Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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Britain's-Decline.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
70
Britain's-Decline.
While dire distress sends forth her melting cry,
And humid pity lends a watchful ear
Unto her woe; O Muse, let not thy voice
Remain unheard, while ebon gloom surrounds
Once splendent Albion, known to realms afar;
But join the sad, the universal wail,
Pour'd by her sons and daughters, torn with grief,
And say, if thou canst tell, what forged the bolt,
That, thrown from ruin's deadly mortar, sends
Terrific havoc round our sea-girt isle.
Ah me! she little thought thus low to sink
In the pernicious mire of infamy,
When on the acme of the tow'ring arch
Of mundane glory she triumphant sat,
While at her feet the sceptred kings of realms
Obsequious crouch'd, as to divinity.
And humid pity lends a watchful ear
Unto her woe; O Muse, let not thy voice
Remain unheard, while ebon gloom surrounds
Once splendent Albion, known to realms afar;
But join the sad, the universal wail,
Pour'd by her sons and daughters, torn with grief,
And say, if thou canst tell, what forged the bolt,
That, thrown from ruin's deadly mortar, sends
Terrific havoc round our sea-girt isle.
Ah me! she little thought thus low to sink
In the pernicious mire of infamy,
When on the acme of the tow'ring arch
Of mundane glory she triumphant sat,
While at her feet the sceptred kings of realms
Obsequious crouch'd, as to divinity.
Perfidious pride! 'twas thou who laidst the base
Of Britain's ruin: thy delusive glare
Waved, like enchantment, on her dazzled sight
The ignis-fatuus of pomp and power,
Which hath decoy'd her into that quagmire
From which to free her every art is vain.
Jealous of honour, she disdain'd to brook
The slightest speck of insult unrepaid,
But, with infuriate wrath, hurl'd headlong down
The bolt of retribution on the heads
Of those whom all the world beside would deem
The unoffending objects of her ire.
Hence war on war incessant was her fate;
Hence debt contracted ne'er to be repaid;
Hence fields of carnage, which in sackcloth clad
Widows and orphans, while the frequent tear
Rolls o'er th' untimely pallid cheek of woe:
But was she ne'er th' aggressor in the cause
Which lighted up the horrid torch of war,
Whence countless unoffending victims bled?
Let those who dwell in India's realms reply,
Whose sires have felt the bosom-rending throe
For sacked cities and for plunder'd stores,
And for a country wrench'd by legal force
Out of their hands, which they by right had held,
Time immemorial, from the hand of heaven.
List Afric's sons, while they, responsive, tell
What tempted first the bulwark of the waves
From Britain's shores to hapless Negroland?
Alas! not they e'er did infest our trade,
By predatory inroad o'er the deep,
In light canoe, incompetent for war;
Nor e'er assay'd, wide o'er th' Atlantic waves,
With dire armada, to invade our shores:
Yet have Britannia's sons, with guileful lure,
Spread their broad flags, inscribed to liberty,
Over the den whence slav'ry's clanging chain
Invokes the awful curse decreed by heaven
For those who fellow-sympathy debar.
Of Britain's ruin: thy delusive glare
Waved, like enchantment, on her dazzled sight
The ignis-fatuus of pomp and power,
Which hath decoy'd her into that quagmire
From which to free her every art is vain.
Jealous of honour, she disdain'd to brook
The slightest speck of insult unrepaid,
But, with infuriate wrath, hurl'd headlong down
The bolt of retribution on the heads
Of those whom all the world beside would deem
The unoffending objects of her ire.
Hence war on war incessant was her fate;
Hence debt contracted ne'er to be repaid;
Hence fields of carnage, which in sackcloth clad
Widows and orphans, while the frequent tear
Rolls o'er th' untimely pallid cheek of woe:
But was she ne'er th' aggressor in the cause
Which lighted up the horrid torch of war,
Whence countless unoffending victims bled?
Let those who dwell in India's realms reply,
Whose sires have felt the bosom-rending throe
For sacked cities and for plunder'd stores,
71
Out of their hands, which they by right had held,
Time immemorial, from the hand of heaven.
List Afric's sons, while they, responsive, tell
What tempted first the bulwark of the waves
From Britain's shores to hapless Negroland?
Alas! not they e'er did infest our trade,
By predatory inroad o'er the deep,
In light canoe, incompetent for war;
Nor e'er assay'd, wide o'er th' Atlantic waves,
With dire armada, to invade our shores:
Yet have Britannia's sons, with guileful lure,
Spread their broad flags, inscribed to liberty,
Over the den whence slav'ry's clanging chain
Invokes the awful curse decreed by heaven
For those who fellow-sympathy debar.
“Sell human souls not,” God and reason cry,
In sounds so loud that none can ever claim
Exemption from the law through ignorance:
But thou hast sold, oh Britain! and hast bought
The sons and daughters of our general sire;
And canst thou then escape for aye the stroke
Of retribution, though delay'd for long?
No! heaven, vindictive, waves above thy head
The flaming brand of vengeance, to bestow
To stern-eyed Justice what by right is his.
So tyranny awhile may keep his place,
But sink at last into forlorn disgrace.
In sounds so loud that none can ever claim
Exemption from the law through ignorance:
But thou hast sold, oh Britain! and hast bought
The sons and daughters of our general sire;
And canst thou then escape for aye the stroke
Of retribution, though delay'd for long?
No! heaven, vindictive, waves above thy head
The flaming brand of vengeance, to bestow
To stern-eyed Justice what by right is his.
So tyranny awhile may keep his place,
But sink at last into forlorn disgrace.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |