Part III. The Burning of Fairfield

ON yon bright plain, with beauty gay,
Where waters wind, and cattle play,
Where gardens, groves, and orchards bloom,
Unconscious of her coming doom,
Once Fairfield smil'd. The tidy dome,
Of pleasure, and of peace, the home,
There rose; and there the glittering spire,
Secure from sacrilegious fire.

And now no scenes had brighter smil'd,
No skies, with purer splendor mild,
No greener wreathe had crown'd the spring,
Nor sweeter breezes spread the wing,
Nor streams thro' gayer margins roll'd,
Nor harvests wav'd with richer gold,
Nor flocks on brighter hillocks play'd,
Nor groves entwin'd a safer shade:
But o'er her plains, infernal War
Has whirl'd the terrors of his car,
The vengeance pour'd of wasting flame,
And blacken'd man with endless shame,

Long had the Briton, round our coast,
His bolts in every haven toss'd,
Unceasing spread the trump's alarms,
And call'd the swains to daily arms.
Success his wilder'd eye had charm'd,
And hope with strong pulsations warm'd,
And pride, with eagle pinion, borne
Far in the blaze of splendid morn.
With brightest beams, as rainbows rise
To suns, departing from the skies,
As morn, in April's fairest form,
Is quench'd, and buried, in the storm;
So brighter all his prospects spread,
Just as the gay enchantment fled.
His efforts clos'd in shame forlorn;
His pride provok'd the taunt of scorn;
Sunbright, the transient meteor shone,
And darker left the world, when gone.

Soft rose the summer's mildest morn;
To yonder beach his fleet was borne;
His canvas swell'd, his flag, unfurl'd,
Hung ruin o'er the western world.
Then forth his thickening thousands came;
Their armour pour'd an eager flame,
Confusion fill'd the realm around;
The reaper left his sheaf unbound;
The farmer, flying, dropp'd his goad,
His oxen yok'd before the load;
His plough the unfinish'd furrow held,
And flocks unguided roam'd the field.
Forth from his shop the tradesman flew,
His musket seizing, to pursue;
From every house, the hurried swains,
Tumultuous, throng'd the bust'ling plains;
At race, the crossing steeds were seen,
And crouds stood clustering on the green.

Aghast the wretched townsmen fled;
The youth with nimble vigour sped;
The virgin, wild with throbbing woe,
Flew swift, and swifter, from the foe;
Pale Age slow totter'd on behind,
His white hair streaming in the wind;
The boy, with little footsteps, hied,
And hung upon his grandsire's side.
Clasp'd close, and cherish'd at her brest,
Her new-born babe the mother press'd;
Oft toward the town was glanc'd her eye,
And oft she listen'd to the cry—
"Haste, haste, my babes! the soe draws near;
Fly, lest he slay my children here"—
Around, the affrighted charmers scower'd,
And scream'd, as fierce the cannons roar'd.

The pair, beyond expression lov'd,
Apart, with lingering anguish, mov'd:
He toward the war reluctant drew;
She wav'd the long and last adieu.

Through every field, and copse, astray,
The unfriended mourners trac'd their way,
That refuge in the waste to find,
Denied them by the human kind:
While waggons bore, behind the throng,
The tythe of furniture along.

Meantime, in combat's ridgy van,
Dark-lowering, man confronted man;
Tempestuous, host with host engag'd;
The shout of thundering onset rag'd;
The cannon burst; the musquet roar'd;
Long, smoky folds through ether pour'd;
Loud rose the uproar wild; around,
The world all trembled, at the sound:
Now hollow groan'd the victim's cries,
And now shrill victory fill'd the skies.

But ah! the rude Columbian host
Nor leaders, arms, nor skill, could boast;
To war untrain'd, they feebly bore
The phalanx firm of veteran power,
Scatter'd to neighbouring hills away,
And gave the scarce-disputed day.

