 | Britain |  |
BOOK I.
The Argument.
Introduction—Short view of peace—Our great{ness} and felicity under a protestant prince.—Hence, {to} {dwell}ing on our late misfortunes, the great disgrace {on} {the}British flag, and the decay of martial ardor are {also} {con}sidered.—The ruin and depredation of our Indian {co}lonies.—The sacking of an out-settlement.—Th{e} {fa}tal consequences that may attend the farther fu{ture} of France.—Our thoughtless security amidst such {im}minent danger.—The glorious cause which sum{mons} us to awake, and should fire the breast of ever{y} {lo}ver of his country.
1
'Twas on the day, when, every care at rest,
Britain for George the annual feast renews;
When joyous patriots count his growing years,
And splendid courts, with pomp illustrious,
Hasten to hail their sov'reign Lord, and share
Those smiles which from the tender parent flow.
While shouting crouds applaud the glorious reign,
And bellowing cannon thunder to the deep;
Transported with the general joy I stood,
Where antient Thames, majestic flood! descend{s}
Copious and wide, a sea from shore to shore.
His christal waves, exulting round, embrac'd,
Full many a gilded barge and galley, rich
With streamers, and embroider'd canopy:
These, smooth and solemn steer'd with skilful oa{r}
Cut cross the yielding stream, whilst martial sound
Such as might kindle to heroic deeds,
From clarions, and from brazen trumpets loud,
Resounding eccho'd to the distant spires.
Mean while imperial London issued forth
From all her gates by thousands, to make glad
Th'auspicious day with mirth and festive song.
Wide o'er the croud, all loyal, rough and bold,
While every labor rests, the clamor runs
Responsive to the peal of guns, and heard
Resounding loud from winding street to street.
Turn'd from this scene, I thought on former da{ys}
High bless'd with peace and deeds of civil fame
The crown devolv'd on Brunswic's royal line,
When liberty and sacred truth combin'd
To raise the glorious reign. Our Lord I view'd
Dispensing good promiscuous thro' the realm.
Before him violence and discord fled,
And hard oppression veil'd her ruthless brow,
With baneful envy, malice fell retir'd
To Stygian shades and dismal Acheron;
Whilst rapine and abhorred murder seiz'd,
Beneath the lifted sword of justice bled.
Britain for George the annual feast renews;
When joyous patriots count his growing years,
And splendid courts, with pomp illustrious,
Hasten to hail their sov'reign Lord, and share
Those smiles which from the tender parent flow.
While shouting crouds applaud the glorious reign,
And bellowing cannon thunder to the deep;
2
Where antient Thames, majestic flood! descend{s}
Copious and wide, a sea from shore to shore.
His christal waves, exulting round, embrac'd,
Full many a gilded barge and galley, rich
With streamers, and embroider'd canopy:
These, smooth and solemn steer'd with skilful oa{r}
Cut cross the yielding stream, whilst martial sound
Such as might kindle to heroic deeds,
From clarions, and from brazen trumpets loud,
Resounding eccho'd to the distant spires.
Mean while imperial London issued forth
From all her gates by thousands, to make glad
Th'auspicious day with mirth and festive song.
Wide o'er the croud, all loyal, rough and bold,
While every labor rests, the clamor runs
Responsive to the peal of guns, and heard
Resounding loud from winding street to street.
Turn'd from this scene, I thought on former da{ys}
High bless'd with peace and deeds of civil fame
The crown devolv'd on Brunswic's royal line,
When liberty and sacred truth combin'd
3
Dispensing good promiscuous thro' the realm.
Before him violence and discord fled,
And hard oppression veil'd her ruthless brow,
With baneful envy, malice fell retir'd
To Stygian shades and dismal Acheron;
Whilst rapine and abhorred murder seiz'd,
Beneath the lifted sword of justice bled.
Then sacred peace, with all her smiling train,
Daughter of heav'n, descending on our isle,
Dealt round her bounteous gifts, glad plenty's stores,
Riches and arts, and health, and learned ease,
Inviolate, nor by horrid war profan'd.
The swain rejoicing ploughs the wealthy soil,
By tenfold us'ry faithful to his trust;
Then reaps the harvest of his honest toil.
Thro' all our cities, emulous and loud,
The voice of busy merchandise is heard;
And the strong arm of industry resounds
In ev'ry street: even hoary age appears
Glad at the toiling forge or quarry'd rock.
For traffic and for riches' glittering stores,
Our daring vessels tempt the rage of seas,
And spread their swelling sails for Indian isles;
Thence, fraught with golden treasures, pour us ou{t}
The nerves and sinews of substantial war.
Then Britain's fame I view'd, for science bold,
And soaring genius o'er the nations rais'd:
Whate'er th'immortal daring mind of man
Has counted noble, virtuous, and great,
She calls her own, and lifts her laurel'd brow,
By Greece unrival'd, or imperial Rome.
Expell'd their ancient haunt by barb'rous rage,
The muses here have fix'd their lov'd retreat,
Honor'd and safe thro' all her spacious realm,
In unmolested peace: her native seas
Roll'd round, a christal bulwark from the rod
Of stern oppression, and wide wafting war,
And lawless power, which bends the genius down,
Ignobly shackl'd and forbid to soar.
Daughter of heav'n, descending on our isle,
Dealt round her bounteous gifts, glad plenty's stores,
Riches and arts, and health, and learned ease,
Inviolate, nor by horrid war profan'd.
The swain rejoicing ploughs the wealthy soil,
By tenfold us'ry faithful to his trust;
Then reaps the harvest of his honest toil.
