Hark! as the fmouldering piles with thunder fall, A thousand fhrieks for hopeless mercy call! Earth fhook-red meteors flash'd along the sky, And confcious Nature fhudder'd at the cry! 390 Oh! Righteous Heav'n! ere Freedom found a grave, Why flept the fword, omnipotent to fave? Where was thine arm, O Vengeance! where thy rod, 395 That fmote the foes of Zion and of God, That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car Was yok'd in wrath, and thunder'd from afar? Where was the ftorm that flumber'd till the hoft Of blood-ftain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coaft, 400 Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow, And heav'd an ocean on their march below? Departed fpirits of the mighty. dead! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled! Friends of the world! reftore your swords to man, 405 Fight in his facred cause, and lead the van ! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, And make her arm puiffant as your own! Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return The patriot TELL the BRUCE OF BANNOCKBURN! 410 Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! fhall fee That man hath yet a foul-and dare be free ! A little while, along thy faddening plains, Truth fhall reftore the light by Nature giv'n, 415 Prone to the duft oppreffion shall be hurl❜d, Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world! Ye that the rifing morn invidious mark, And hate the light-because your deeds are dark; 420 Ye that expanding truth invidious view, And think, or with the fong of Hope untrue; The march of Genius, and the pow'rs of man; Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallow'd fhrine, "Here fhall thy triumph, Genius, cease, and here 425 Tyrants in vain ye trace the wizard ring ; In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring : 430 What can ye lull the winged winds afleep, Arreft the rolling world, or chain the deep? No:-the wild wave contemns your scepter'd hand ;— It roll'd not back when Canute gave command! Man! can thy doom no brighter foul allow? 435 Why then hath Plato liv'd-or Sydney died! 440 Ye fond adorers of departed fame, Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name! Ye that, in fancied vifion, can admire The fword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre! Wrapt in hiftoric ardour, who adore 445 Each claffic haunt, and well-remember'd fhore, Where Valour tun'd, amid her chofen throng, The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song; Or, wand'ring thence, behold the later charms 450 See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom swell, And fate and freedom in the fhaft of Tell! Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore, Hath Valour left the world-to live no more? No more fhall Brutus bid a tyrant die, 455 And fternly smile with vengeance in his eye? Hampden no more, when fuffering Freedom calls, Encounter fate, and triumph as he falls? Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm, The might that flumbers in a peasant's arm? 450 |