Yet, though in battle's rage untaught,
Superior souls undaunted fought,
Atchiev'd with breast of generous mould,
Such deeds, as Grecian bards have told,
The patriot prov'd, the laurel gain'd,
The brave avengers of their land.

The work of crimson slaughter done,
A sullen interval came on.
The swains, escap'd from threat'ning ill,
Hung, gloomy, round each neighbouring hill:
From house to house th' invaders flew,
To waste, to plunder, and pursue.
Whate'er their ruffian strength could bear
Useful, or pleasant, rich, or rare,
From the poor earner's feeble hand
They snatch'd, and hurried to the strand.

To bruise the head of silver hair,
To agonize the imploring fair,
The husband's breast convulse with woe,
The wife to wound with every throe,
The feeble crush, the humble beat,
And spurn pale Anguish from their feet,
With gross assault to tear the heart,
And smile, and revel, o'er the smart,
To hiss the groan, to mock the prayer,
Alike their transport, and their care.

There Delicacy look'd, to meet
Compassion, at Neronian feet;
Compassion, puff'd in many a song,
And prov'd by impudence of tongue;
But found, deceiv'd by British breath,
To hope was woe, to trust was death.

Yet let not Indignation rude
Commix the worthless with the good:
Sweet Candour sings, with voice benign,
And smiles to pen the generous line,
Bright souls there were, who felt for woe,
And own'd the merit of a foe;
Bright British souls, with virtue warm'd,
To reason, and to kindness, charm'd,
Who sooth'd the wretch with tenderest care,
Their leaders spurn'd, and curs'd the war,
The sorrows wept of life's short span,
And felt the kindred ties of man.

Yet these, even these (let Pity's tale
Their errors, while it tells, bewail)
Thought sacred Duty's stern commands
Compell'd to ill their struggling hands.
Fond man! can Duty bid thee do
What thou must mourn, and others rue?
Are crimes a debt by Virtue paid?
Is GOD, where conscience shrinks, obey'd?
GOD, who from every ill restrains,
Tho' greatest good the guilt obtains;
Who, on the world's funereal day,
Will truth's divine award display,
Bid heaven, and earth, his vengeance see,
And judge thy guilty lord, and thee?

Meantime, on yonder hills, forlorn,
The townsmen stood, with anguish torne,
Anguish for those, they left behind,
To fears, and ills, and foes, consign'd;
The husband, for his darling mate;
The father, for his children's fate;
While prescience wrung with keenest throe,
And fast enhanc'd suspended woe.
When lo! dark-rolling thro' the skies,
Unnumber'd smokes began to rise:
His mansion, long to each endear'd,
Where peace, and joy, alone appear'd,
Where all the charities of life,
Of parents, children, husband, wife,
With softer, tenderest bosoms strove,
For garlands, in the strife of love;
The morn with brighter beauty dress'd;
The evening gladden'd in the west;
Bade each gay sun more gaily roll,
And twin'd the sympathy of soul;
That mansion, malice' seven-fold ire
Now wrapp'd in swathes of circling fire,
Scatter'd his darling bliss in air,
And plung'd his heart in deep despair.
O vilest of the crimes of War,
Fell partner of his bloody car,
Dread ill, to guilty mortals given,
To mark the wrath of injur'd HEAVEN;
O Conflagration! curse intire;
The impoison'd sting of baffled ire;
Of kings, of chiefs, th' immortal shame;
The rasure of the reasoning name!
From thee, no aid the victor gains;
Nor wealth, nor strength, rewards his pains:
The fear, he fondly hopes impress'd,
Is chang'd to rage, in every breast:
The victim, maddening with his woe,
With vengeance burns, a deadlier foe.
'Tis thine, to glean the wastes of war,
The landschape of HEAVEN's good to mar,
Life's latest refuge to consume,
And make the world a general tomb.