Thro' all our cities, emulous and loud,
The voice of busy merchandise is heard;
And the strong arm of industry resounds
In ev'ry street: even hoary age appears
Glad at the toiling forge or quarry'd rock.
For traffic and for riches' glittering stores,
4
And spread their swelling sails for Indian isles;
Thence, fraught with golden treasures, pour us ou{t}
The nerves and sinews of substantial war.
Then Britain's fame I view'd, for science bold,
And soaring genius o'er the nations rais'd:
Whate'er th'immortal daring mind of man
Has counted noble, virtuous, and great,
She calls her own, and lifts her laurel'd brow,
By Greece unrival'd, or imperial Rome.
Expell'd their ancient haunt by barb'rous rage,
The muses here have fix'd their lov'd retreat,
Honor'd and safe thro' all her spacious realm,
In unmolested peace: her native seas
Roll'd round, a christal bulwark from the rod
Of stern oppression, and wide wafting war,
And lawless power, which bends the genius down,
Ignobly shackl'd and forbid to soar.
Then great in arms, invincible and bold,
She seem'd the sovereign arbitress of war,
The scourge of nations and the dread of kings;
The brazen trump of fame resounding loud
Thro' ev'ry neighb'ring clime her martial praise:
Those laurels won in many a bloody field,
Heroic deeds, immortal, which the fiend
Of malice slanders not, but hears rehears'd,
While monarchs shake with envy and with fear.
She seem'd the sovereign arbitress of war,
The scourge of nations and the dread of kings;
The brazen trump of fame resounding loud
5
Those laurels won in many a bloody field,
Heroic deeds, immortal, which the fiend
Of malice slanders not, but hears rehears'd,
While monarchs shake with envy and with fear.
Great she appear'd, for vindicated truth
The mighty bulwark and defensive shield.
As where religion, undefil'd and pure,
Illustrious exalts her rev'rend form,
The sacred oracles by holy hands
Display'd, wide opening, so that all may read:
Wide o'er the land ten thousand temples rise,
Where each returning week her crouding sons
Unto reveal'd divinity renew
The grand festival, hallow'd, nor profan'd
By papal rites or superstitious rage.
The sacred flame, thro' ages never quench'd,
Here burns unstain'd and mounts unto the skies,
Watch'd and protected by her guardian king,
The bulwark and avenger of her faith.
The mighty bulwark and defensive shield.
As where religion, undefil'd and pure,
Illustrious exalts her rev'rend form,
The sacred oracles by holy hands
Display'd, wide opening, so that all may read:
Wide o'er the land ten thousand temples rise,
Where each returning week her crouding sons
Unto reveal'd divinity renew
The grand festival, hallow'd, nor profan'd
By papal rites or superstitious rage.
The sacred flame, thro' ages never quench'd,
Here burns unstain'd and mounts unto the skies,
Watch'd and protected by her guardian king,
The bulwark and avenger of her faith.
Not so the days when furious discord rag'd,
And war wide wafting round from shore to shore,
When madd'ning princes slung the sceptre down,
And rul'd their subjects with a rod of iron;
Their laws, their liberties, and lives the prey
Of fierce tyrannic power: the muses fled,
And science trembl'd for her sacred lore.
As when the impious Saracen o'erwhelm'd
Her pillar'd domes with sacrilegious fire;
Commerce forsook th'inhospitable shores,
And all supporting industry, forgot,
Lay buried deep amidst the general wreck.
Cruelty and want, and famine's dismal train,
Took place: then hellish persecution roar'd,
With wrath satannic, blasphemous, accurs'd,
The foe of God and man: the fury rode
Impatient for destruction; when she frown'd
Death follow'd fast; her glaring eyes, which blaz'd
Like comets, rain'd infernal poison down,
Engend'ring cruelty and thirst of blood.
Before her chariot, wild for ruin, rush'd
Grim death, and merc'less hate, and Stygian fiends,
A horrid band, with blazing torches arm'd.
Behind her jarring wheels, deep dy'd in blood,
Follow'd hell-fire, and curs'd converting arts,
And savage bondage, arm'd with rattling chains.
Descending from her car, the monster stood
Proud in her black tribunal, impious nam'd
The glorious court of God's triumphant church;
She stood and wav'd her arm, which reek'd with blood,
Condemning loud by thousands who oppos'd
Her horrid faith, and ev'ry doom was death.
Nor could plebeian blood her vengeance sate,
For sacred primates, deans and nobles burn
In curs'd devouring flame: Thus rag'd the fiend
With wrath infuriate, and implacable;
And still had rag'd, for hell can hold no bounds,
Had not th'Almighty, when her cup was full,
In vengeance banish'd the rebellious rout;
Then crown'd his own Anointed to preside,
To heal the wounds which superstition made,
And deep enchain the struggling fury down.
A race of kings, reflecting each his sire,
Follow'd, till royal Brunswic's line assum'd
Imperial power, defenders of the faith.
And war wide wafting round from shore to shore,
6
And rul'd their subjects with a rod of iron;
Their laws, their liberties, and lives the prey
Of fierce tyrannic power: the muses fled,
And science trembl'd for her sacred lore.
As when the impious Saracen o'erwhelm'd
Her pillar'd domes with sacrilegious fire;
Commerce forsook th'inhospitable shores,
And all supporting industry, forgot,
Lay buried deep amidst the general wreck.
Cruelty and want, and famine's dismal train,
Took place: then hellish persecution roar'd,
With wrath satannic, blasphemous, accurs'd,
The foe of God and man: the fury rode
Impatient for destruction; when she frown'd
Death follow'd fast; her glaring eyes, which blaz'd
Like comets, rain'd infernal poison down,
Engend'ring cruelty and thirst of blood.
Before her chariot, wild for ruin, rush'd
Grim death, and merc'less hate, and Stygian fiends,
A horrid band, with blazing torches arm'd.
Behind her jarring wheels, deep dy'd in blood,
7
And savage bondage, arm'd with rattling chains.
Descending from her car, the monster stood
Proud in her black tribunal, impious nam'd
The glorious court of God's triumphant church;
She stood and wav'd her arm, which reek'd with blood,
Condemning loud by thousands who oppos'd
Her horrid faith, and ev'ry doom was death.
Nor could plebeian blood her vengeance sate,
For sacred primates, deans and nobles burn
In curs'd devouring flame: Thus rag'd the fiend
With wrath infuriate, and implacable;
And still had rag'd, for hell can hold no bounds,
Had not th'Almighty, when her cup was full,
In vengeance banish'd the rebellious rout;
Then crown'd his own Anointed to preside,
To heal the wounds which superstition made,
And deep enchain the struggling fury down.
A race of kings, reflecting each his sire,
Follow'd, till royal Brunswic's line assum'd
Imperial power, defenders of the faith.
Think, Britain, think what blessings you have shar'd.
How deeply drunk of all that men call good.
Happiest of nations! see thy mighty Lord,
The parent and the guardian of the realm,
Rejoicing to behold his people bless'd,
Even as he sorrows to observe their woe.
8
Happiest of nations! see thy mighty Lord,
The parent and the guardian of the realm,
Rejoicing to behold his people bless'd,
Even as he sorrows to observe their woe.
Thus wand'ring on thro' Britain's vary'd bliss,
Of late so blasted and embitter'd deep,
By adverse schemes and inauspicious fields;
These joyous scenes, and peace now banished,
Arising bright in one transporting view,
Deceiv'd the anguish for my country's fate,
And, for short season, stop'd the falling grief.
So, when Aquarius rules th'inverted year,
The heavens malign, the country spoil'd around,
A wither'd waste, some shiv'ring swain by chance
Lights on a flow'ry border, beauteous, flush'd,
As by the breath of spring, with tend'rest care
Of gardner, or of raptur'd florist, rais'd;
Wond'ring he stares, nor heeds the scouling storm
Condensing round with congregated gloom,
Till some rough blast, with spoiling fury arm'd,
Shivers the scene, while sorrowing he retires.
Of late so blasted and embitter'd deep,
By adverse schemes and inauspicious fields;
These joyous scenes, and peace now banished,
Arising bright in one transporting view,
Deceiv'd the anguish for my country's fate,
And, for short season, stop'd the falling grief.
So, when Aquarius rules th'inverted year,
The heavens malign, the country spoil'd around,
A wither'd waste, some shiv'ring swain by chance
Lights on a flow'ry border, beauteous, flush'd,
As by the breath of spring, with tend'rest care
Of gardner, or of raptur'd florist, rais'd;
Wond'ring he stares, nor heeds the scouling storm
Condensing round with congregated gloom,
Till some rough blast, with spoiling fury arm'd,
Shivers the scene, while sorrowing he retires.
9
Thus anguish with redoubl'd smart return'd,
And sadness rous'd by Britain's mighty wrongs:
Her proudest fortress yielded up to France,
Her other left defenceless for the war.
Her western empire spoil'd and deeply gor'd
With many a cruel inroad, by the sword
Of savage Indian, and more savage Gaul:
Kingdoms laid waste, and Indian empires lost
Tamely, without the drawing of a sword.
These mighty fleets with triple thunder arm'd,
Our bulwark to repel invading war,
Erst wont to pour terrific on our foes,
Unerring fate like tempest wafting round,
Rend'ring the horrent conflict more abhor'd,
With sulph'rous snares, and fierce devouring flame,
Strong as the blast of whirlwinds, and destruction
From roring mortars bursting overhead;
These fleets, which to equip, consum'd the wealth
Of half the realm, and half her forests spoil'd
Of native oak, to build their stately pride;
These fleets sent forth all furnish'd for the war,
To gain us glory, and repell the stroke
Of France ambitious, watchful to enslave,
Have, O opprobrious! dastardly return'd,
Not rich with conquest, but with foul disgrace,
Worsted and foil'd in ev'ry enterprize;
While round, all Europe brands the British flag,
Their terror once, with cowardice and flight.
And sadness rous'd by Britain's mighty wrongs:
Her proudest fortress yielded up to France,
Her other left defenceless for the war.
Her western empire spoil'd and deeply gor'd
With many a cruel inroad, by the sword
Of savage Indian, and more savage Gaul:
Kingdoms laid waste, and Indian empires lost
Tamely, without the drawing of a sword.
These mighty fleets with triple thunder arm'd,
Our bulwark to repel invading war,
Erst wont to pour terrific on our foes,
Unerring fate like tempest wafting round,
Rend'ring the horrent conflict more abhor'd,
With sulph'rous snares, and fierce devouring flame,
Strong as the blast of whirlwinds, and destruction
From roring mortars bursting overhead;
These fleets, which to equip, consum'd the wealth
Of half the realm, and half her forests spoil'd
Of native oak, to build their stately pride;
These fleets sent forth all furnish'd for the war,
To gain us glory, and repell the stroke
10
Have, O opprobrious! dastardly return'd,
Not rich with conquest, but with foul disgrace,
Worsted and foil'd in ev'ry enterprize;
While round, all Europe brands the British flag,
Their terror once, with cowardice and flight.
