O liberty! seraphic name,
With whom from heaven fair virtue came,
For whom, through years of misery toss'd,
One hundred thousand lives were lost;
Still shall all grateful hearts to thee
Incline the head and bend the knee;
For thee this dream of life forego
And quit the world when thou dost go.
[155] From the 1815 edition.
ON THE WAR PATRONS, 1798[156]
Weary of peace, and warm for war,
Who first will mount the iron car?
Who first appear, to shield the Stars,
Who foremost, take the field of Mars?
For death and blood, with bold design,
Who bids a hundred legions join?
To see invasions in the air
From France, the moon, or heaven knows where;
In freedom's mouth to fix the gag,
And aid afford t' a wither'd hag;
This is the purpose of a few;
But this we see will scarcely do.
Who bears the brunt, or pays the bill?
The friends of war alone can tell:
Observe, six thousand heroes stand
With not three privates to command;
No matter for the nation's debt
If some can wear the epaulette.
If reason no attention finds,
What magic shall unite all minds?
If war a patronage ensures
That fifty thousand men procures,
Is such a force to humble France?
Will these against her arms advance?
To fight her legions, near the Rhine,
Or England's force in Holland join?
In dreams, that on the brain intrude,
When nature takes her sleepy mood,
And when she frolics through the mind,
By sovereign reason unconfined,
When her main spring is all uncoil'd
And fancy acts in whimsy wild—
I saw a chieftain, cap-a-pee,
Arm'd for the battle,—who but he?—
I saw him draw his rusty sword,
A present from a London lord:
The point was blunt, the edge too dull
I deem'd to cleave a dutchman's scull;
And with this sword he made advance,
And with this sword he struck at France—
This sword return'd without its sheath,
Too weak to cause a single death;
And there he found his work complete,
And then he made a safe retreat,
Where folly finds the camp of rest
And patience learns to do her best.
What next, will policy contrive
To bid the days of war arrive:
Is there no way to pick a quarrel,
And deck the martial brow with laurel?
Is there no way to coax a fight
And gratify some men of might?