Say, Muse indignant! whose the hand
That hurl'd the conflagrative brand?
A foe to human feelings born,
And of each future age the scorn,
TRYON atchiev'd the deed malign,
TRYON, the name of every sin.
Hell's basest fiends the flame survey'd,
And smil'd, to see destruction spread;
While Satan, blushing deep, look'd on,
And Infamy disown'd her son.

Now Night, of all her stars forlorn,
Majestic, up the sky was borne.
A cloud immense her misty car,
Slow-sliding thro' the burden'd air;
Her wreathe of yew; a cypress wand
Uplifted by her magic hand;
Pale, shrouded fears her awful train,
And spectres gliding on the plain:
While Horror, o'er the sable world,
His ensigns, thro' the expanse, unfurl'd.
When lo! the southern skies around,
Expanded wide, with turrets crown'd,
With umber'd skirts, with wary gleam,
Uprose an awful ridge of flame,
Shed far it's dreary lustre round,
And dimly streak'd the twilight ground.
Dark clouds, with many a dismal stain,
Hung hov'ring o'er the gleamy main;
While deep, the distant, hollow roar
Wav'd, echoing from the illumin'd shore;
And, from each heaven-directed spire,
Climb'd bending pyramids of fire.

Meantime, a storm, in western skies,
Thick, heavy, vast, began to rise,
Roll'd swift, on burden'd winds, along,
And brooded o'er the plundering throng,
In deeper night the heavens array'd
And stretch'd it's pall of boundless shade.
Forth shot the fierce and lurid flame,
(The world dim-rising in the beam)
Lessen'd the conflagrative spires,
And blended, with their light, it's fires.
Again new darkness spread the main,
The splendors bright'ning rose again.
The thunder, with earth-rending sound,
Shook every vale, and hill around;
While, at each pause, with solemn voice,
The murmuring flames prolong'd the noise.
It seem'd, the final day was come,
The day of earth's protracted doom;
The Archangel's voice began to call
The nations of this guilty ball;
The hills to cleave; the skies to rend;
Tumultuous elements to blend;
And HEAVEN, in pomp tremendous, came
To light the last, funereal flame.

The tumult pass'd, the morn's meek eye
Look'd soft, and silent, from the sky.
Still on their hills the townsmen stood,
And mark'd the scene of strife, and blood,
Watching the progress of the day,
That bore their plundering foes away
Tumultuous, to the darkening strand
From vengeance shrunk the guilty band,
With loads of spoil, retir'd in haste,
The spoil of domes, and churches, ras'd;
Thence, to their ships, by boats convey'd,
Their sails unfurl'd, their anchors weigh'd,
Awak'd the Injurer's sullen ire,
And brooded o'er another fire.

Each to his home, the townsmen flew,
Where scenes of anguish met the view.
Here spread the sunk, still-blazing wall,
And there stood, nodding to its fall:
Here rose the slow-declining fire,
And smoke, reluctant to expire;
There sable brands lay scatter'd round,
And ashes vile defac'd the ground.
The sullen chimney frown'd alone;
The sad winds breath'd a hollow groan:
His joys were fled; his hopes were gone;
His houshold driven to haunts unknown:
There peaceful slumber'd Ruin wild,
And Horror rear'd his head, and smil'd.

O thou! whose heart, with kind design,
Explores, and feels this honest line;
Before thee, lo! a village stands,
In misery plung'd by hostile hands.
Such, such is war's pernicious rage,
In every form, and clime, and age,
It sweeps, where'er its horrors come,
All human blessings to the tomb.
Once, on this little spot, appear'd
Whate'er the life of man endear'd,
Peace, freedom, competence, and health,
Enduring good, and real wealth;
With Innocence, of tranquil breast,
Their faithful friend, and constant guest;
While all the village Virtues smil'd,
And play'd, and sung their field-notes wild,
The feast of temperate, houshold joy,
That still delights, that cannot cloy,
Went round the year. The husband's toil
Still bade the field and garden smile;
With green adorn'd the vernal day;
Awak'd the tended flock to play;
Bade Summer lay his golden load,
And Autumn drop his blooming good;
Of frost, compell'd the rage to cease,
And charm'd the wintry storm to peace.
Her toils to his the wife conjoin'd,
With sweetest unity of mind;
Converted, all he earn'd, to good,
The fleece to clothes, the corn to food;
Preserv'd, with watchful eye, the hoard;
With dainties crown'd the cheerful board;
In every labour claim'd her share;
And burnish'd joy, and gilded care;
And, with a sweet, supporting smile,
Seren'd, and lessen'd, every ill.

