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WRITTEN DURING THE NEGOTIATIONS WITH BUONAPARTE, IN
CHO counsels peace at this momentous hour,
And to the injured power ?
When innocent blood
For justice upon one accursed head;
Over all nations, now in one just cause
Europe throws off the yoke abhorr’d,
Follow the avenging sword ?
Woe, woe to England ! woe and endless shame,
If this heroic land,
Be suffer'd still to stand ! For by what names shall Right and Wrong be known ;
What new and courtly phrases must we feign For Falsehood, Murder, and all monstrous crimes, If that perfidious Corsican maintain
Still his detested reign, And France, who yearns, even now to break her chain
Beneath his iron rule be left to groan ?
No! by the innumerable dead,
Death only can for his foul deeds atone;
which Death and Judgement can bestow, That peace be Buonaparte's, ... that alone!
For sooner shall the Ethiop change his skin,
Or from the Leopard shall her spots depart, Than this man change his old flagitious heart.
Have ye not seen him in the balance weigh’d, And there found wanting ?--On the stage of blood
Foremost the resolute adventurer stood;
And when, by many a battle won,
He placed upon his brow the crown,
Then, like Octavius in old time,
Effacing many a stain of former crime,
Fool! the redemption proffer'd should he lose ! When Heaven such grace vouchsafed him that the way
To Good and Evil lay
But Evil was his Good,
Bold man and bad,
Himself in Hell's whole panoply he clad;
No counsellor but his own wicked heart. From evil thus portentous strength he drew, And trampled under foot all human ties,
All holy laws, all natural charities.
O France ! beneath this fierce Barbarian's sway
Disgraced thou art to all succeeding times;
All loathsome, all unutterable crimes.
For vengeance upon thy detested head;
The Living and the Dead
Join in the bitterness of secret prayer
The voice of that innumerable throng, Whose slaughter'd spirits day and night invoke
The everlasting Judge of right and wrong, How long, O Lord ! Holy and Just, how long!
A merciless oppressor hast thou been,
And rivet faster round thyself the chain.
When thus in abject servitude resign'd
Thyself the while a miserable slave. Behold the flag of vengeance is unfurl'd! The dreadful armies of the North advance; While England, Portugal, and Spain combined,
Give their triumphant banners to the wind,
One man hath been for ten long wretched years
One man in this most awful point of time
Wait not too long the event,
The People and the Princes, with one mind,
One execrable head laid low,
France ! if thou lov'st thine ancient fame,
Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame!
By the blood which on Domingo's shore
Of frozen Muscovy ;
By the widow's and the orphan's cry;
By the childless parent's misery ;
By the ruin he hath spread;
Redeem, O France! thine ancient fame,
Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame;
! : ; Led, H,
et; W; t,
By those horrors which the night
By thy murder'd Pichegru's fame;
By murder'd Palm's atrocious doom;
By murder'd Hofer's martyrdom;
The Villain's own peculiar private guilt,