The Poetical Works of John Langhorne ... To which are prefixed, Memoirs of the Author by his Son the Rev. J. T. Langhorne ... In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| v. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
|
| 1. |
INTRODUCTION. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
 | The Poetical Works of John Langhorne |  |
47
INTRODUCTION.
In Richard's days, when lost his pastur'd plain,
The wand'ring Briton sought the wild wood's reign,
With great disdain beheld the feudal hord,
Poor life-let vassals of a Norman Lord;
And, what no brave man ever lost, possess'd
Himself—for Freedom bound him to her breast.
The wand'ring Briton sought the wild wood's reign,
With great disdain beheld the feudal hord,
Poor life-let vassals of a Norman Lord;
And, what no brave man ever lost, possess'd
Himself—for Freedom bound him to her breast.
Lov'st thou that Freedom? By her holy shrine,
If yet one drop of British blood be thine,
See, I conjure thee, in the desart shade,
His bow unstrung, his little household laid,
Some brave forefather; while his fields they share,
By Saxon, Dane, or Norman banish'd there!
And think he tells thee, as his soul withdraws,
As his heart swells against a tyrant's laws,
The war with Fate, though fruitless to maintain,
To guard that liberty he lov'd in vain.
If yet one drop of British blood be thine,
See, I conjure thee, in the desart shade,
His bow unstrung, his little household laid,
Some brave forefather; while his fields they share,
By Saxon, Dane, or Norman banish'd there!
And think he tells thee, as his soul withdraws,
As his heart swells against a tyrant's laws,
The war with Fate, though fruitless to maintain,
To guard that liberty he lov'd in vain.
48
Were thoughts like these the dream of ancient time?
Peculiar only to some age, or clime?
And does not Nature thoughts like these impart,
Breathe in the soul, and write upon the heart?
Peculiar only to some age, or clime?
And does not Nature thoughts like these impart,
Breathe in the soul, and write upon the heart?
Ask on their mountains yon deserted band,
That point to Paoli with no plausive hand;
Despising still, their freeborn souls unbroke,
Alike the Gallic and Ligurian yoke!
That point to Paoli with no plausive hand;
Despising still, their freeborn souls unbroke,
Alike the Gallic and Ligurian yoke!
Yet while the patriots' gen'rous rage we share,
Still civil safety calls us back to care;—
To Britain lost in either Henry's day,
Her woods, her mountains one wild scene of prey!
Fair Peace from all her bounteous vallies fled,
And Law beneath the barbed arrow bled.
Still civil safety calls us back to care;—
To Britain lost in either Henry's day,
Her woods, her mountains one wild scene of prey!
Fair Peace from all her bounteous vallies fled,
And Law beneath the barbed arrow bled.
In happier days, with more auspicious fate,
The far-fam'd Edward heal'd his wounded state;
Dread of his foes, but to his subjects dear,
These learn'd to love, as those are taught to fear,
Their laurell'd Prince with British pride obey,
His glory shone their discontent away.
The far-fam'd Edward heal'd his wounded state;
Dread of his foes, but to his subjects dear,
These learn'd to love, as those are taught to fear,
Their laurell'd Prince with British pride obey,
His glory shone their discontent away.
With care the tender flower of love to save,
And plant the olive on Disorder's grave,
For civil storms fresh barriers to provide,
He caught the fav'ring calm and falling tide.
And plant the olive on Disorder's grave,
For civil storms fresh barriers to provide,
He caught the fav'ring calm and falling tide.
| The Poetical Works of John Langhorne | |