The peripatetic or, Sketches of the heart, of nature and society; In a series of politico-sentimental journals, in verse and prose, of the eccentric excursions of Sylvanus Theophrastus; Supposed to be written by himself [by John Thelwall] |
 | [I]. |
| II. |
| III. |
[Accurs'd remembrance of intestine rage!] |
 | The peripatetic |  |
100
[Accurs'd remembrance of intestine rage!]
Accurs'd remembrance of intestine rage!
Lo! friend with friend, and kin with kin engage!
Then frantic Britain arts and laws forsook,
Let ploughshares rust, and broke the pastoral crook;
While harpy Discord wak'd the brazen sound,
Whose savage blast each social feeling drown'd,
And call'd her hinds, in each fierce baron's train,
To spread a bloody harvest o'er the plain;
With War's dread scythe the horrent fields to mow,
And lay the boast of human virtue low
At each stern Master's feet, whose fickle pride
Waver'd, in direful doubt, from side to side:
As interest prompts (but dimly understood)
As private pique, or daring thirst of blood,
As sordid bribes, or harlot smiles inspire,
Or spleenful Humour whets the fatal ire,
Each brutal chieftain arms, with impious joy,
And feels the dire ambition to destroy:
Thro' kindred ranks red Slaughter breaks their way,
And pomps of heraldry their crimes display.
Lo! friend with friend, and kin with kin engage!
Then frantic Britain arts and laws forsook,
Let ploughshares rust, and broke the pastoral crook;
While harpy Discord wak'd the brazen sound,
Whose savage blast each social feeling drown'd,
And call'd her hinds, in each fierce baron's train,
To spread a bloody harvest o'er the plain;
With War's dread scythe the horrent fields to mow,
And lay the boast of human virtue low
At each stern Master's feet, whose fickle pride
Waver'd, in direful doubt, from side to side:
As interest prompts (but dimly understood)
As private pique, or daring thirst of blood,
As sordid bribes, or harlot smiles inspire,
Or spleenful Humour whets the fatal ire,
101
And feels the dire ambition to destroy:
Thro' kindred ranks red Slaughter breaks their way,
And pomps of heraldry their crimes display.
See, helm on helm, and thronging shield on shield,
With proud devices darken all the field;
From sword to sword the beamy horror plays,
And from throng'd lances wasting lightnings blaze;
While high in air the threatning banners spread,
The white rose here, and there the flaunting red.
The dire alarm prophetic vultures sound,
And groaning myriads glut the purple ground;
While titled heroes hence their honours claim,
And float on vassal blood to impious fame.
With proud devices darken all the field;
From sword to sword the beamy horror plays,
And from throng'd lances wasting lightnings blaze;
While high in air the threatning banners spread,
The white rose here, and there the flaunting red.
The dire alarm prophetic vultures sound,
And groaning myriads glut the purple ground;
While titled heroes hence their honours claim,
And float on vassal blood to impious fame.
“O! thou, fond Many!” what hadst thou to do
In kindred blood the corslet to imbrue?
Ah! what avail'd the name the tyrant bore
Who trod your necks, or tax'd your hard-earn'd store?
One orphan'd babe defenceless left to sigh,
One briny tear that wash'd the widow'd eye,
If justly weigh'd, had wak'd a sharper pain
Than Edward's exile, or than Henry's chain.
But York's nor Lancaster's proud claims ye knew:
For humbler tyrants ye the falchion drew.
As herds to slaughter by their owners led,
Dumb, and unconscious of the cause, ye bled:
The titled ruffian the pretence supplied;
And as he frown'd the abject million died:
Each petty Jove, their madness to inflame,
Shouts the dread thunder of his worship'd name;
His blazon'd Ægis shakes; and thick they fall,
Till universal Darkness threatens all:—
O'er all the realm one night of Horror lowers,
And huge Destruction, unrestrain'd, devours;
With stride exulting stalks around the coast,
And snuffs the offerings of each vassal host!
