Tales by George Crabbe
page 10 of 343 (02%)
page 10 of 343 (02%)
|
He call'd, and hail'd the prospect of the storm:
The wholesome blast, the fertilizing flood - Peace gain'd by tumult, plenty bought with blood: Sharp means, he own'd; but when the land's disease Asks cure complete, no med'cines are like these. Our Justice now, more led by fear than rage, Saw it in vain with madness to engage; With imps of darkness no man seeks to fight, Knaves to instruct, or set deceivers right: Then as the daring speech denounced these woes, Sick at the soul, the grieving Guest arose; Quick on the board his ready cash he threw, And from the demons to his closet flew: There when secured, he pray'd with earnest seal, That all they wish'd these patriot-souls might feel; "Let them to France, their darling country, haste, And all the comforts of a Frenchman taste; Let them his safety, freedom, pleasure know, Feel all their rulers on the land bestow; And be at length dismiss'd by one unerring blow, - Not hack'd and hew'd by one afraid to strike, But shorn by that which shears all men alike; Nor, as in Britain, let them curse delay Of law, but borne without a form away - Suspected, tried, condemn'd, and carted in a day; Oh! let them taste what they so much approve, These strong fierce freedoms of the land they love." {2} Home came our hero, to forget no more The fear he felt and ever must deplore: For though he quickly join'd his friends again, |
|