Written in the year 1795.
WHITHER tyrants do ye haste!
hither press your murd'rous bands?
hy, with hostile fury, waste
aceful unoffending lands?
Has not blood enough been spilt?
Are ye not deep enough in guilt?
at thus with horrid arms ye urge your way
Thro' scenes where death and carnage hold their reign,
The orphan's cries, the captive's clanking chain, pell'd by envious hate and cursed love of sway.
Where'er your hated steps you bend
ere force and murder take their
flames the peaceful cots ascend, d clouds of carnage blot the day. t tho' with victory elate
ur banners now in air display'd short delusive hope create,
er long the transient scene shall fade.
Lo! what new armies now appear!
What mighty chiefs provoke the war!-
'Tis justice's cause the world alarms,
And all indignant rush to arms.
See heav'n-born fury sparkle in each eye,
And fir'd by freedom's wrongs, revenge! revenge they cry.
"Thou who, from Alpine summits sprung,
Dost roll thy silver current, strong
With mazy course, thro' distant lands
Where oft have struggled hostile bands;
Rhine! thou again shalt hear the roar
Of battle bursting on thy shore,
Again shall blood thy crystal stain,
And corses strew thy shores again.
France shall the vollied thunder deal,
Oppressors shall her light'nings feel.
The murky storm fierce Vengeance guide,
With dark Confusion, and chill pallid Fear,
And Death's grim form, with Terror by his side Shall with his bloodstain'd sword hang o'er thei trembling rear.
"Ruin on that miscreant fall
Who would nations dare enslave!
Freedom nature gave to all;
All an equal share should have.
Sons of Freedom snatch the sword!
Quick! revenge your country's woes!
Soon shall heav'n your toils reward:
Soon the bloody scene shall close.
Then shall with mild Peace return
Plenty, from her bounteous horn
Scatt'ring with a lib'ral hand
Countless blessings o'er the land.
Pale-ey'd Affright of haggard mien,
And Slaughter in his crimson car,
No more shall in these fields be seen,
But speed their rapid flight afar.
"Tyrants, who with lawless might
Thus provoke the bloody fight,
Tremble as your doom ye hear!
Tremble as revenge draws near!
Lo, on yon ensanguin'd plain
Thousands upon thousands slain!
Ye are guilty of the deed:
Ye those thousands caus'd to bleed.
Where yon smoking ruins lie,
Hark! what curses seek the sky!
All of lawless force complain;
Shall those curses rise in vain?
Justice, lo! with iron hand
Swiftly leads the tort'ring band:
Horror, ever screaming wild;
Keen Remorse, Guilt's vengeful child;
Pining Pain; corroding Care;
All at her command appear.
"All the pageantry of state,
All that grandeur can create,
Cannot sooth the troubled mind,
Nor the wounds of conscience bind.
Ye in vain the feast prepare;
Hope not for a solace there!
Tho' the loaded boards invite,
Ye but sicken at the sight:
Pleasure vainly bids you stay;
Ye with loathing turn away:
When your wearied eyes ye close,
Dreams shall break your short repose;
Inspir'd ghosts shall then arise,
Rousing conscience with their cries:
Gather'd in a dreadful band,
Round the midnight couch they stand,
And with harsh discordant cry
Bid refreshing slumbers fly.
Tyrants! this your certain fate:
These the ills that on you wait.
Lo! the furies quick pursue:
Bid to Fortune's smiles adieu."
Thus over Flandrian fields, aloft in air,
Fair Freedom, bursting from the realms of day,
While ruthless tyrants urged th' embattled war,
Pour'd forth indignant her prophetic lay.
Oppressors listen'd to her with dismay;
Proud Fred'rick gave his hopes of conquest o'er;
Th' inspiring notes thro' air quick wing'd their way,
And sounding to old ocean's utmost shore,
Bade Freedom's sons arise and slav'ry be no more.
WRITTEN AS A COLLEGE EXERCISE.
FROM climes Peruvian, where, while wintry storms
Rage round the pole, his happy seat he makes
And o'er the blest retreat of Quito's vale
His choicest gifts he sheds, see Spring return!
To him stern Winter slowly yields the year,
Unwilling still to go; oft he returns;
Oft the attack with sullen force renews;
Nor yet retires, till by the genial warmth
Of Phoebus forc'd he quits the frozen plain,
And to Siberian deserts wings his way,
And Zembla's shores with ice eternal bound.
Then bursting headlong from the ridgy top
Of Allegany, swell'd by melting snows,
A thousand torrents pour with rapid gush
And roll impetuous o'er the delug'd plain;
Till where, congeal'd by northern blasts, the streams
Stand bound in icy chains, awhile they stop,
Awhile abate their speed; still gath'ring force.
At last, press'd by the flood's superior weight
The solid mass gives way: hoarse roars the stream,
With hollow noise the crashing fragments fly,
And deep ton'd thunder stuns th' astonish'd ear.
But tho' the wintry blasts have fled, the year
Still doubtful seems, nor wears the face of spring,
Until
past Arie's stars the sun has drove
His car, quick verging to the northern goal.
Bright o'er the eastern wave the growing light
Foretells us his approach; diverging streams
Of ruddy purple from the horizon shoot
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