In kindred blood the corslet to imbrue?
Ah! what avail'd the name the tyrant bore
Who trod your necks, or tax'd your hard-earn'd store?
One orphan'd babe defenceless left to sigh,
One briny tear that wash'd the widow'd eye,
If justly weigh'd, had wak'd a sharper pain
Than Edward's exile, or than Henry's chain.
But York's nor Lancaster's proud claims ye knew:
For humbler tyrants ye the falchion drew.
As herds to slaughter by their owners led,
Dumb, and unconscious of the cause, ye bled:
The titled ruffian the pretence supplied;
And as he frown'd the abject million died:
Each petty Jove, their madness to inflame,
Shouts the dread thunder of his worship'd name;
His blazon'd Ægis shakes; and thick they fall,
Till universal Darkness threatens all:—
O'er all the realm one night of Horror lowers,
And huge Destruction, unrestrain'd, devours;
102
And snuffs the offerings of each vassal host!
O, frantic England! prodigal of blood!
What stygian fury urg'd this impious mood—
To rend thy entrails thus?—while foreign foes
With grim delight behold thy savage woes—
See, with proud joy, thy own victorious sword
Turn'd on thy breast, with wilful fury gor'd,
While the gaunt spectre of thy Martial Fame
Fleets, like a Ghost, a wandering, empty name,
Self slain, and doom'd thro' all the desert land
To howl her guilt, and curse her frantic hand!
What stygian fury urg'd this impious mood—
To rend thy entrails thus?—while foreign foes
With grim delight behold thy savage woes—
See, with proud joy, thy own victorious sword
Turn'd on thy breast, with wilful fury gor'd,
While the gaunt spectre of thy Martial Fame
Fleets, like a Ghost, a wandering, empty name,
Self slain, and doom'd thro' all the desert land
To howl her guilt, and curse her frantic hand!
So, hapless Britain! in a later age,
I see thy sword against they Rights engage;
See thee, in mad delusion, blindly pour
Devoted armies on a foreign shore
To aid the cause of tyranny, and buy
Th'inglorious fetters freemen should destroy;
Blind to the schemes by artful statesmen plann'd!
And British Freedom falls on Gallia's strand:
Self-slain she falls in wild, misguided zeal,
And German Despots whet the fatal steel;
Then shout triumphant; to their legions call,
And hail the approaching hour of Britain's fall.
I see thy sword against they Rights engage;
See thee, in mad delusion, blindly pour
Devoted armies on a foreign shore
To aid the cause of tyranny, and buy
Th'inglorious fetters freemen should destroy;
Blind to the schemes by artful statesmen plann'd!
And British Freedom falls on Gallia's strand:
Self-slain she falls in wild, misguided zeal,
And German Despots whet the fatal steel;
Then shout triumphant; to their legions call,
And hail the approaching hour of Britain's fall.
Nor yet content might Titled Rage appear,
Nor stop at Murder in her mad career:
In bolder Crimes their feudal Pride prevail'd:
Fair Faith is slain; and Heaven itself assail'd.
See: on the sword yet stain'd with Yorkist blood,
The changing hero, in indignant mood,
Allegiance swears to York's expiring cause,
And back to life the shrinking Faction draws:
While he who late, the white rose on his crest,
Gor'd struggling Lancaster's aspiring breast,
Now stops the blood; recals the fleeting breath;
And vows to York's proud race dismay and death.
Nor stop at Murder in her mad career:
In bolder Crimes their feudal Pride prevail'd:
Fair Faith is slain; and Heaven itself assail'd.
See: on the sword yet stain'd with Yorkist blood,
The changing hero, in indignant mood,
Allegiance swears to York's expiring cause,
And back to life the shrinking Faction draws:
While he who late, the white rose on his crest,
Gor'd struggling Lancaster's aspiring breast,
103
And vows to York's proud race dismay and death.
