THE MALL.
This is the scene of gay resort,
Here vice and folly hold their court,
Here all the martial band parade,
To vanquish—some unguarded maid:
Here ambles many a dauntless chief,
Who can, O great beyond belief!
Who can, as sage historians say,
Defeat—whole bottles in array.
Heavens! shall a servile dastard train
The mansions of our dead prophane,
A herd of undistinguished things,
That shrink beneath the frown of kings!
Sons of the brave and virtuous band,
Who led fair freedom to this land,
Say, shall a lawless race presume
To violate the sacred tomb,
And calmly you the insult bear?
Even wildest rage were virtue here.
Shades of our sires, indignant rise,
Oh! arm, to vengeance arm the skies,
Oh! rise, for no degenerate son
Bids impious blood the guilt atone;
By thunder from th’ etherial plains,
Avenge your own dishonour’d manes;
Bid guardian light’nings flash around,
And vindicate the hallowed ground.
MATILDA.