Britain, where is that martial genius fled?
That virtuous thirst for glory and renown,
Which us'd to burn in ev'ry soldier's breast,
And challeng'd victory in ev'ry field?
Is all that ardor and heroic fire
Extinguish'd quite? that fire which us'd to blaze,
And thunder dreadful thro' the fields of fight,
When liberty the glorious cause provok'd,
And arm'd her chosen heroes for the war?
That virtuous thirst for glory and renown,
Which us'd to burn in ev'ry soldier's breast,
And challeng'd victory in ev'ry field?
Is all that ardor and heroic fire
Extinguish'd quite? that fire which us'd to blaze,
And thunder dreadful thro' the fields of fight,
When liberty the glorious cause provok'd,
And arm'd her chosen heroes for the war?
Behold great Russel
crown'd with naval fame,
And glorious wreaths of conquest on the deep:
Ambition noble, and his country's love,
Like inspiration, fir'd the warrior's breast;
'Midst the dire wreck of sulph'rous war he rush'd,
And pour'd tempestuous fire on hostile fleets.
The sky, with loud continu'd thunder vex'd,
Return'd th'incessant roar; th'affrighted flood,
Deep trembling, shook beneath the dreadful rage
Of bloody conflict; and, wide scorch'd with flame,
Old ocean seem'd o'er all his waves to burn.
The foes of Britain bled at ev'ry charge,
And bow'd their pride beneath the victor's stroke.
Fir'd by his country's cause, thro' fields of death
The great immortal Marlborough rode,
O'er France triumphant, with his foaming steed
Dy'd in her richest blood. In later days
This spirit rag'd in Tournay's dreadful field,
Before the roaring cannon unremov'd,
When matchless Cumberland, undaunted, led
His troops like lions, ardent for the fray,
Against unnumber'd foes; the hero rush'd,
Resistless, as a tempest on the plain.
Before him bloody slaughter rose in heaps,
And routed armies sled like driven deer;
So Sparta's prince, when Xerxes sought to win
All Greece, and to enslave her generous sons,
With a few hardy veterans repell'd
United armies, and embattled hosts
Discomfited, till slaughter reach'd the camp,
And fire, wide wafting to the royal tent.
And glorious wreaths of conquest on the deep:
Ambition noble, and his country's love,
Like inspiration, fir'd the warrior's breast;
'Midst the dire wreck of sulph'rous war he rush'd,
11
The sky, with loud continu'd thunder vex'd,
Return'd th'incessant roar; th'affrighted flood,
Deep trembling, shook beneath the dreadful rage
Of bloody conflict; and, wide scorch'd with flame,
Old ocean seem'd o'er all his waves to burn.
The foes of Britain bled at ev'ry charge,
And bow'd their pride beneath the victor's stroke.
Fir'd by his country's cause, thro' fields of death
The great immortal Marlborough rode,
O'er France triumphant, with his foaming steed
Dy'd in her richest blood. In later days
This spirit rag'd in Tournay's dreadful field,
Before the roaring cannon unremov'd,
When matchless Cumberland, undaunted, led
His troops like lions, ardent for the fray,
Against unnumber'd foes; the hero rush'd,
Resistless, as a tempest on the plain.
12
And routed armies sled like driven deer;
So Sparta's prince, when Xerxes sought to win
All Greece, and to enslave her generous sons,
With a few hardy veterans repell'd
United armies, and embattled hosts
Discomfited, till slaughter reach'd the camp,
And fire, wide wafting to the royal tent.
But now heroic ardor wakes no more;
Now, in the soften'd mind, the virtuous love
Of honest fame lies perish'd and forgot;
And glory sounds her brazen trump in vain,
Unheard, unnotic'd by unwilling ears,
Which pleasure's smooth enchanting voice allure{s}
What dismal malady infects our isle?
What cause unblest thro' ev'ry soul inspires
Infectious plague? what evil genius binds
Our sons degenerate, timorous and slow,
In ignominious and lethargic sleep?
Shall honor still present her gaudy plume?
Shall victory triumphant sue in vain?
And shall not one thro' all these isles be found,
In whom unquench'd the glorious passion reigns,
Emulous to mount ambition's winged steed,
And stem the torrent of capricious fate;
To pour just vengeance on perfidious kings;
To fix the barrier for insulting France,
And raise the trophies of immortal fame.
Grand the attempt, and arduous the toil!
Illustrious he, whom pitying Heav'n ordains
The confidence of Britain's tott'ring state!
If any such these artless numbers read,
Penn'd by a humble muse, forgive the strain,
That flows unequal to the great design,
And grant protection to the well-meant song,
Which sheds the tribute of a friendly tear
O'er Britain's loss, and inauspicious days:
Her partial voice she lifts not, to foment
The flame of factious party, nor directs
The keen invective, level'd to defame
Distinguish'd worth, and purpl'd eminence.
Now, in the soften'd mind, the virtuous love
Of honest fame lies perish'd and forgot;
And glory sounds her brazen trump in vain,
Unheard, unnotic'd by unwilling ears,
Which pleasure's smooth enchanting voice allure{s}
What dismal malady infects our isle?
What cause unblest thro' ev'ry soul inspires
Infectious plague? what evil genius binds
Our sons degenerate, timorous and slow,
In ignominious and lethargic sleep?
Shall honor still present her gaudy plume?
Shall victory triumphant sue in vain?
And shall not one thro' all these isles be found,
13
Emulous to mount ambition's winged steed,
And stem the torrent of capricious fate;
To pour just vengeance on perfidious kings;
To fix the barrier for insulting France,
And raise the trophies of immortal fame.
Grand the attempt, and arduous the toil!
Illustrious he, whom pitying Heav'n ordains
The confidence of Britain's tott'ring state!
If any such these artless numbers read,
Penn'd by a humble muse, forgive the strain,
That flows unequal to the great design,
And grant protection to the well-meant song,
Which sheds the tribute of a friendly tear
O'er Britain's loss, and inauspicious days:
Her partial voice she lifts not, to foment
The flame of factious party, nor directs
The keen invective, level'd to defame
Distinguish'd worth, and purpl'd eminence.
But could I raise my voice as thunder loud,
And rise sublime, as with a muse of fire,
Like the immortal Argive
, when inspir'd
By patriot love, and liberty profan'd;
When he did rouse th'Athenian youth, and rage
With eloquence resistless, to defeat
Tyrannic power, and on the monster throw
These chains which for his country were design'd
I'd call thee, O thou great One! to arise;
To mount prevention's flying car; to pour
Awaken'd vengeance on ambitious Gaul,
And aid thy country in this dread extreme.
May Britain's better Genius be thy guide;
Inspire auspicious, and direct the blow;
May victory sit plum'd upon thy helm,
And terror hang on thy uplifted sword:
May all that courage which of old enflam'd
Heroic sons, now burn renew'd in thee;
Strengthen thine arm to raise a sinking land,
And pluck proud honor from the vaunting foe.
Hero arise! Britannia sues in tears,
And calls thee to unsheath the thirsty sword.
Think of her wrongs, and hasten to redress,
Hasten to blunt the thorn of piercing grief,
To raise her head, and in these aching wounds,
To pour the lenitive with healing hands.
See the obdurate Gaul, with murder stain'd,
Shedding, with greediness, the British blood!
Behold the ghost of Braddoc , brave in fight,
With generous Halket, stalking sullen round
Ohio's red stream, unburied, unreveng'd!
See round the chiefs a croud of mangled shades,
Cruelly deform'd by many a hideous gash!
These point at ev'ry wound, still seen to bleed,
With horrid looks devour the purple sand,
And grimly beckon to revenge their fall.
Behold a later scene, with ruin fresh
And shameful ignominy; see the foe,
Their ensigns streaming from Oswego's walls,
Vaunting with victory! see, in the dust,
A naked trunk the valiant Mercer lies,
Cover'd with honor! from his cruel wounds,
The work of butchering France, the warm blood stream,
And calls impatient for some great revenge.
And rise sublime, as with a muse of fire,
14
By patriot love, and liberty profan'd;
When he did rouse th'Athenian youth, and rage
With eloquence resistless, to defeat
Tyrannic power, and on the monster throw
These chains which for his country were design'd
I'd call thee, O thou great One! to arise;
To mount prevention's flying car; to pour
Awaken'd vengeance on ambitious Gaul,
And aid thy country in this dread extreme.
May Britain's better Genius be thy guide;
Inspire auspicious, and direct the blow;
May victory sit plum'd upon thy helm,
And terror hang on thy uplifted sword:
May all that courage which of old enflam'd
Heroic sons, now burn renew'd in thee;
Strengthen thine arm to raise a sinking land,
And pluck proud honor from the vaunting foe.
Hero arise! Britannia sues in tears,
15
Think of her wrongs, and hasten to redress,
Hasten to blunt the thorn of piercing grief,
To raise her head, and in these aching wounds,
To pour the lenitive with healing hands.
See the obdurate Gaul, with murder stain'd,
Shedding, with greediness, the British blood!
Behold the ghost of Braddoc , brave in fight,
With generous Halket, stalking sullen round
Ohio's red stream, unburied, unreveng'd!
See round the chiefs a croud of mangled shades,
Cruelly deform'd by many a hideous gash!
These point at ev'ry wound, still seen to bleed,
16
And grimly beckon to revenge their fall.
Behold a later scene, with ruin fresh
And shameful ignominy; see the foe,
Their ensigns streaming from Oswego's walls,
Vaunting with victory! see, in the dust,
A naked trunk the valiant Mercer lies,
Cover'd with honor! from his cruel wounds,
The work of butchering France, the warm blood stream,
And calls impatient for some great revenge.
Thro' all these provinces, what scenes of death
What mangl'd limbs, and gory heads affright!
What undistinguish'd carnage lies around,
With horror big to shock the fiercest mind!
The British soldier all one bleeding wound,
With savage steel infixed in his heart.
Deep in yon vale behold these Hamlets burn,
The hapless planters butcher'd, the rich fields
Laid waste, and all the colony o'erthrown.
Some hours, ere while, the busy tribe elate,
Rejoicing at their task, by peaceful toil
Deceiv'd the lonely day; now planning schemes
Of honest art, to raise their growing store;
Now expeditious, hastening to bring forth
Their treasur'd plenty, and rich merchandize,
For thee, O Britain, but prepar'd in vain!
With closing day, the colony resign'd
Their weary limbs to balmy rest, intent
With rising morn for the unfinish'd task,
Dreaming no danger near, far less the sword
Of ruthless murder to besiege their doors;
When lo! in midnight darkness, and the hour
When deepest slumbers reign, the savage, urg'd
By thirst of bloodshed, rapine, and the gold
Of France, more savage, rush'd upon the prey,
Defenceless, and devoted to his rage;
O bitter fate! the harmless planter stab'd
By ruffian hands, beneath his sacred roof;
His vassals murder'd, and his riches seiz'd;
His peaceful home surrender'd to the flames,
And all the toil of lab'ring years laid waste,
In one devouring and destructive hour.