Around, sustain'd, instructed, sway'd,
Their little flock, as lambkins, play'd,
With stripling sports, and smiling strife,
Deceiv'd the thorny road of life;
Clasp'd the fond heart; the bosom charm'd;
And Labour's icy sinews warm'd;
With blossom'd hopes enchanted pain,
And life's brown autumn green'd again.
scene the parents view'd,
saw their bliss renew'd,
Beheld themselves, in theirs, revive,
And thro' succeeding ages live.

Meantime, from house to house, went round
The cup, with social pleasure crown'd;
The bliss, good neighbourhood bestows,
Immingling joys, and soothing woes;
The feast, with spicy fragrance, cheer'd;
With glee the evening hour endear'd;
Laid sickness on a downy bed;
And pillow'd soft the weary head;
Smooth'd the stern brow of angry Strife,
And added balm to drooping life.

Here too, with fond, maternal hands,
The school embrac'd her infant bands;
To wisdom led the early mind,
Affections soft, and actions kind;
Prepar'd to fill the useful part,
And form'd to worth the cultur'd heart.

And here, when beam'd the sabbath's ray,
Bright earnest of immortal day,
The bell the solemn warning rung;
The temple's doors unfolded hung:
To pay, each grateful houshold came,
Its tribute to th' Unutter'd Name;
And sent with heaven-directed eyes,
United incense to the skies.

Where now, thou Child of Nature! where
Is gone this humble bliss sincere?
Lo? guilty War has wasted all,
And Ruin, summon'd at his call,
Has marr'd the good, th' ETERNAL yields,
And sown with salt the desert fields.

Such, Child of Nature! such the scene,
In every age, and clime, has been.
Since Nimrod first the spoil began,
Man still has toil'd to ruin man.
Search, search, and tell me, what has most
The toils, and powers, of men engross'd?
The nerves of suffering Labour strain'd?
Invention's richest channels drain'd?
Awak'd, and fir'd, the immense design?
Devour'd th' incalculable mine?
And wing'd bold enterprise afar
Through danger, death and ruin? War.
Peace' lowly vale neglected lies,
Unseen, or pass'd with glancing eyes.
The cultur'd field, the mansion sweet,
Where all the Loves, and Virtues meet,
The calm, the meek, the useful life,
The friend of man, the foe of strife,
The heart to kindness tun'd, are things
Too mean for statesmen, chiefs, and kings.
For there no twining laurels bloom,
Still verdant o'er the wintry tomb;
No cliffs ambitious tempt to rise,
And climb, and climb, to reach the skies;
Nor fancy opes that bright abode,
Where man's transfigur'd to a god.

Yet here whate'er the earth's wide field,
Of comfort, hope, or joy, can yield,
Whate'er benignant SKIES design'd,
To nurse the form, or cheer the mind,
Our being's scope, and use, and end,
The arts, and acts, that life befriend,
Whate'er adorns the reasoning name,
Or emulates an angel's same,
The just, the good, the humble, thrive,
And in this sweet republic live.

But these, too mean for kings, are seen
For all the trains of kings too mean.
For these no senate gold bestows;
O'er these no statesman bends his brows;
No garlands bloom, processions glare;
Nor mobs, with idiot wonder, stare;
No heralds blazon them to fame;
They rise, they fall, without a name.

