 | The Curfew |  |
PROLOGUE.
BY A LADY.SPOKEN BY MR. BARTLEY.
Rude is the tale our Author's scene pourtrays—
Rude was our Country in her earlier days—
When first the Curfew, knell of England's woe,
Proclaim'd the triumphs of the Norman bow;
And haughty William, with unhallow'd claim
And ruthless sword, usurp'd a Monarch's name:
Force then was law—all right was with the strong,
And public plunder charter'd private wrong.
The blasted soil, the track of war reveal'd—
Wild was the forest, and untilled the field.
In that dark age, the tyrant of the mind,
Gaunt Superstition, trampled on mankind:
Hecate's dire name imperial realms dismay'd,
And sceptred heroes trembled at a shade.
At midnight oft the impious vows were rais'd,
The taper glimm'ring, whilst the cauldron blaz'd!
The hag by fancy loath'd, by hale pursu'd,
With spells abhorr'd th'infernal spirits woo'd:
O'er the blue flames she breath'd the awful word,
And Fate's mysterious characters explor'd:
Her voice the victor's tow'ring soul opprest,
Her eye glanc'd terror thro' the mailed breast.
Drear as the night of winter was that time,
The live-long night of Lapland's arctic clime;
And long a chearless aspect England bore,
And late the twilight linger'd on her shore.
That time is past; beneath the day-star's smile,
The arts have bloom'd and ripen'd in our Isle;
No spell is breath'd, no impious flame aspires,
The lamp of Science burns with hallow'd fires:—
No vassals own their Lord's imperious claim—
For every Briton boasts a Freeman's name!
By this ennobl'd—at his country's call
He goes—for her, to conquer, or to fall!
Proud by his actions to approve his birth,
The dust of heroes is his native earth!
Ye, who with us, departed times retrace,
Forgive the faults of an unletter'd race:
With candour mark, those customs not your own,
And pity errors to your age unknown:
Too kind for scorn, too just to be severe,
Ye serve no tyrant, and no conqueror fear;
Too blest to envy—for distrust too brave,
Your first, your noblest triumph is to save;
Oh! here with friendly zeal protect our cause,
Your voice is fame, and glory your applause.
| The Curfew | |