Thus when the hives, industrious, have enlarg'd
Their golden store, and fill'd the wond'rous dome
With treasur'd spoil, to tempt rapacious man;
Deep in their cell retir'd, the insect train
Hold merry wakes, and ponder future plans,
In council joyous, o'er their wintry store;
Till, at the shut of eve, the ruthless swain,
With hand obdurate, lights the noxious steam,
And 'whelming all with blue sulphureous flame,
Plunders the wealthy settlement, and throws
The murder'd swarm, still heaving, to the ground
What monstrous thirst of blood, O Gaul, inflames
Thy savage breast! this is not war, to stain
Your conquering sword in massacre and death,
But slaughter horrid, and accurs'd desire
To drink the British gore: this is not war,
To tempt the ruffian savage from his woods,
By proffer'd gold excited to commit
Murder abhor'd, and crimes of monstruous guilt:
This butchery, and demoniac rage
Against the human race: and think not, France,
Such bloody conquests can have power to break
Britannia's spirit, or awaken fear,
To sue for servile peace on shameful terms:
Britain disclaims the abject thought, nor bends
Beneath the stroke of Gaul's victorious sword.
Stern, and unmov'd, she marks each bloody scar
With looks severe, and eyes that flame with rage,
Scouling awaken'd vengeance: in herself
Collected, great, the queen of ocean stands,
And rises fiercer from each goring wound.
So the bold lion hunted on the plain,
Where Mauritania's piny forests rise,
By men more savage; should the barbed dart
Fix in his chest, he maddens with the wound,
And, rushing fierce on the protended spear,
Hangs deadly on the bounding courser's neck,
And tears the mangled hunter to the ground.
What mangl'd limbs, and gory heads affright!
What undistinguish'd carnage lies around,
With horror big to shock the fiercest mind!
The British soldier all one bleeding wound,
With savage steel infixed in his heart.
Deep in yon vale behold these Hamlets burn,
The hapless planters butcher'd, the rich fields
Laid waste, and all the colony o'erthrown.
Some hours, ere while, the busy tribe elate,
Rejoicing at their task, by peaceful toil
Deceiv'd the lonely day; now planning schemes
17
Now expeditious, hastening to bring forth
Their treasur'd plenty, and rich merchandize,
For thee, O Britain, but prepar'd in vain!
With closing day, the colony resign'd
Their weary limbs to balmy rest, intent
With rising morn for the unfinish'd task,
Dreaming no danger near, far less the sword
Of ruthless murder to besiege their doors;
When lo! in midnight darkness, and the hour
When deepest slumbers reign, the savage, urg'd
By thirst of bloodshed, rapine, and the gold
Of France, more savage, rush'd upon the prey,
Defenceless, and devoted to his rage;
O bitter fate! the harmless planter stab'd
By ruffian hands, beneath his sacred roof;
His vassals murder'd, and his riches seiz'd;
His peaceful home surrender'd to the flames,
And all the toil of lab'ring years laid waste,
In one devouring and destructive hour.
Thus when the hives, industrious, have enlarg'd
Their golden store, and fill'd the wond'rous dome
18
Deep in their cell retir'd, the insect train
Hold merry wakes, and ponder future plans,
In council joyous, o'er their wintry store;
Till, at the shut of eve, the ruthless swain,
With hand obdurate, lights the noxious steam,
And 'whelming all with blue sulphureous flame,
Plunders the wealthy settlement, and throws
The murder'd swarm, still heaving, to the ground
What monstrous thirst of blood, O Gaul, inflames
Thy savage breast! this is not war, to stain
Your conquering sword in massacre and death,
But slaughter horrid, and accurs'd desire
To drink the British gore: this is not war,
To tempt the ruffian savage from his woods,
By proffer'd gold excited to commit
Murder abhor'd, and crimes of monstruous guilt:
This butchery, and demoniac rage
Against the human race: and think not, France,
Such bloody conquests can have power to break
Britannia's spirit, or awaken fear,
To sue for servile peace on shameful terms:
19
Beneath the stroke of Gaul's victorious sword.
Stern, and unmov'd, she marks each bloody scar
With looks severe, and eyes that flame with rage,
Scouling awaken'd vengeance: in herself
Collected, great, the queen of ocean stands,
And rises fiercer from each goring wound.
So the bold lion hunted on the plain,
Where Mauritania's piny forests rise,
By men more savage; should the barbed dart
Fix in his chest, he maddens with the wound,
And, rushing fierce on the protended spear,
Hangs deadly on the bounding courser's neck,
And tears the mangled hunter to the ground.
Britain awake! see hostile France is up,
On ruin bent, and brandishes her sword,
Which she has stained deep in kindred blood.
Ev'n now in silence, and in midnight shade,
She plans her schemes of conquest; having seiz'd
Our strong out-holds, the bulwark of our trade,
These gates by which our royal treasures pass:
Our Indian provinces embroiled deep
In hideous war, she watchful waits the hour
To lift the blow, big with impending fate,
Against the sacred neck of liberty;
From all her adverse harbours pouring forth
By thousands, to descend upon our isle:
To bind in slavish chains our generous sons;
To end Britannia's freedom, and her reign,
Illustrious thro' a glorious race of kings:
With impious hands, to lift the British crown
From George's sacred head, and give the realm
A prey to tyranny and lawless power:
To tread religion, hallowed, under foot,
And send the fury superstition forth,
Blasphemous, and devouring thro' the land:
Then aim some dreadful mischief, to subdue
Our stubborn sons, and bend them to the yoke;
Perhaps to yield our princely senate, where
The love of liberty and virtue dwells,
Invincible, and ardent to be free,
To the nefarious axe: perhaps, in rage,
To lay the pride of cities in the dust,
Imperial London sack'd and plundered,
To yield her merchants, and her merchandize,
Her treasur'd heaps, the spoil of ruffian Gauls:
To send her turrets blazing to the skies;
Her sacred domes with sacrilegious fire
To burn; her royal palaces, the work
Of ancient kings, with all their stately pride
Of towers, and glittering spires, to humble low:
To render desart where proud London stood,
And lay her boasted glories in the dust.
On ruin bent, and brandishes her sword,
Which she has stained deep in kindred blood.
Ev'n now in silence, and in midnight shade,
She plans her schemes of conquest; having seiz'd
Our strong out-holds, the bulwark of our trade,
These gates by which our royal treasures pass:
Our Indian provinces embroiled deep
20
To lift the blow, big with impending fate,
Against the sacred neck of liberty;
From all her adverse harbours pouring forth
By thousands, to descend upon our isle:
To bind in slavish chains our generous sons;
To end Britannia's freedom, and her reign,
Illustrious thro' a glorious race of kings:
With impious hands, to lift the British crown
From George's sacred head, and give the realm
A prey to tyranny and lawless power:
To tread religion, hallowed, under foot,
And send the fury superstition forth,
Blasphemous, and devouring thro' the land:
Then aim some dreadful mischief, to subdue
Our stubborn sons, and bend them to the yoke;
Perhaps to yield our princely senate, where
The love of liberty and virtue dwells,
Invincible, and ardent to be free,
To the nefarious axe: perhaps, in rage,
To lay the pride of cities in the dust,
Imperial London sack'd and plundered,
21
Her treasur'd heaps, the spoil of ruffian Gauls:
To send her turrets blazing to the skies;
Her sacred domes with sacrilegious fire
To burn; her royal palaces, the work
Of ancient kings, with all their stately pride
Of towers, and glittering spires, to humble low:
To render desart where proud London stood,
And lay her boasted glories in the dust.
O Britain! O my country! how my heart
Does bleed to see thee thoughtless and secure,
Dissolv'd in indolence, and dance and song!
To see thee quaff, with greediness and thirst,
Intoxicating draughts from pleasure's bowl;
When crushing ruin, ready to descend,
Hangs over head; when fatal snares are laid,
And danger hath begirt your islands round!
How horror and impatience shake my soul,
When I behold thee, O my country! lost
In leaden slumbers, and pernicious rest,
Planning in golden dreams, as it were peace,
With busy eagerness, the schemes of trade;
And various industry enriching round:
Whilst foes, insidious, hover to devour;
While hostile France, ambitious and elate,
Roars in your ears the brazen trump of war;
And, forging chains to bind your freeborn sons,
Hastens impatient to direct the blow!
Thus where, from secret springs, the seven stream'd Nile
O'er Nubian mountains rolls his watry store,
Awaken'd oft by full autumnal rains;
Deep in the verdant vale, a joyous train
Of Afric swains, with pipe and song deceive
The ling'ring hours, and dream no danger near,
Till dreadful down the channel'd rock descends
The rous'd up river, with loud thunder's roar;
And, 'whelming flocks and men, and faithful dogs,
Rolls wide the desolation to the deep.
Rise, Britons, rise; obey the powerful voice,
Which, loudly pleading, calls you to awake;
Rouse and shake off this lethargy which hangs
So deadly, and distresses wide the land;
Rouse and awake, 'ere fierce destruction comes,
Like wirlwinds arm'd with fury to confound:
And bursting o'er these islands, sink the realm
Beneath her oceans, never to arise.
Lo! sacred truth, whose head our fathers rais'd
With toiling labour, and expence of blood;
And thron'd triumphant o'er degenerate faith,
O'er tyranny, and superstitious Rome;
Cries loud to fight her battles, to defend
Those heavenly gifts, and shield Jerusalem's walls
From cruel sword, and persecuting fire.
Lo! beauteous liberty, the choicest gem
Of Britain's crown, to Britain ever dear,
Requires protection from the spoiling arm
Of France, now rais'd to blast her boasted pride.
Does bleed to see thee thoughtless and secure,
Dissolv'd in indolence, and dance and song!
To see thee quaff, with greediness and thirst,
Intoxicating draughts from pleasure's bowl;
When crushing ruin, ready to descend,
Hangs over head; when fatal snares are laid,
And danger hath begirt your islands round!
How horror and impatience shake my soul,
When I behold thee, O my country! lost
In leaden slumbers, and pernicious rest,
Planning in golden dreams, as it were peace,
With busy eagerness, the schemes of trade;
22
Whilst foes, insidious, hover to devour;
While hostile France, ambitious and elate,
Roars in your ears the brazen trump of war;
And, forging chains to bind your freeborn sons,
Hastens impatient to direct the blow!
Thus where, from secret springs, the seven stream'd Nile
O'er Nubian mountains rolls his watry store,
Awaken'd oft by full autumnal rains;
Deep in the verdant vale, a joyous train
Of Afric swains, with pipe and song deceive
The ling'ring hours, and dream no danger near,
Till dreadful down the channel'd rock descends
The rous'd up river, with loud thunder's roar;
And, 'whelming flocks and men, and faithful dogs,
Rolls wide the desolation to the deep.