Thro' earth's immeasurable bounds,
Thro' time's interminable rounds,
Each day has heard the clarion roar;
Each land been bath'd in human gore.
The Egyptian rule, the Assyrian throne,
Was rear'd of spoils, and realms undone.
Greece redden'd earth around with blood,
And pour'd of woe an ocean flood;
Then pointed at herself the dart,
And brothers pierc'd a brother's heart.
The Persian ruin'd half mankind:
The Macedonian wept, to find,
While brooding o'er the wrecks of joy,
No new world left him, to destroy.
The structure mark of Rome's dread power!
Its marble bones! its cement gore!
Her sway the waste of human joy;
The art to plunder, and destroy;
A curse to earth's extended climes;
A web of madness, woes, and crimes!
Her towers were built by galled hands;
In blood her proud Pantheon stands;
Her triumphs show'd the tyger's prey;
And corpses pav'd her Appian way.
In each tall temple's dread abode,
Pale spectres hover'd round the god,
(The injur'd ghosts of countless lands,
Cut off from life by Roman hands)
Hung round, and claim'd the spoils their own,
Shrick'd o'er their native realms undone,
Haunted each shrine, with livid stare,
And mingled groans with every prayer.

Nor less, in modern days, when art
Has led to nobler scenes the heart,
When science beams with vernal rays,
And lights to bliss ten thousand ways,
The Gospel, found in every tongue,
Has peace, and sweet salvation, sung,
The tyger charm'd to quit his prey,
And taught the wolf with lambs to play—
Still roars the trump's funereal found;
"To arms," the startled hills rebound;
War's iron car in thunder rolls,
From medial climes, to distant poles.

Amaz'd, see Europe, first of all,
Proud Empress of this suffering ball.
The sun of power, and arts refin'd,
The boast, and beauty, of mankind,
The work of death, and plunder, spread,
And riot on th' untimely dead!

When, borne by winds of softest wing,
Returns the life-renewing spring,
The tempest flies to earth's far ends,
And HEAVEN in peace and love descends,
Shines in the sun's serener ray.
Breathes in the balmy breath of May,
Distills in earth-dissolving showers,
And glows in rainbow-painted flowers,
While wisdom works, while goodness warms,
In sky-born tints, and angel forms,
The new, the sweet, creation springs,
And beauty blooms, and rapture sings:
Fast swell the teeming seeds of food;
The world is heap'd with boundless good:
In every scene, the GODHEAD smiles,
And man of rage, and lust, beguiles.
Then beats the drum its fierce alarm;
Then millions, fir'd to madness, arm,
Fight, plunder, desolate, devour,
And drench the wasted world in gore.

Whose name rolls down, from age to age?
Whose splendours light th' Historic page?
Who wakes th' inrapt Maeonian song?
Who prompts the universal tongue?
The world's great guardian, genius, god?
The Man of spoil, the Man of blood.
Caesar, the butcher of mankind.
Loads with his praise each passing wind;
The general thief, adulterer, brute;
His boast to murder, waste, pollute;
Dread rival of Apollyon's fame;
His labours, arts, and praise, the same.
What most the heart with vice defiles;
Of worth disrobes; of heaven beguiles?
What bids in storms the passions roll;
Consigns to appetite the soul;
Bids Pride ascend th' ETERNAL's throne,
And claim the universe, her own;
Ambition's vulture-wing expands,
Borne, hungry, keen, o'er suffering lands;
The wide world talon'd to his sway,
A field of death, and food, and prey?
What lights, for fell Revenge, the pyre;
Of Malice heats the quenchless fire;
And lifts Assassination's knife
Against a friend's, or parent's, life?
What stretches Avarice' gulphy maw,
And opens wide her shark-tooth'd jaw,
Both India's bowels to devour,
To drink the sea, and gorge the shore;
Calls forth, in viper paths, Disguise,
And points her thousand tongues with lies;
Bold, bronzy Fraud invests in mail,
And clips his weights, and lops his scale;
For Honour's house digs Forgery's mine,
And guilds his green, impoisoning coin;
Breaks tyger Rapine's iron cage,
And sends him loose, to roam, and rage;
Extortion rouses, from his lair,
The cote t' o'erleap, the flock to tear,
To make the fenceless poor his food,
And eat their flesh, and drink their blood?
What sires, to phrenzy, Lewdness' veins;
Throws on Adultery's neck the reins;
Gives high-fed Rape at large to fly,
And makes the world a general stye;
Peoples a realm with sots, and swine,
And bids men live, to drink, and dine;
Tempts burrow'd Atheism abroad,
To infuriate man, to hiss at GOD,
To burst each moral bond divine,
And nature's magic links disjoin,
The sense of common good erase,
Th' etherial stamp of HEAVEN deface,
Dog gentle peace, bait generous worth,
Haunt justice, truth, and law, from earth,
And bid in hell's subjected fire,
Religion's sky built fane expire?

