Bristling with spears, and bright with burnished shields,
The embattled legions stretch their long array;
Discord’s red torch, as fierce she scours the fields,
With bloody tincture stains the face of day.
And now the hosts in silence wait the sign.
Keen are their looks whom Liberty inspires!
Quick as the goddess darts along the line,
Each breast impatient burns with noble fires.
Her form how graceful! In her lofty mien
The smiles of love stern Wisdom’s frown controul;
Her fearless eye, determined though serene,
Speaks the great purpose, and the unconquered soul.
Mark, where Ambition leads the adverse band,
Each feature fierce and hagard, as with pain!
With menace loud he cries, while from his hand
He vainly strives to wipe the crimson stain.
Lo, at his call, impetuous as the storms,
Headlong to deeds of death the hosts are driven;
Hatred, to madness wrought, each face deforms,
Mounts the black whirlwind, and involves the heaven.
Now, Virtue, now thy powerful succour lend,
Shield them, for Liberty who dare to die——
Ah, Liberty! will none thy cause befriend!
Are those thy sons, thy generous sons, that fly!
Not Virtue’s self, when Heaven its aid denies,
Can brace the loosened nerves, or warm the heart;
Not Virtue’s self can still the burst of sighs,
When festers in the soul misfortune’s dart.
See, where by terror and despair dismayed,
The scattering legions pour along the plain!
Ambition’s car, in bloody spoils arrayed,
Hews its broad way, as Vengeance guides the rein.
But who is He, that, by yon lonely brook,
With woods o’erhung, and precipices rude,
Lies all abandoned, yet, with dauntless look,
Sees streaming from his breast the purple flood?
Ah, Brutus! ever thine be Virtue’s tear!
Lo, his dim eyes to Liberty he turns,
As, scarce supported on her broken spear,
O’er her expiring son the goddess mourns.