Obrazy na stronie

Till half a patriot, half a coward grown,
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.

Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour,
When first Ambition struck at regal power;
And thus polluting honour in its source,
Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force.
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore,
Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore?
Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste,
Like flaring tapers bright’ning as they waste?
Seen Opulence, her grandeur to maintain,
Lead stern Depopulation in her train,

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And over fields, where scatter'd hamlets rose,

In barren solitary pomp repose ?

Have we not seen, at Pleasure's lordly call,
The smiling long-frequented village fall?

Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd,
The modest matron, and the blushing maid,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,

To traverse climes beyond the western main;

Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around,

And Niagata stuns with thund'ring sound?

Ev'n now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays
Through tangled forests, and through dangerous ways;
Where beasts with man divided empire claim,
And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim;
There, while above the giddy tempest flies,
And all around distressful yells arise,
The pensive exile, bending with his woe,
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go,
Casts a long look where England's glories shine,
And bids his bosom sympathise with mine.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centres in the mind:
Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose,
To seek a good each government bestows?

every government, though terrors reign, Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain, How small of all that human hearts endure,

That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!

Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,

Our own felicity we make or find:

With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel,

Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel,

To men remote from power but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own.

Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,

True to imagin'd right, above controul,
While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan,
And learns to venerate himself as man.

Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here;

Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear...

Too blest indeed, were such without alloy;
But foster'd e'en by Freedom, ills annoy:
That independence Britons prize too high,
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie;
The self-dependent lordlings stand alone,

All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown.

Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held,
Minds combat minds, repelling and repellid;
Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar,
Represt ambition struggles round her shore,
Till over-wrought, the general system feels
Its motions stop, cr phrensy fire the wheels.

Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay,
As duty, love, and honour fail to sway,

Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law,

Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe.
Hence all obedience bows to these alone,

And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown;
Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms,
The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms,
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame,
Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame,

One sink of level avarice shall lie,

And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd die.

Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state,

I mean to flatter kings, or court the great:....

Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire,

Far from my bosom drive the low desire;
And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel

The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel;
Thou transitory flower, alike undone

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