What licks the final dregs of joy,
And leaves th' inverted vessel dry;
Makes earth, of virtue besom'd clean,
The cage of every beast obscene;
A ruin'd dome, whose walls around
The hollow moan of death resound;
An Afric sand; a Greenland shore;
Where life and comfort spring no more;
An image dark and drear of hell;
Where fiends, invok'd familiar dwell;
Where lost immortals Angels weep;
Where curses wake, and blessings sleep;
And GOD, the rebels forc'd t' abhor,
Repents his marr'd creation? War.

Say, Child of Nature! does thy tear
Start, as thy pain'd eye wanders here?
Thy cheek with manly blushes burn?
Thy wonted praise to curses turn?
Thy bosom waste with cankering woe?
And thy heart heave th' indignant throe?

Go then, ah go! whate'er thy lot;
Be thine the palace, or the cot,
To wield the rod, the yoke to bear,
A million, or a crown, to share,
The senate's guided hand to sway,
Or bid the little flock obey,
Go, ere thy heart be chang'd to stone,
Or ear find music in a groan,
Or gold the gates of pity bar,
Hate, curse, oppose, Tartarean war.
Disdain, despise, with horror name,
And give to never-dying shame,
The King, that thron'd for human good,
Consigns his realm to waste, and blood;
Senates, that, form'd for general weal,
Sanction the dread decree to kill;
Statesmen, to tygers chang'd by power,
That smile, and feast on human gore,
And chiefs, that havoc love to spread,
And pluck their wreaths from fields of dead.

But round thee gentle peace diffuse,
Her morning smiles, and evening dews;
Thy sons with love of peace inform;
Their hearts with sweet affections warm;
Bid them pernicious strife abhor,
And lisp the infant curse on war.
Far round thee light the genial fire;
Thy neighbours, and thy friends, inspire
United, lift the ardent prayer,
That GOD thy ruin'd race may spare,
Wake in the hearts affections mild,
Sweet semblance of the meekly child,
MESSIAH's peaceful sway extend,
Bid kings, and chiefs, to virtue bend,
Protract of life the little span,
And change the reasoning wolf to man.

And O thou Sage, by Learning taught,
With wisdom and with virtue fraught,
Whose soul the breath of HEAVEN informs;
Whose heart MESSIAH's spirit warms;
Sleep, sleep no more. For suffering men,
Awake thy voice; arouse thy pen;
The cause of peace and kindness plead;
For misery let thy bosom bleed;
To endless hate and shame consign
The tyger thron'd, the titled swine;
The charm of threescore centuries break,
And bid the torpid slumberer wake;
Burst with new sound the adder's ear,
And make th' insensate marble hear,
His interest know, his end discern,
And o'er his slaughter'd kindred yearn,
Feel the unmeasur'd curse of war,
And all her crimson fiends abhor:
Tread where th' impassion'd saviour trode,
And earth shall hail thee, Child of God.

