All this was horror, but how faint the view To what too soon all real must ensue, Shall I relate how sunk each noble name? Too well 'tis known in blasts of hideous fame; In prose 'tis written, and in verse 'tis strung, And songs funereal the dire dirge have sung. The ruined castle, and the prostrate hall, The exile's wand'ring, and the hero's fall; Sons unattainted, sires suspicion haunts, And childless sires their offspring's exit taunts; Where such is heard in lamentation's air, And more sunk deep in silence of despair; Feelings of family perpetual burn, And tears incessant fill the nation's urn. Such was the scene ere dire Culloden's plain The northern ravens glutted with the slain; Nor rested then, for in the ebon car The dire Erynnis of fell civil war Held yoked her dark steeds from the fatal field, A part succeeded reckless yet to yield, With colours flying, and the pibroch's sound, As if they scorned the violated ground, As vengeance filled their bosoms fraught with ire, As if they sought a respite to retire, On adverse fortune scorned to waste their strength, But thought calamity would reach its length; Then, to return--but nobler thoughts evince, Convinced by reason they salute their Prince, Convinced, revere the majesty of laws, Nor wreck their fortunes in a desperate cause; 'Twas thus each fought with still undaunted heart, And each 'twas thought maintained the better part. Now civil war has spent its savage rage, Say, shall we now for anarchy engage? Exhaust all purpose of heaven-granted life, For no one purpose but the love of strife. Rather than that, let's seek the pristine Cain, Or rather seek with Lamech's force to reign, Lamech, than Cain, the seven times told more curs'd, For even Cain was not yet found the worst. Then check this brutal rage, while yet there's power, While yet the monster's something to devour; While not by treason borne, to ruin hurled, Stands in its frame the firm majestic world.