The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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| II. | ODE II. |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
ODE II.
Hell hears our pray'r!—all is not lost—
Behold a chosen few, a host,
Stand forth the champions of the glorious cause!
The jails are opening!—hark! the iron doors!
Chains clank!—the brazen throat of Tumult roars;
And lo, the destin'd victims of the laws!
Disgorg'd, they pour in dark'ning tribes along,
And mingle with our democratic throng!
Behold a chosen few, a host,
Stand forth the champions of the glorious cause!
The jails are opening!—hark! the iron doors!
Chains clank!—the brazen throat of Tumult roars;
And lo, the destin'd victims of the laws!
Disgorg'd, they pour in dark'ning tribes along,
And mingle with our democratic throng!
Bedlam unlocks her melancholy cells!
Forth rush the maniacs grim, with joyful yells;
They tear their blankets, clap their phrensy'd hands;
They grind their teeth, they dance, they foam, they stare;
They rend with bursts of laughter wild the air;
And join, they know not why, our thick'ning bands.
Forth rush the maniacs grim, with joyful yells;
They tear their blankets, clap their phrensy'd hands;
They grind their teeth, they dance, they foam, they stare;
They rend with bursts of laughter wild the air;
And join, they know not why, our thick'ning bands.
217
Thou sun, withdraw thy hated day;
To Æthiop darkness yield thy reign;
And hide in clouds, O moon, thy ray,
Nor peep upon our spectre scene!—
Though faint thy solitary light,
We feel thy feeble beam too bright.
To Æthiop darkness yield thy reign;
And hide in clouds, O moon, thy ray,
Nor peep upon our spectre scene!—
Though faint thy solitary light,
We feel thy feeble beam too bright.
Ah! Peace, thy triumph now is o'er!
Thy cheek so cheerful smiles no more;
Thine eye with disappointment glooms!
Our music shall be Nature's cry;
Our ears shall feast on Pity's sigh—
Lo, haggard Death prepares his tombs!—
Thy cheek so cheerful smiles no more;
Thine eye with disappointment glooms!
Our music shall be Nature's cry;
Our ears shall feast on Pity's sigh—
Lo, haggard Death prepares his tombs!—
Hot with the fascinating grape, we reel;
The full proud spirit of rebellion feel!—
Son of Sedition, daring Paine,
Whilst speech endues thy treason tongue
Bid the roof ring with damned song,
And Erebus shall echo back the strain.
The full proud spirit of rebellion feel!—
Son of Sedition, daring Paine,
Whilst speech endues thy treason tongue
Bid the roof ring with damned song,
And Erebus shall echo back the strain.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |