TO THE GENIUS OF ALBION. WRITTEN AT THE OPENING OF THE YEAR, Proh! Curia inversique mores! HOR. GENIUS of Albion! whither art thou fled? Thou, who wast wont at Freedom's call to rise, With thund'ring voice, and heav'n-directed eyes, And mock th' oppressor's rage, or smite the tyrant dead! O stretch again thy saving hand, In mercy to this groaning isle! Corruption triumphs in her spoil; Can fix the sordid, selfish mind; Beyond the rough Atlantic tide, Thy junior sons still dare be free ; The genʼrous band. Oh! while the tempest low'rs, -that Freedom's foes are ours! Reflect our cause is one Peace to thy shade, lamented King! Call'd England's happy throne to grace, And drive thee back in wild affright! For lo! fierce issuing from their native north, The howling furies murd❜rous storms send forth; Glut the Gaul's proud revenge, and spread vile Slav'ry's night! In vain, alas! thy gallant son, On fam'd Culloden's glorious field, While the dark tyrant crouch'd and fled. No longer now, in patriot shackles bound, With fruitless wailing Envy bites her chain; Oppression leaps o'er Freedom's sacred mound, And vainly Hampden fought, and Sydney bled in vain! Lo! Saunders mingles with the mighty dead; Ere set in darkness Britain's sun; "What more (he cry'd) can adverse fate require ?” Dying he saw his country's fame expire; Saw her bright cross he late triumphant spread, Hark! thro' America's indignant shore, What groans for vengeance rend th' affrighted skies! Foul impious war hath broken Nature's ties ; And Britain, terror of the world no more, Turns on herself, and drinks her children's gore ! Oh! quickly drop the murd'rous sword, What horrors rise around? Canst thou, ill-fated realm, afford With thine own blood to drench the ground? The vet'ran, yet untaught to yield, Reluctant views the death-fraught field, Conscious of guilt would fain retreat, Stern Alva's guilty spirit flies, And snuffs the scented air, and rages still for blood! Hear how her sons Iberia tells And faithless Gallia, with prophetic eye, Beholds thy golden streams of Commerce dry, Or marks them for her own. "O great event!" She cries," Thy shame and punishment, "Rash, ruin'd rival! Now I see "Thy palm of glory snatch'd by me; "That envied prize, by Nature giv'n, "Which rais'd thy tow'ring front to Heav'n, "Spurn'd by thyself!-Oh! speed thy ling'ring fate, "And to thyself be false, to make my empire great.” But Britain, happier fates are thine: For lo! Futurity her page unfolds : Where venerable Time Fair truth upholds, Exalts her gen'rous brow, and shakes her glitt'ring spear! "Ye parricides, who broke the golden cords “Of filial piety—maternal love! "Ye perjur'd senators-ye venal lords, "Now curse your damned deeds-for vengeance dwells with Jove! "America! no longer thou "Shalt lift thy plaintive voice in vain ; And virtuous Russel bless her glorious toil! The sign of Mercy, beaming from the west, Kind Heav'n has giv'n ;-for o'er the patriot crowd Bright Conquest soars aloft, and claps her wings aloud. |