Now, front to front, in threatning wrath, behold
Those painted targets and those helms of gold,
Erewhile whose proud devices, side by side,
Throng'd the same field, in amity allied;
And he who late o'er some half-vanquish'd friend
Rush'd the firm shield's protection to extend,
Now barb'd with vengeance wings the thirsty dart,
Or bathes his falchion in the suppliant's heart.
Those painted targets and those helms of gold,
Erewhile whose proud devices, side by side,
Throng'd the same field, in amity allied;
And he who late o'er some half-vanquish'd friend
Rush'd the firm shield's protection to extend,
Now barb'd with vengeance wings the thirsty dart,
Or bathes his falchion in the suppliant's heart.
No link of Friendship binds; no kindred tie;
And oaths in vain their feeble aid supply:
Nor pious awe, nor bond of Faith controls;
(Limbs cas'd in steel, and adamantine souls!)
Again they change, their broken leagues restore,
And seal new perjuries in new streams of gore.
Their ready slaves with blind obedience turn:
Change as they change, and as they dictate burn:
In either cause with equal zeal destroy;
Pleas'd if their Lords the savage Fame enjoy.
And oaths in vain their feeble aid supply:
Nor pious awe, nor bond of Faith controls;
(Limbs cas'd in steel, and adamantine souls!)
Again they change, their broken leagues restore,
And seal new perjuries in new streams of gore.
Their ready slaves with blind obedience turn:
Change as they change, and as they dictate burn:
In either cause with equal zeal destroy;
Pleas'd if their Lords the savage Fame enjoy.
Chief of these noble locusts, in its rage
Sent by offended Heaven to scourge the age,
Stern Warwick, proud in brutal might, appears
Hemm'd round with slaughters, devastations, fears.
His raging breath, omnipotent in ill!
Is drawn to stifle, and but flows to kill:
Tyrants to tyrants in succession rise:—
His voice creates them; and his frown destroys.
Sent by offended Heaven to scourge the age,
Stern Warwick, proud in brutal might, appears
Hemm'd round with slaughters, devastations, fears.
His raging breath, omnipotent in ill!
Is drawn to stifle, and but flows to kill:
Tyrants to tyrants in succession rise:—
His voice creates them; and his frown destroys.
Behold him now the cause of Edward own,
And lift the gaudy pageant to the throne;
That so the boy (whose vices speak his birth)
Sprung from the Imperial Spoilers of the Earth!
With England's treasures, and with England's dames
May soothe his follies, and indulge his flames—
O'erwearied Toil's extorted produce waste
In scenes of riot, and lascivious taste;—
Tear from the aged Matron's widow'd side
(Widow'd perhaps to prop his regal pride!)
The virgin treasure of her daughter's charms,
To lie polluted in imperial arms;—
Or doom the Husband, in the bloom of youth,
To mourn the pangs of unrewarded truth,
With guiltless shame his branded-forehead hide,
And mourn in widow'd sheets a living bride,
While the proud tyrant, whom his wealth sustains,
Feasts on his wrongs, and riots in his pains.
But scenes like these the milder woes display
That mark the ravages of kingly sway:
And panting Britain, worn with slaughtering toils,
Amid these humbler crimes indulgent smiles:—
Pleas'd the short ray of transient Peace to gain,
O'erlooks the princely vices in her train,
And deems it bliss nought heavier to support
Than the lewd pastimes of a wasteful court.
And lift the gaudy pageant to the throne;
That so the boy (whose vices speak his birth)
Sprung from the Imperial Spoilers of the Earth!
With England's treasures, and with England's dames
May soothe his follies, and indulge his flames—
104
In scenes of riot, and lascivious taste;—
Tear from the aged Matron's widow'd side
(Widow'd perhaps to prop his regal pride!)
The virgin treasure of her daughter's charms,
To lie polluted in imperial arms;—
Or doom the Husband, in the bloom of youth,
To mourn the pangs of unrewarded truth,
With guiltless shame his branded-forehead hide,
And mourn in widow'd sheets a living bride,
While the proud tyrant, whom his wealth sustains,
Feasts on his wrongs, and riots in his pains.
