| |
From “The Pleasures of Hope,” Part I.
O SACRED Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile, | |
| And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, | |
| When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars | |
| Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars, | |
| Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, | 5 |
| Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn; | |
| Tumultuous horror brooded o’er her van, | |
| Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man! | |
| Warsaw’s last champion from her height surveyed, | |
| Wide o’er the fields, a waste of ruin laid; | 10 |
| “O Heaven!” he cried, “my bleeding country save!— | |
| Is there no hand on high to shield the brave? | |
| Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, | |
| Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains! | |
| By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, | 15 |
| And swear for her to live—with her to die!” | |
| He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed | |
| His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; | |
| Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, | |
| Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; | 20 |
| Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, | |
| Revenge, or death,—the watchword and reply; | |
| Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, | |
| And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm!— | |
| In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! | 25 |
| From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew:— | |
| O, bloodiest picture in the book of Time! | |
| Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime; | |
| Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, | |
| Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! | 30 |
| Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, | |
| Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career; | |
| Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, | |
| And Freedom shrieked—as Kosciusko fell! | |
| |
