Where now sweet Peace and Unity reside:
The happy peasant of Tweed's smiling dale,
Whene'er his spade disturbs a Soldier's bones,
With shudd'ring horror ruminates on War;
Then deeper hides the awful spectacle,
Blessing the peaceful days in which he lives
Since Peace has bless'd the villages on Tweed,
And War has ceas'd to drive his iron car
On Britain's shore, what myriads of men
Over the Eastern and the Western Seas