But scenes like these the milder woes display
That mark the ravages of kingly sway:
And panting Britain, worn with slaughtering toils,
Amid these humbler crimes indulgent smiles:—
Pleas'd the short ray of transient Peace to gain,
O'erlooks the princely vices in her train,
And deems it bliss nought heavier to support
Than the lewd pastimes of a wasteful court.
But, lo! in tears another Helen came:
With tears of oil to feed the dying flame,
Renew the wasting fires of Civil Rage,
And give to Slaughter's reign another age.
The British Paris feasts his wanton soul
(For what are Kings, if Reason must control!)
Fearless of injur'd Nevil's dangerous ire,
Hail's the fair sovereign of an hour's desire;
And Civil Discord lights the Nuptial Fire.
With tears of oil to feed the dying flame,
Renew the wasting fires of Civil Rage,
And give to Slaughter's reign another age.
The British Paris feasts his wanton soul
(For what are Kings, if Reason must control!)
Fearless of injur'd Nevil's dangerous ire,
Hail's the fair sovereign of an hour's desire;
And Civil Discord lights the Nuptial Fire.
Stern Warwick heard, as from the Gallic shore
His prosperous sail the plighted princess bore,
He heard: and like a thunderbolt he came,
That strikes some reverend Abbey's Gothic frame,
And while convulsive Nature rocks around
Lays it a smoking ruin on the ground,
(Its stately fanes, its pageant trophies torn
And all that distant ages vainly mourn,)
While prostrate crowds that worship in the quire,
Crush'd in the hideous shock, with unheard groans expire.
Behold, again, from Power's polluted seat,
The vain, ungrateful libertine retreat;
While monkish Henry, with his haughty queen,
(Wanton her heart, and insolent her mien!)—
This call'd from exile, that the dungeon's gloom,
Again the fickle diadem assume,
And his stern power with grateful transport hail,
Who turn'd so oft their sanguine faction pale.
His prosperous sail the plighted princess bore,
He heard: and like a thunderbolt he came,
That strikes some reverend Abbey's Gothic frame,
And while convulsive Nature rocks around
Lays it a smoking ruin on the ground,
105
And all that distant ages vainly mourn,)
While prostrate crowds that worship in the quire,
Crush'd in the hideous shock, with unheard groans expire.
Behold, again, from Power's polluted seat,
The vain, ungrateful libertine retreat;
While monkish Henry, with his haughty queen,
(Wanton her heart, and insolent her mien!)—
This call'd from exile, that the dungeon's gloom,
Again the fickle diadem assume,
And his stern power with grateful transport hail,
Who turn'd so oft their sanguine faction pale.
Poor groaning land whom equal ills betray
Beneath an idiot's or a tyrant's sway!
Thy people slaves; a proud, but powerless throne,
Propp'd by the nobles' force, and not its own;
Those nobles, lost, as all vain nobles are
To every liberal patriotic care!
Honour the exclusive name with which they grace
The pompous vices of their selfish race!
Scorning the crowd upon whose necks they ride!
Dead to each sense, but lust and giddy pride!
For them in War our wealth—our blood we show'r,—
And what War spares their Luxuries devour!—
Their gaudy crimes how long shall Britain brook,
Ere her bold offspring snap the galling Yoke?
Beneath an idiot's or a tyrant's sway!
Thy people slaves; a proud, but powerless throne,
Propp'd by the nobles' force, and not its own;
Those nobles, lost, as all vain nobles are
To every liberal patriotic care!
Honour the exclusive name with which they grace
The pompous vices of their selfish race!
Scorning the crowd upon whose necks they ride!
Dead to each sense, but lust and giddy pride!
For them in War our wealth—our blood we show'r,—
And what War spares their Luxuries devour!—
Their gaudy crimes how long shall Britain brook,
Ere her bold offspring snap the galling Yoke?
