On Occasion of the Peace. a Poem

A Dieu the horrors of destructive war, And mad Bellona in her iron car! But welcome to our smiling fields again, Sweet peace! attended with thy jocund train, Truth, virtue, freedom, that can never cloy, And all the pleasing family of joy. Those schemes pursued, which Pitt so wisely plan'd, Conquest has shower'd her blessings on the land; And Britain's sons more laurels have obtain'd, Than all her Henries, or her Edwards gain'd: George saw with joy the peaceful period given, And bow'd obedient to the will of heaven: Awful he rose to bid dissention cease, And all the warring world was calm'd to peace; " Thus did the roaring waves their rage compose, " When the great father of the floods arose." Then came Astrea mild, our isle to bless, Fair queen of virtue, and of happiness! Then came our troops in fighting fields renown'd, And mark'd with many an honourable wound. The tender fair one, long by fears opprest, Now feels soft raptures rising in her breast, The blooming hero of her heart to view, And hear him bid the dangerous camp adieu. The widow'd bride, that long on grief had fed, And bath'd with weeping the deserted bed, Glad that the tumults of the war are o'er, That terror, rage, and rapine are no more, Greets her rough lord, secure from hostile harms, And hopes an age of pleasure in his arms: While he, with pompous eloquence, recites Dire scenes of castles storm'd, and desperate sights; Or tells how Wolfe the free-born Britons led, How Granby conquer'd, and the Household fled; She, to the pleasing dreadful tale intent, Now smiles, now trembles, for the great event. O curst ambition, foe to human good, Pregnant with woe, and prodigal of blood! Thou fruitful source, whence streams of sorrow flow, What devastations to thy guilt we owe! Where-e'er thy fury riots, all around Confusion, havoc, and dread deaths abound: Where Ceres flourish'd, and gay Flora smil'd, Behold a barren, solitary wild! To stately cedars thorns and briars succeed, And in the garden spreads the noxious weed; Where cattle pastured late, the purple plain, Sad scene of horror! teems with heroes slain; Where the proud palace rear'd its haughty head, Deep in the dust, see! crumbling columns spread; See gallant Britons in the field expire, Towns turn'd to ashes, fanes involv'd in fire! These deeds the guilt of rash ambition tell, And bloody discord, furious fiend of hell! Ye baneful sisters, with your frantic crew, Hence speed your flight, and take your last adieu, Eternal wars in barbarous worlds to wage; There vent your inextinguishable rage. But come, fair Peace, and be the nation's bride, And let thy sister Plenty grace thy side, O come! and with thy placid presence cheer Our drooping hearts, and stay for ever here. Now be the shrill, strife-stirring trumpet mute; Now let us listen to the softer lute: The shepherd now his numerous flocks shall feed, Where war relentless doom'd the brave to bleed; On ruin'd ramparts shall the hawthorn flower, And mantling ivy clasp the nodding tower, Unusual harvests wave along the dale, And the bent sickle o'er the sword prevail. No more shall states with rival rage contend, But arts their empire o'er the world extend; Ingenuous arts, that humanize the mind, And give the brightest polish to mankind! Then shall our chiefs in breathing marble stand, And life seem starting from the sculptor's hand; Then lovely nymphs in living picture rise, The fairest faces, and the brightest eyes: There polish'd Lane no loss of beauty fears; Her charms, still mellowing with revolving years, Shall, ev'n on canvas, youthful hearts engage, And warm the cold indifference of age: Then the firm arch shall stem the roaring tide, And join those countries which the streams divide; Then villas rise of true palladian proof, And the proud palace rear its ample roof; Then statelier temples to the skies ascend, Where mix'd with nobles mighty kings may bend, Where poverty may send her sighs to heaven, And guilt return, repent, and be forgiven. Such are the fruits which sacred peace imparts, Sweet nurse of liberty and learned arts! These she restores—O! that she could restore Life to those Britons who now breathe no more, Who in th' embattled field undaunted stood, And greatly perish'd in their country's good; Or who, by rage of angry tempests tost, In whirlpools of the whelming main were lost. Ye honour'd shades of chiefs untimely slain! Whose bones lie scatter'd on some foreign plain; That now perchance by lonely hind are seen In glittering armour gliding o'er the green; Ye! that beneath the cold cerulean wave Have made the watery element your grave, Whose wandering spirits haunt the winding shore, Or ride on whirlwinds while the billows roar, With kind protection still our isle defend, (If souls unbodied can protection lend) Still o'er the king your shadowy pinions spread, And in the day of danger shield his head; Your bright examples shall our pattern be To make us valiant, and to keep us free.