Go too, thou ardent Hero! go,
Fresh from fields of war, and woe,
From thy proud, triumphal car,
Glittering with the spoils of war,
While thy wheels majestic roll
Onward to th' immortal goal;
While thy arms with lightning blaze;
While extatic millions gaze;
Shouts to heaven thy triumphs wing,
And imagin'd angels sing;
Lessening in th' immense parade,
All preceding glories fade,
Caesar's changing star retires,
And eclips'd are Marlborough's fires;
Cast around thee searching eyes,
Mark thy splendours, whence they rise!
See, on fields, with corses spread,
Thine exulting coursers tread!
See, thy car, with garlands proud,
Rolls thro' streams of human blood!
Blood from kindred bosoms pour'd!
Brothers by a brother gor'd!
Forth, from Adam's veins, the stream,
Living, ran through thee and them.

Mark! around thy wandering eye,
Wasted fields of culture lie,
Late with plenteous harvests crown'd,
Now in gulphs of ruin drown'd,
There the HEAVENS their bounty shower'd,
Seasons there their blessings pour'd;
Health and comfort, clothes and food;
Where is now the boundless good?

See yon flames thro' ether bend!
See th' immense of smoke ascend!
Lost, asham'd, the sky retires,
And the sun withdraws his fires.
Cities there in ruin lie,
Towns and villages of joy;
Temples, where, to virtue given,
Man was form'd for life, and Heaven;
Domes of pomp, and seats of bliss
Mansions sanctified to peace;
Cots, where harmless housholds dwelt,
And each soft emotion felt;
Sportive play'd the wanton child,
And white Age look'd on, and smil'd:
Streets, were cheerful Business reign'd,
Shops, where Toil his house sustain'd;
Humble wishes sought, and found
Life, with peace and comfort crown'd.
Where are now the mansions dear?
Scatter'd in the realms of air.
Where are now the happy trains?
Weltering on the bloody plains.
Ruin'd walls deface the ground;
Silence broods the domes around;
Ravens flutter o'er the tomb,
Vultures scream, and tygers roam.

To the margin of the deep
Bid thy wheels of grandeur sweep.
See th' imperial sail, unfurl'd,
Wave triumphant o'er the world;
Rows of sleeping cannon join'd;
Streamers glorying on the wind!

Lo! the proudly-swelling gales,
Springing, fill the wanton sails;
Marshal'd in sublime array,
Winds the fleet its lordly way;
Ocean greets the awful train,
And expands his glassy plain.
See the private barks of prey,
Steal behind their creeping way;
Arm'd, with piracy to spoil
Hard-earn'd fruits of honest toil;
By the voice of Law let loose,
Death and beggary to diffuse;
With the dye of endless shame
Blackening man's unhappy name!

Thron'd upon th' imperial stern,
Death's unfinish'd Form discern!
Sooty clouds his limbs inclose;
Thorns his mystic crown compose;
In his hand, th' uplifted dart
Hastens to transfix the heart;
From his scythe, with lurid gleam,
Pale sulphureous lightnings stream.

Hark, his hollow voice resounds,
O'er the world's unmeasur'd bounds!
Ocean quakes, thro' all his waves;
Earth remurmurs, from her caves.

"Cease, fond man! thy claims resign;
Earth, with all her realms, is mine.
Thron'd with all-subduing sway,
Here I bid the world obey.
Mine, these engines ocean brave;
Mine, these crimson streamers wave;
Mine, the winds to waft them blow;
Mine, the purple deep below.
O'er the sea, from sky to sky,
Mortals, wing'd by terror, fly:
Here, to farthest eve, and morn,
Death's resistless arms are borne;
Floating hosts behind you pour;
Hark! pursuing thunders roar.
See your cities wrapp'd in fire!
See your sons, and sires, expire!
Infants, recent from the womb,
Virgins, matrons, croud the tomb!
Seas divided regions join:
All the watery world is mine."

"I ordain the crimson day;
I the embattled hosts array;
Sound the trumpet, beat the alarm,
And the heart with vengeance arm.
I the ruddy standard spread,
Pile the groaning fields with dead,
Light the whelming flame, and sweep
Every blessing to the deep.