Their swords again the factious Barons draw—
“Swords and strong arms their conscience and their law!”
For faithless Edward still a host attends,
Whose interests, or whose passions are his friends.
Here, to this spot—whose guilty turf appears
Manur'd with blood and wet with orphans' tears;
And still where hovering ghosts, with boding strain,
To Fancy's ear of cruel Fate complain,
That urg'd them, for Ambition's ruthless strife,
To slight each fond regard of social life;
To leave unpropp'd a parent's hoary age,
In some proud chieftain's quarrel to engage;
For midnight marches and the din of arms,
To fly the virgin's yet untasted charms;
Or leave the widow o'er her babe to mourn,
And weep for joys that never must return!
While they (what furies human bosoms tear!)
Bled for the chains the rising race should wear.—
—Here, to this spot, the raging squadrons throng,
While kindred hate drives each fierce host along,
And banner'd omens, gleaming thro' the air,
The direful issue of the day declare.
Two raging dog-stars, scattering plagues and death,
Flame in their van, and scorch the blasted heath:
This, darting far, its coruscations sends,
And all around destroys—or foes, or friends.
With like contag on strikes the random fire,
Till all extinct the fatal flame expire:
While that, still raging with insatiate blaze,
Pours, in collected wrath, its blasting rays;
Shakes o'er the foe its red destroying hair,
That sheds infectious horror and despair;
Exhaustless flames with pestilential ire,
And floods the ensanguin'd field with one wide wasting fire.
“Swords and strong arms their conscience and their law!”
For faithless Edward still a host attends,
Whose interests, or whose passions are his friends.
Here, to this spot—whose guilty turf appears
Manur'd with blood and wet with orphans' tears;
And still where hovering ghosts, with boding strain,
To Fancy's ear of cruel Fate complain,
106
To slight each fond regard of social life;
To leave unpropp'd a parent's hoary age,
In some proud chieftain's quarrel to engage;
For midnight marches and the din of arms,
To fly the virgin's yet untasted charms;
Or leave the widow o'er her babe to mourn,
And weep for joys that never must return!
While they (what furies human bosoms tear!)
Bled for the chains the rising race should wear.—
—Here, to this spot, the raging squadrons throng,
While kindred hate drives each fierce host along,
And banner'd omens, gleaming thro' the air,
The direful issue of the day declare.
Two raging dog-stars, scattering plagues and death,
Flame in their van, and scorch the blasted heath:
This, darting far, its coruscations sends,
And all around destroys—or foes, or friends.
With like contag on strikes the random fire,
Till all extinct the fatal flame expire:
While that, still raging with insatiate blaze,
Pours, in collected wrath, its blasting rays;
Shakes o'er the foe its red destroying hair,
That sheds infectious horror and despair;
Exhaustless flames with pestilential ire,
And floods the ensanguin'd field with one wide wasting fire.
Such the dire omens through the lowering sky,
That o'er the hostile legions wave on high:
For thus, while Death shrieks out the hideous yell,
And hovering furies chaunt the direful spell,
Grim o'er their looms the fatal sisters weave,
And fiends of Havock the dire webs receive;
Then haste, and, shrieking, with portentous glare,
O'er the stern ranks the threat'ning signals bear;
Sound the loud blast; the general carnage hail;
And wait the incense of the tainted gale.
Too soon, alas! that tainted gale shall rise,
Clogg the griev'd air, and blot the weeping skies!
For, lo! they meet: wounds answering wounds they deal,
Strain the tough Yew, and drench the murd'rous steel;
Thro' kindred bands the mace—the falchion hew,
Loud strokes resound, and dying groans pursue;
Stones, spears, and darts in slaughtering tempests rain,
And helms and hauberks sheathe the ranks in vain,—
Heralds in vain the trophied targe supply,
Cleft shields and broken lances useless lie,
While roll promiscuous o'er the trampled plain,
Steeds, arms, and men—the dying and the slain.