Rise, Britons, rise; obey the powerful voice,
Which, loudly pleading, calls you to awake;
Rouse and shake off this lethargy which hangs
So deadly, and distresses wide the land;
Rouse and awake, 'ere fierce destruction comes,
Like wirlwinds arm'd with fury to confound:
23
Beneath her oceans, never to arise.
Lo! sacred truth, whose head our fathers rais'd
With toiling labour, and expence of blood;
And thron'd triumphant o'er degenerate faith,
O'er tyranny, and superstitious Rome;
Cries loud to fight her battles, to defend
Those heavenly gifts, and shield Jerusalem's walls
From cruel sword, and persecuting fire.
Lo! beauteous liberty, the choicest gem
Of Britain's crown, to Britain ever dear,
Requires protection from the spoiling arm
Of France, now rais'd to blast her boasted pride.
Ye Britons, let the voice of kindred plead,
And every dearest tie that binds mankind;
Behold your hoary sires, those hands now weak,
Which, vig'rous once, did shield your helpless years,
And fought, and conquer'd, to secure your bliss;
That rev'rend parent claims the strength he gave,
The arm, yet strong with health and vigorous youth,
To save his feeble and declining years,
From cruel bondage and tyrannic power;
To feed the dying flame of life, and bring
His silver'd age, unsorrowing, to the grave.
See the fond dame, the crown of all your bliss,
Whom sacred wedlock, and conspiring love
Have join'd with you to share in every fate;
The partner of your bed, and all your joy,
Protection for her helpless nature claims;
While round, your infant race, the smiling hope
Of after years, the fruit of all your love,
Cling fond, and, ignorant of general woe,
With silence, and unmeaning looks, demand
A parent's blessing, and a parent's care.
And, O ye Britons, thoughtless and secure,
Like midnight dreamers on the headlong steep,
Let not the voice of after-ages brand
Our present race with infamy and shame;
Nor pour their horrid imprecations forth
In anguish, struggling with the galling chain,
Their freedom lost; nor, loud exclaiming, say,
Our fathers, bless'd with liberty and peace,
These choicest treasures, heavenly gifts below,
Abus'd the blessing, perverse and ingrate,
Dissolv'd in revel, and luxurious feast;
Then drunk with pleasure, madly threw away
Their liberty divine, the richest gem;
And to the heirs of such a vast estate,
Bequeathed nought but wretchedness and scorn,
Unjustly spoil'd, abandon'd and forgot;
Of joy and every sweet endearment robb'd;
To groan beneath the rod of foreign lords,
Inslav'd to bondage, and oppressive kings.
And every dearest tie that binds mankind;
Behold your hoary sires, those hands now weak,
Which, vig'rous once, did shield your helpless years,
And fought, and conquer'd, to secure your bliss;
That rev'rend parent claims the strength he gave,
The arm, yet strong with health and vigorous youth,
To save his feeble and declining years,
From cruel bondage and tyrannic power;
24
His silver'd age, unsorrowing, to the grave.
See the fond dame, the crown of all your bliss,
Whom sacred wedlock, and conspiring love
Have join'd with you to share in every fate;
The partner of your bed, and all your joy,
Protection for her helpless nature claims;
While round, your infant race, the smiling hope
Of after years, the fruit of all your love,
Cling fond, and, ignorant of general woe,
With silence, and unmeaning looks, demand
A parent's blessing, and a parent's care.
And, O ye Britons, thoughtless and secure,
Like midnight dreamers on the headlong steep,
Let not the voice of after-ages brand
Our present race with infamy and shame;
Nor pour their horrid imprecations forth
In anguish, struggling with the galling chain,
Their freedom lost; nor, loud exclaiming, say,
Our fathers, bless'd with liberty and peace,
These choicest treasures, heavenly gifts below,
Abus'd the blessing, perverse and ingrate,
25
Then drunk with pleasure, madly threw away
Their liberty divine, the richest gem;
And to the heirs of such a vast estate,
Bequeathed nought but wretchedness and scorn,
Unjustly spoil'd, abandon'd and forgot;
Of joy and every sweet endearment robb'd;
To groan beneath the rod of foreign lords,
Inslav'd to bondage, and oppressive kings.
The memorable 29th May 1692, when the French fleet, then ready to make a descent upon England, received a total defeat from the gallant admiral Russel.
The battle of Fontenoy, fought for the relief of Tournay, remains an everlasting testimony of the most unshaken courage, and contempt of danger. One column of 16000 British drove before them the best troops of France, tho' thrice their number; and had well nigh taken the French King and his son.
Demosthenes, the famous Athenian orator, who bravely withstood the ambitious aims of Philip, king of Macedon.
The conduct of this unfortunate general has been much blam'd, as rash and precipitant. The fatal catastrophe is yet fresh in our minds; yet the author will not take it upon him to alleviate the charge, nor presume to censure. The general, and those gallant gentlemen, are considered here as falling in their country's cause, nobly, tho' unreveng'd. Their behaviour in the field was great and glorious, meriting a better fate. The general gave most ample proofs of undaunted bravery and resolution, and had five horses killed under him. After his troops were broken, and flying on ev'ry side, himself mortally wounded, amidst the anguish of his wounds he was rais'd at his own desire, and, supported by two wounded officers, still endeavoured to animate his men.
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