HENCE, dull lethargic Peace,
Born in some hoary Beadsman's cell obscure;
Or in Circaean bower,
Where Manhood dies, and Reason's vigils cease;
Hie to congenial climes,
Where some seraglio's downy tyrant reigns;
Or where Italian swains,
Midst wavy shades, and myrtle-blooming bowers,
Lull their ambrosial hours,
And deck with languid trills their tinkling rhymes.
But rouse, thou God by Furies drest,
In helm with Terror's plumed crest,
In adamantine steel bedight,
Glistening formidably bright,
With step unfix'd and aspect wild;
Jealous Juno's raging child,
Who thee conceiv'd in Flora's bower,
By touch of rare Olenian flower:
Oft the goddess sigh'd in vain,
Envying Jove's prolific brain,
And oft she stray'd Olympus round,
Till this specific help she found;
Then fruitful grown, she quits the skies,
To Thracia's sanguine plain she hies,
There teems thee forth, of nervous mold,
Haughty, furious, swift and bold,
Names thee Mars, and bids thee call
The world from Pleasure's flowery thrall.
Come then, Genius of the war,
Roll me in thy iron car;
And while thy coursers pierce the sky,
Breathing fury as they fly,
Let Courage hurry swift before,
All stain'd around with purple gore,
And Victory follow close behind,
With wreath of palm and laurel join'd,
While high above, fair Fame assumes
Her place, and waves her eagle plumes.
Then let the trumpet swell the note,
Roaring rough thro' brazen throat;
Let the drum sonorous beat,
With thick vibrations hoarsely sweet;
Boxen hautboys too be found,
Nor be miss'd the fife's shrill sound;
Nor yet the bagpipe's swelling strain,
Solace sweet to Highland swain,
Whether on some mountain's brow,
Now squeaking high, now droning low,
He plays deft lilts to Scottish lass,
Tripping it o'er the pliant grass,
Or whether in the battle's fray,
He lively pipes a bolder lay;
The bolder lay (such magic reigns
In all its moving Phrygian strains)
Disperses swift to all the train,
Fury stern, and pale Disdain
Strikes every fire from every mind,
Nor leaves one latent spark behind.
Bear me now to tented ground,
Where gaudy streamers wave around,
Where Britain's ensigns high display'd,
Lend the earth a scarlet shade;
And pikes, and spears, and lances gay,
Glitter in the solar ray;
Here I'll join the hardy crowd,
As they sport in gamesome mood,
Wrestling on the circled ground,
Wreathing limbs with limbs around,
Or as they pitch the massy bar,
Or teach the disk to whizz in air;
And when night returns, regale
With chat full blunt, and chirping ale;
While some voice of manly base
Sings my darling Chevy-Chace;
How the child that's yet unborn
May rue earl Percy's hound and horn;
How Witherington in doleful dumps,
Fought right valiant on his stumps;
And many a knight and 'squire full gay
At morn, at night were clad in clay;
While first and last we join and sing,
"God prosper long our noble king!"
And when Midnight spreads around
Her sable vestments on the ground,
Hence I'll, for a studious seat,
To some strong citadel retreat,
By ditch and rampart high ypent,
And battery strong and battlement!
There, in some state-room richly dight
With maily coats and faulchions bright,
Emblazon'd shields of quaint impress,
And a whole army's glittering dress,
While the taper burneth blue,
(As Brutus erst was wont to do)
Let me turn the ample page
Of some grave historic Sage;
Or in Homer's sacred song,
Mix the Grecian bards among;
Nestor wise with silver'd head,
And Ajax stern, and Diomed,
And many more, whose wonderous might
Could equal e'en the gods in fight;
Or list to Virgil's epic lyre,
Or lofty Lucan wrapp'd in fire;
But rather far let Shakespeare's Muse
Her genuine British fires diffuse;
And briskly with her magic strain
Hurry me to Gallic plain,
Just when each patriot Talbot bleeds,
Or when heaven-prosper'd Harry leads
His troops with seven-fold courage steel'd,
To Agincourt's immortal field.
But when th' imbattled troops advance,
O Mars, my every thought intrance!
Guide me, thundering martial god,
Guide thro' Glory's arduous road!
While hailing bullets round me fly,
And human thunders shake the sky,
While crowds of heroes heap the ground,
And dying groans are heard around,
With armour clanking, clarions sounding,
Cannons bellowing, shouts rebounding;
Guide me, thundering, martial god,
Guide thro' Glory's arduous road!
But should on land thy triumphs cease,
Still lead me far from hated Peace;
Me bear, dread Power, for warlike sport,
To some wave-incircled fort;
Or (if it yield more open sight)
To some hoar promontory's height,
Whose high-arch'd brow o'erlooks the scene,
Where Tritons blue and Naiads green,
Sportive from their coral cave,
Through the fluid chrystal lave;
There eagerly I ken from far
All the waste of naval War,
And catch a sympathetic rage,
While the numerous fleets engage,
And every distant shore rebounds
To the cannons rattling sounds,
And the sulphurous fire-ship rends,
And thousand fates around her sends,
And limbs dissever'd hurl'd on high,
Smoke amid th' affrighted sky.
Then let black clouds above my head,
With gleams of scarlet thick bespread,
With lightning's flash and thunder's growl,
Suit the spleen that shades my soul.
There too let cranes, a numerous flight,
With beaks and claws rage bloody flight,
And airy knights from every cloud
Prick forth, their armour rattling loud;
With blazing swords and comets drear,
Dragging a trail of flaming hair;
Such as diffus'd their baneful gleam
Over besieg'd Jerusalem,
Or hung o'er Rome ere Julius fell,
And if old Sages rightly spell,
Were ever deemed to soreshow
Changes in our realms below.