« PreviousContinue »
I. When the British warrior queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods,
II. Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage, and full of grief.
III. Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues.
In the blood that she has spilt ;
Deep in ruin as in guilt.
V. Rome, for empire far renowned,
Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the groundHark! the Gaul is at her gates!
VI. Other Romans all arise,
Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame.
VII. Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land, Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command.
VIII. Regions Cæsar never knew
Thy pofterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they.
IX. Such the bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celeftial fire, Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.
Felt them in her bosom glow:
XI. Ruffians, pitilefs as proud,
Heaven awards the vengeance due ; Empire is on us bestowed,
Shame and ruin wait for you.
HERO IS M.
THERE was a time when Ætna's filent fire
Havoc and devaftation in the van,
Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass,
Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws, Who write in blood the merits of your cause, Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence, Glory your aim, but justice your pretence; Behold in Ætna's emblematic fires The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires !