Classic Poem

BY A JACOBIN .

O diva, gratum quaeregis Antium!

G ODDESS , whose dire terrific power
Spreads, from thy much-loved Gallia's plains,
Where'er her blood-stain'd ensigns lower,
Where'er fell Rapine stalks, or barb'rous Discord reigns!

Thou, who canst lift to fortune's height
The wretch by truth and virtue scorn'd,
And crush, with insolent delight,
All whom true merit raised, or noble birth adorn'd!

Thee, oft the murd'rous band implores,
Swift-darting on its hapless prey:
Thee, wafted from fierce Afric's shores,
The Corsair chief invokes to speed him on his way.

Thee, the wild Indian tribes revere;
Thy charms the roving Arab owns;
Thee, kings, thee, tranquil nations fear,
The bane of social bliss, the foe to peaceful thrones

For, soon as thy loud trumpet calls
To deadly rage, to fierce alarms,
Just Order's goodly fabric falls,
Whilst the mad people cries, " to arms! to arms! "

With thee Proscription, child of strife,
With death's choice implements, is seen,
Her murd'rer's gun, assassin's knife,
And, " last, not least in love, " her darling Guillotine .

Fond hope is thine, — the hope of spoil,
And faith, — such faith as ruffians keep:
They prosper thy destructive toil,
That makes the widow mourn, the helpless orphan weep.

Then false and hollow friends retire,
Nor yield one sigh to soothe despair;
Whilst crowds triumphant Vice admire,
Whilst harlots shine in robes that deck'd the great and fair.

Guard our famed chief to Britain's strand!
Britain, our last, our deadliest foe:
Oh, guard his brave associate band!
A band to slaughter train'd, and " nursed in scenes of woe. "

What shame, alas! one little Isle
Should dare its native laws maintain?
At Gallia's threats serenely smile,
And, scorning her dread power, triumphant rule the main!

For this have guiltless victims died
In crowds at thy ensanguined shrine!
For this has recreant Gallia's pride
O'erturn'd religion's fanes, and braved the wrath divine!

What throne, what altar, have we spared
To spread thy power, thy joys impart?
Ah then, our faithful toils reward!
And let each falchion pierce some loyal Briton's heart.