Will ye one transient ray of gladness dart
Where groans the dungeon to the captive's wail?
To ease tir'd Disappointment's bleeding heart,
Will all your stores of softening balm avail?
When stern Oppression in his harpy-fangs
From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel bears,
Can ye allay the dying parent's pangs,
Whose infant craves relief with fruitless tears?
For ah! thy reign, Oppression, is not past.
Who from the shivering limbs the vestment rends?
Who lays the once-rejoicing village waste,
Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends?
But hope not, Muse, vainglorious as thou art,
With the weak impulse of thy humble strain,
Hope not to soften Pride's obdurate heart,
When Errol's bright example shines in vain.
Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye,
Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight;
Thy haunts, alas! no gleams of joy supply,
Or transient gleams, that flash, and sink in night.
Yet fain the mind its anguish would forego—
Spread then, historic Muse, thy pictur'd scroll;
Bid thy great scenes in all their splendour glow,
And rouse to thought sublime th' exulting soul.
What mingling pomps rush on th' enraptur'd gaze!
Lo, where the gallant navy rides the deep!
Here glittering towns their spiry turrets raise!
There bulwarks overhang the shaggy steep!
Bristling with spears, and bright with burnish'd shields,
Th' 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 control;
Her fearless eye, determin'd though serene,
Speaks the great purpose, and th' unconquer'd soul.