 | Poems, by Joseph Cottle |  |
But whilst of happiness we feebly tell,
And praise her worth, and paint her halcyon cell;
Declare of joys that round their parent twine,
And speak of shores where suns perpetual shine;
How many pence-bought engines wield the spear,
Whose slavish breasts this sun must never cheer!
How many myriads of the human race,
On carnage bent, the name of man disgrace!
Some lazy tyrant's hireling tool obey,
And rush like blood-hounds on their unknown prey.
And praise her worth, and paint her halcyon cell;
Declare of joys that round their parent twine,
And speak of shores where suns perpetual shine;
How many pence-bought engines wield the spear,
Whose slavish breasts this sun must never cheer!
How many myriads of the human race,
On carnage bent, the name of man disgrace!
Some lazy tyrant's hireling tool obey,
And rush like blood-hounds on their unknown prey.
| Poems, by Joseph Cottle | |