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October, 1803.

These times touch money'd Worldlings with dismay:

Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air
With words of apprehension and despair:

While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,
Men unto whom sufficient for the day

And minds not stinted or untill'd are given,

Sound, healthy Children of the God of Heaven,

Are cheerful as the rising Sun in May.

What do we gather hence but firmer faith
That every gift of noble origin

Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath;

That virtue and the faculties within

Are vital, and that riches are akin

To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death!


England! the time is come when thou shouldst wean Thy heart from its emasculating food;

The truth should now be better understood;

Old things have been unsettled; we have seen

Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been

But for thy trespasses; and, at this day,

If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa,

Aught good were destined, Thou wouldst step between.
England! all nations in this charge agree:

But worse, more ignorant in love and hate,
Far, far more abject is thine Enemy:

Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the freight
Of thy offences be a heavy weight:

Qh grief! that Earth's best hopes rest all with Thee!


October, 1803.

When, looking on the present face of things,
I see one Man, of Men the meanest too!
Rais'd up to sway the World, to do, undo,
With mighty Nations for his Underlings,
The great events with which old story rings
Seem vain and hollow; I find nothing great;
Nothing is left which I can venerate;

So that almost a doubt within me springs
Of Providence, such emptiness at length
Seems at the heart of all things. But, great God!

I measure back the steps which I have trod,
And tremble, seeing, as I do, the strength

Of such poor Instruments, with thoughts sublime
I tremble at the sorrow of the time.



October, 1803.

Vanguard of Liberty, ye Men of Kent,

Ye Children of a Soil that doth advance
It's haughty brow against the coast of France,
Now is the time to prove your hardiment!
To France be words of invitation sent!

They from their Fields can see the countenance
Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance,
And hear you shouting forth your brave intent.
Left single, in bold parley, Ye, of yore,
Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath;
Confirm'd the charters that were yours before; -
No parleying now! In Britain is one breath;
We all are with you now from Shore to Shore:-
Ye Men of Kent, 'tis Victory or Death!


October, 1803.

Six thousand Veterans practis'd in War's game,
Tried Men, at Killicranky were array'd
Against an equal Host that wore the Plaid,
Shepherds and Herdsmen.--Like a whirlwind came
The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame;
And Garry thundering down his mountain-road
Was stopp'd, and could not breathe beneath the load
Of the dead bodies. 'Twas a day of shame
For them whom precept and the pedantry
Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.

Oh! for a single hour of that Dundee

Who on that day the word of onset gave!

Like conquest would the Men of England see;

And her Foes find a like inglorious Grave.

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