The martyr fmil'd beneath avenging pow'r, And brav'd the tyrant in his torturing hour! When Europe fought your fubject realms to gain, And stretch'd her giant fceptre o'er the main, Taught her proud barks their winding way to shape, And brav'd the ftormy fpirit of the Cape; 12 Children of Brama! then was mercy nigh To wash the stain of blood's eternal dye ? 550 Did Peace defcend, to triumph and to fave, 555 When free born Britons crofs'd the Indian wave? Ah, no !—to more than Rome's ambition true, The Nurfe of Freedom gave it not to you! 560 Rich in the gems of India's gaudy zone, And plunder pil'd from kingdoms not their own, The heart-born anguish of a thousand cries ; Could lock, with impious hands, their teeming ftore, 565 While famish'd nations died along the shore; 13 Could mock the groans of fellow-men, and bear The curfe of kingdoms peopled with despair; Could ftamp difgrace on man's polluted name, But, hark! as bow'd to earth the Bramin kneels, From heav'nly climes propitious thunder peals! Of India's fate her guardian spirits tell, Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell, 570 And folemn founds, that awe the lift'ning mind, Roll on the azure paths of ev'ry wind. 57 "Foes of mankind! (her guardian spirits fay) Revolving ages bring the bitter day, When Heav'n's unerring arm fhall fall on you, And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew ; Nine times have Brama's wheels of lightning hurl'd Nine times hath Guilt, through all his giant frame, Convulfive trembled as the Mighty came; 580 Nine times hath fuffering Mercy fpar'd in vain-14'58; But Heav'n fhall burft her starry gates again! He comes! dread Brama fhakes the funless sky With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high! Heaven's fiery horse, beneath his warrior form, Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the ftorm! 590 Wide waves his flickering fword, his bright arms glow Like fummer funs, and light the world below! Earth, and her trembling ifles in Ocean's bed Are fhook, and Nature rocks beneath his tread! To pour redrefs on India's injur'd realm, 595 The oppreffor to dethrone, the proud to whelm ; To chase destruction from her plunder'd shore And Camdeo bright, and Ganefa fublime, Shall blefs with joy their own propitious clime ! 600 |