
From ice the streams, the fields from snow are free,
And blossoms swell on every pregnant tree:
The softened season melts in sudden show'rs,
And April all her flow'ry treasures pours;
Well might I sing the early warbling lay
Of rural songsters at the dawn of day;
The riv'let winding thro' the long drawn vale,
The new cloth'd mountain, the green tufted dale;
Or shepherd's pipe, that in melodious strains,
Welcomes the spring to valleys, hills and plains.
But these I leave, and for the aspiring muse,
A nobler theme, a loftier subject choose.
This is the season whose warm rays inspire,
Heroic bosoms with a martial fire:
To war's alarms all softer pleasures yield,
And ev'ry Briton burns to take the field.
43
The trumpet's clangor, the dread cannon's play;
All, all conspire to bid the heroes go
And thunder vengeance on the daring foe.
Ye who have roll'd the winter months away,
In scenes of pleasure and in pastimes gay;
At home endow'd with ev'ry art to please,
Of free politeness and becoming ease;
Abroad, the noble champions of our cause,
Protectors of our liberties and laws.
Long have you known the gently thrilling fires
Which beauty kindles and which love inspires;
Long have enjoy'd the graces of the fair,
To please and to be pleas'd was all your care:
Far other transports now your bosoms warm,
Far other glories your ambition charm.—
Go, seek for conquest where loud tumults reign,
Where death runs liquid o'er the impurpled plain;
Where victor's shouts, and vanquish'd warriors cries
In clouds of smoke promiscuously arise,
And undistinguish'd reach the vaulted skies:
Where desolation stalks the tragic field,
Where Britons conquer, and where Frenchmen yield.
Which beauty kindles and which love inspires;
Long have enjoy'd the graces of the fair,
To please and to be pleas'd was all your care:
Far other transports now your bosoms warm,
Far other glories your ambition charm.—
Go, seek for conquest where loud tumults reign,
Where death runs liquid o'er the impurpled plain;
Where victor's shouts, and vanquish'd warriors cries
In clouds of smoke promiscuously arise,
And undistinguish'd reach the vaulted skies:
Where desolation stalks the tragic field,
Where Britons conquer, and where Frenchmen yield.
See on the surface of that rolling tide
Fast moor'd the proud expecting navies ride:
They loose their streamers from each top mast height,
And spread their wings, impatient for the fight;
Eager thro' seas, to waft you hence away,
Where laurels strew the field, and honours crown the day.
Fast moor'd the proud expecting navies ride:
They loose their streamers from each top mast height,
And spread their wings, impatient for the fight;
Eager thro' seas, to waft you hence away,
Where laurels strew the field, and honours crown the day.
44
Oh! may indulgent heav'n assistance to lend!
Oh! may success Britannia's arms attend:
Let ev'ry sword a keen destruction wear;
Each well aim'd spear a pointed vengeance bear;
And may each heroe, that we send from home,
Back to our wishing arms a glorious conqueror come.
Oh! may success Britannia's arms attend:
Let ev'ry sword a keen destruction wear;
Each well aim'd spear a pointed vengeance bear;
And may each heroe, that we send from home,
Back to our wishing arms a glorious conqueror come.
| The miscellaneous essays and occasional writings of Francis Hopkinson, Esq | |