May heaven, if so the righteous judgment pass,[78] Change earth to steel, the sky to solid brass, Let hosts combined, from Europe centering here,[79] Strike this base offspring with alarm and fear; Let heaven's broad concave to the center ring, And blackest night expand her sable wing, The infernal powers in dusky combat join, Wing the swift ball, or spring the deadly mine; (Since 'tis most true, tho' some may think it odd, The foes of England are the foes of God): Let bombs, like comets, kindle all the air, Let cruel famine prompt the orphan's prayer, And every ill that war or want can bring Be shower'd on subjects that renounce their king. What is their plea?--our sovereign only meant This people should be taxed without consent, Ten years the court with secret cunning tried To gain this point--the event their hopes belied: How should they else than sometimes miss the mark Who sleep at helm, yet think to steer the barque? North, take advice; thy lucky genius show, Dispatch Sir Jeffery[B] to the states below. That gloomy prince, whom mortals Satan call,[80] Must help us quickly, if he help at all-- You strive in vain by force of bribes to tie; They see through all your schemes with half an eye; If open force with secret bribes I join, The contest sickens--and the day is mine. But hark the trumpet's clangor--hark--ah me! What means this march of Washington and Lee? When men like these such distant marches make, Fate whispers something--that we can't mistake;[81] When men like these defy my martial rule, Good heaven! it is no time to play the fool-- Perhaps, they for their country's freedom rise; North has, perhaps, deceived me with his lies.-- If George at last a tyrant should be found, A cruel tyrant, by no sanctions bound, And I, myself, in an unrighteous cause, Be sent to execute the worst of laws, How will those dead whom I conjured to fight-- Who sunk in arms to everlasting night, Whose blood the conquering foe conspired to spill At Lexington and Bunker's fatal hill, Whose mangled corpses scanty graves embrace-- Rise from those graves, and curse me to my face!-- Alas! that e'er ambition bade me roam, Or thirst of power, forsake my native home-- What shall I do?--there, crowd the hostile bands; Here, waits a navy to receive commands;-- I speak the language of my heart--shall I Steal off by night, and o'er the ocean fly, Like a lost man to unknown regions stray, And to oblivion leave this stormy day?--[82] Or shall I to Britannia's shores again, And big with lies, conceal my thousands slain?-- Yes--to some distant clime[83] my course I steer, To any country rather than be here, To worlds where reason scarce exerts her law,[84] A branch-built cottage, and a bed of straw.-- Even Scotland's coast seems charming in my sight, And frozen Zembla yields a strange delight.-- But such vexations in my bosom burn,