 | My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays |  |
84
BATAVIA,
AN ELEGY.
WRITTEN UPON THE UNRESISTED SUBJUGATION OF THE UNITED PROVINCES TO THE FRENCH REVOLUTIONISTS.
Degenerate race, ye lost Batavians, say,
Where is the blood that warmed the patriot's veins?
When in your great first William's glorious day,
Invading armies fled the unconquered plains?
Where is the blood that warmed the patriot's veins?
When in your great first William's glorious day,
Invading armies fled the unconquered plains?
Where is that spirit of your hardy sires,
Which turned indignant from a foreign lord,
And where that hope, a country's cause inspires,
The stateman's virtue, and the warrior's sword?
Which turned indignant from a foreign lord,
And where that hope, a country's cause inspires,
The stateman's virtue, and the warrior's sword?
The swarthy Gaul now claims the willow'd meads,
Where your famed fathers, patient, proud and poor.
Stampt their bold annals with triumphant deeds,
And learnt the trying lesson to endure.
Where your famed fathers, patient, proud and poor.
Stampt their bold annals with triumphant deeds,
And learnt the trying lesson to endure.
85
Ye sons of traffic! lost Batavians, say,
Does the hard victor heed the captive's moan,
Can the fierce wolf resign his trembling prey,
Nor make the rich luxurious treat his own.
Does the hard victor heed the captive's moan,
Can the fierce wolf resign his trembling prey,
Nor make the rich luxurious treat his own.
Who calls the shaggy monarch of the wood,
To yield the fleecy fold his fostering care!
No more to quench his burning lip in blood,
But learn with tasteless apathy to spare?
To yield the fleecy fold his fostering care!
No more to quench his burning lip in blood,
But learn with tasteless apathy to spare?
Thus shall ye thrive beneath the victor's sway,
And thus the fierce Exotic guard your coast,
Who flung with careless hand, a prize away,
Richer than all your conquer'd country's boast.
And thus the fierce Exotic guard your coast,
Who flung with careless hand, a prize away,
Richer than all your conquer'd country's boast.
Transcendant Freedom, offspring of the soil,
Ne'er can an alien's hand that gem bestow,
Whose brilliant rays reward the patriot's toil,
Grace his bold front, and on his bosom glow.
Ne'er can an alien's hand that gem bestow,
Whose brilliant rays reward the patriot's toil,
Grace his bold front, and on his bosom glow.
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