« ПредишнаНапред »
Not the fam’d Straight, by bleeding heroes barr'd,
While each bold inmate of the isles,
Swells the vindictive Pæan round;
Wide o'er Europa's trembling lands,
Fell desolation marks their way:
Fondly her eye, lo! Albion throws
Each tie to closer union draws,
By mingled rights and mingled laws; Then turns averse from Gallia's guilty field, And tears, with gen'rous pride, the lilies from her
Albion and Erin's kindred race,
And, as in history's awful page, .
Immortal virtue shall proclaim To every clime, thro' ev'ry age,
Imperial George's patriot fame; That parent care shall win her warmest smiles, Which rear'd, mid' ocean's reign, the Empire of the
the 18ih Century.
Which has another century run:
Thus, since at first JEHOVAH's voice
(And, while the sons of glory sung, The balanc'd earth on nothing hung), With speed unceasing, full of prime, Have march'd the bands of hoary time; And thus, till time itself is o’er, And suns and planets blaze no more, While years and centuries roll away, The glorious march shall never stay.
Genius of light, celestial name! Thron'd on thine orb of central flame! Oft, as these hundred years have past, Of which this day has been the last: Hast thou, on thy high throne reclin'd, Survey'd the miseries of mankind.
Again, bright messenger of God! Again, thy glories set in blood; The madd’ning world is still in arms, Still Europe shakes with loud alarms. Still round her oft ensanguin'd shores, The tumult of destruction roars; Still pride and avarice, imps of hell, The rulers of our race impel, To arm their rude and wretched slaves, And send whole nations to their graves.
The frowning heaven's oppose in vain, Noi winter can their rage restain, Not frozer. hills abate that rage, On fields of ice the troops engage; The work of death no storm impcdes, Midst showers of snow the battle bleeds. Ah! how defil'd its Aeecy white; The pitying sun avoids the sight, His mourning race he turns away, And blots with gloomy clouds the day.
Almighty sov’reign of the sun! Whose will in heaven and earth is done; In pity stop the sanguine tide; O let the wrath of man subside;
Bid to, its sheath the sword return,
The hands and hearts of all our kind.
No more, alas! a refuge here is found,
Where, once in works of tenderness and love, The transcripts of the gentle Tesus strove, And sympathy would oft its vigils keep By the pale wretch, and weep with them that weçp; Where ost the hallow'd taper in his hand, Beside th’expiring saint, the saint would stand, Pour on the soul the sweet celestial balm, Which Gilead drops, our terrors to becalm, Lift to the cross the languid dying eye, Mark what he taught, and learn himself to die.
There dreary solitude in silence dwells, Unthrong'd the aisles, untenanted the cells; And where the tranquil group would council hold, And where their beads the pious fathers told, And where the cares that wring my breast forgot, How pray'r would sooth, how praise sublime their lot; A death-like stillness holds its solemn reign, Nor aught presumes its empire to arraign, Save when the melancholy birds of night, With shrill response to deeds of death invite; Save when the daw, with pertly clam'rous sound, Wheels sportively thy battlements around, And ost, at eye, th' affrighted zephir moans, Sighs in the blast, or in the tempest groans, Ah! me that naught beneath the spangled vault, Can 'scape th' unhallow'u sccptics rude assault, That sorrow's pittance earn'd with many a tear, The courtly ruffian's avarice could not spareGood God! how long shall suff'ring man lament A blessing promis'd, but a scorpion sent! How long shall wrathful vengeance thus delay, To crush the traitor, and avenge the prcy?
Where now shall pining anguish hide its head: Where find the peace thy friendly roof would shed: Where shall this breaking heart for refuge fly, The world renounce, and all its spight dery Alas! of all our pious fathers pains, Not e'en one lunely sanctu'ry remains; O'erwhelm'd in reformation's frantic tide, The wreck alone frowns dark on ev'ry side