The martial Spirit of Britannia's Isles—
(Whose brandish'd lightnings aid her patriot toils—
Whose steady hand, when Truth contends with Might,
Uplifts the ballance of eternal right;
And, when in awful panoply array'd,
Indignant Freedom claims her guardian aid,
Descends in terrors to the warrior maid;
With Heaven's own thunders aids the sacred cause,
And proud Ambition's tyrant bosom awes!)—
Shock'd with a scene where Violence and Pride
And Perjur'd Guilt alone for empire vied,
In darker folds her sea green mantle spread,
And veil'd the beaming glories of her head;
Call'd from the impious scene her bands away,
And left to warring fiends the doubtful day:
(As tho' to scourge the factious race inclin'd,
And leave a dread memorial to mankind!)
The warrior cherubin her call obey;
Their flaming falchions sheathe, their wings display,
And seek the realms of empyrean day:
Yet, lingering, oft, with backward glance, deplore
The long-protected haunts of Albion's rocky shore.
With clouded radiance, and abated fires,
Westward, meanwhile, the sickening sun retires;
Involves his brow to shun the slaughtering sight;
And Night and Chaos threat the closing fight—
When now blind Chance, not Justice, lifts the scales;
And Edward's fortune in the strife prevails;
For Warwick, bent with one decisive blow
To strike deep terror in the yielding foe,
Calls his choice band (who yet inactive lay
To watch the changing fortunes of the day)
With sudden aid his phalanx to sustain,
Inspire the drooping, and replace the slain;
When, lo! the banners flaming in the rear,
And shouts loud echoing in the startled ear,
(Thro' clouds of dust while doubtful meteors gleam)
To the gall'd ranks a hostile ambush seem.
Loud cries of vengeance speak their brave despair:
Raging they turn; as wolves their hunters tear:—
Or as the Elephant, whose giant might
Is arm'd by Nature for resistless fight,
His haughty rage by martial art increas'd,
Tramples the myriad armies of the east—
Then (gall'd with wounds, and frantic with his pain)
Turns on his friends; assails the shrinking train;
And with promiscuous carnage strews the plain.
That o'er the hostile legions wave on high:
For thus, while Death shrieks out the hideous yell,
And hovering furies chaunt the direful spell,
Grim o'er their looms the fatal sisters weave,
And fiends of Havock the dire webs receive;
Then haste, and, shrieking, with portentous glare,
O'er the stern ranks the threat'ning signals bear;
107
And wait the incense of the tainted gale.
Too soon, alas! that tainted gale shall rise,
Clogg the griev'd air, and blot the weeping skies!
For, lo! they meet: wounds answering wounds they deal,
Strain the tough Yew, and drench the murd'rous steel;
Thro' kindred bands the mace—the falchion hew,
Loud strokes resound, and dying groans pursue;
Stones, spears, and darts in slaughtering tempests rain,
And helms and hauberks sheathe the ranks in vain,—
Heralds in vain the trophied targe supply,
Cleft shields and broken lances useless lie,
While roll promiscuous o'er the trampled plain,
Steeds, arms, and men—the dying and the slain.
The martial Spirit of Britannia's Isles—
(Whose brandish'd lightnings aid her patriot toils—
Whose steady hand, when Truth contends with Might,
Uplifts the ballance of eternal right;
And, when in awful panoply array'd,
Indignant Freedom claims her guardian aid,
Descends in terrors to the warrior maid;
With Heaven's own thunders aids the sacred cause,
And proud Ambition's tyrant bosom awes!)—
Shock'd with a scene where Violence and Pride
And Perjur'd Guilt alone for empire vied,
In darker folds her sea green mantle spread,
And veil'd the beaming glories of her head;
Call'd from the impious scene her bands away,
And left to warring fiends the doubtful day:
(As tho' to scourge the factious race inclin'd,
And leave a dread memorial to mankind!)
The warrior cherubin her call obey;
Their flaming falchions sheathe, their wings display,
And seek the realms of empyrean day:
108
The long-protected haunts of Albion's rocky shore.
With clouded radiance, and abated fires,
Westward, meanwhile, the sickening sun retires;
Involves his brow to shun the slaughtering sight;
And Night and Chaos threat the closing fight—
When now blind Chance, not Justice, lifts the scales;
And Edward's fortune in the strife prevails;
For Warwick, bent with one decisive blow
To strike deep terror in the yielding foe,
Calls his choice band (who yet inactive lay
To watch the changing fortunes of the day)
With sudden aid his phalanx to sustain,
Inspire the drooping, and replace the slain;
When, lo! the banners flaming in the rear,
And shouts loud echoing in the startled ear,
(Thro' clouds of dust while doubtful meteors gleam)
To the gall'd ranks a hostile ambush seem.
Loud cries of vengeance speak their brave despair:
Raging they turn; as wolves their hunters tear:—
Or as the Elephant, whose giant might
Is arm'd by Nature for resistless fight,
His haughty rage by martial art increas'd,
Tramples the myriad armies of the east—
Then (gall'd with wounds, and frantic with his pain)
Turns on his friends; assails the shrinking train;
And with promiscuous carnage strews the plain.
So turns the tide of this disastrous day,
And their own swords the Earl's fierce squadrons slay:
Friend falls by friend, on comrades comrades charge;
And raging Devastation stalks at large—
O'er hills of slain his limbs enormous rears,
Joins the loud shout, and thunders in their ears;
Calls to their destin'd feast his vulture brood;
Whets his keen fangs, and bathes his lips with blood;
While frighted Pity, shrieking o'er the plain,
Bares her white breast, and wrings her hands in vain.
And their own swords the Earl's fierce squadrons slay:
Friend falls by friend, on comrades comrades charge;
And raging Devastation stalks at large—
O'er hills of slain his limbs enormous rears,
Joins the loud shout, and thunders in their ears;
Calls to their destin'd feast his vulture brood;
Whets his keen fangs, and bathes his lips with blood;
109
Bares her white breast, and wrings her hands in vain.
While thus the “Dogs of War,” with wild despair,
Those who “let slip” their furious havoc tear,
The bated chief, who stain'd his tusks with gore,
“And made the forests tremble with his roar,”
Among his hunters long, indignant, stands
O'er the strew'd wreck of his disorder'd bands;
This way and that the deathful fury deals,
And tenfold rage his hopeless pangs reveals;
Resolv'd, and furious, in this closing strife
To crown the savage slaughters of his life;
Till, sate-commission'd, flies the thirsting dart,
Drives thro' his breast, and quivers in his heart—
Here, on this spot, perhaps, where now I tread,
Writhing in death his mighty limbs were spread;
And while his vassals, prodigal of blood,
Pour'd on his tyrant corse the vital flood,
And kept alive the dying flame of fight
Till added deaths appeas'd his sullen sprite,
In dust and blood sob'd forth that fiery soul
Earth could not hold, and Heaven could scarce control.
Those who “let slip” their furious havoc tear,
The bated chief, who stain'd his tusks with gore,
“And made the forests tremble with his roar,”
Among his hunters long, indignant, stands
O'er the strew'd wreck of his disorder'd bands;
This way and that the deathful fury deals,
And tenfold rage his hopeless pangs reveals;
Resolv'd, and furious, in this closing strife
To crown the savage slaughters of his life;
Till, sate-commission'd, flies the thirsting dart,
Drives thro' his breast, and quivers in his heart—
Here, on this spot, perhaps, where now I tread,
Writhing in death his mighty limbs were spread;
And while his vassals, prodigal of blood,
Pour'd on his tyrant corse the vital flood,
And kept alive the dying flame of fight
Till added deaths appeas'd his sullen sprite,
In dust and blood sob'd forth that fiery soul
Earth could not hold, and Heaven could scarce control.
| The peripatetic | |