"Man, delighting to destroy,
Hating peace, and shunning joy,
Man, who feels his life too long,
Child of madness, child of wrong,
Man, obsequious to my will,
Loves the glorious work of ill,
Cuts off half his brother's years,
Swells my darling stream of tears,
Bids destruction round him flow,
Feasting sweet on human woe."

"Who so great a king as I?
My pavilion is the sky;
Earth my realm, my throne the air;
Winds my coursers; clouds my car:
Suns but light me to my prey;
Midnight veils my secret way:
O'er expiring worlds I ride;
Dearth and Plague, before me stride:
Storms, my besom, sweep the wave,
And with thousands fill the grave;
Chiefs and kings, my servants, toil,
Butcher hosts, and countries spoil:
Mortals every claim resign;
Earth, air, ocean, all are mine."

Why, triumphant Hero! why
Stares thy wild and tearless eye?
Whence thy pale and spectred brow?
Palsied limbs? and sighs of woe?
Has the gloomy monarch's dart
Pierc'd with agony thy heart?
Or has human misery riven?
Or the advancing curse of HEAVEN?

Thou hast shorten'd life's short span;
Thou hast emptied earth, of man?
Breasts unnumber'd rack'd with fears;
Eyes unnumber'd drown'd in tears;
Bidden countless trains expire;
Countless cities sunk in fire;
Countless hearts with mourning riven;
Countless souls shut out of heaven.

Art thou Atheist? Spare the span,
Kinder Chance allows to man.
Shallow is his cup of bliss;
Make not, then the portion less:
Grudge not foes a boon so small;
Spare, oh spare the little all!

But, if rais'd from mole to man,
Thou canst nobler objects scan,
Lift thy curtain'd eyes abroad,
And discern the present GOD;
If MESSIAH's solar ray
Through thy night has pierc'd it's way,
And, subliming sense to thought,
Has eternal wonders wrought;
Think, oh think, the crimson tide
Pours from those, for whom he died!
He the millions bled to save,
Thou hast hurried to the grave.
He compels, with dread command,
Every heart, and every hand,
Man to clothe, sustain with food,
And to bless with every good;
But, obdurate to his call,
Thou hast slain, and robb'd of all.

Think how precious is the hour,
Given, the wanderer to restore.
Think, the heart shall ever find
Pity from the ETERNAL MIND,
That has learn'd for man to glow,
Smile with joy, and weep with woe,
Give the weary outcast rest,
Draw the barb from Sorrow's breast,
And (the sole, alchymic stone)
Make a brother's weal it's own:
While th' unfeeling wretch shall meet
Vengeance at his MAKER's feet.

But thy heart, with ill uncloy'd,
Woe has spread, and peace destroy'd,
HEAVEN's delightful work undone,
And the task of Hell begun.
Orphans' cries thy car pursue;
Parent's tears thy path bedew;
Widows' shrieks thy music drown;
Cypress wreaths invest thy crown;
Spoils in all thy splendours glow;
Nurs'd with blood, thy laurels grow;
On the bones of slaughter'd bands
See! thy arch triumphal stands.

Lo! in yonder, verging skies,
Myriad troops of spectres rise;
Spirits of a distant world:
By thy arm to ruin hurl'd.
Bristling stands their bloody hair;
On thee gleams their angry stare;
In pale clouds approaching, see
Every finger points at thee!
"Thou," they feebly murmuring cry,
"Thou hast drunk our cup of joy;
Ere the mortal race was run,
Quench'd in blood our noon-day sun;
Halv'd the hour, by Mercy given,
To prepare for life, and heaven;
And, with all our guilt unpaid,
Plung'd us to the untimely dead."

Fainting Hero! pangs unknown
Break, and break, thy heart of stone;
Short, and shorter, pants thy breath,
And thine eye-balls swim in death;
Death thy brow has whiten'd o'er;
Thou art fallen, to rise no more.