That our keen weapons, meant for other ends, Should spend their rage on Britons, once our friends; But Liberty!--no price hast thou below, And e'en a Briton's life for thee must go. Come, then, my weapons, rise in Freedom's aid, Her steps attend and be her call obey'd; Let Carleton arm his antichristian might, And sprinkle holy-water 'ere he fight, And let him have, to shield his limbs from hurt, St. Stephen's breeches,[c] and St. Stephen's shirt,[c] Don Quixote's sword, the valiant knight of Spain, Which now may grace a madman's side again, St. Bernard's hose,[c] and lest we give too few, John Faustus' cap, and Satan's cloven shoe; (These precious relicks may defend their backs, And good Guy Johnson should, I think, go snacks) Nay, let him, ere the clashing armies cope, Procure a pardon from his friend the Pope, That if his soul should be dislodg'd from hence, Heaven may with all his scarlet sins dispense, And place him safe beyond the reach of ball, Where Abrah'm's bosom may be had for all. Some powerful cause disarms my heart of fear, And bids me bring some future battle near, When crowds of dead shall veil the ghastful plain, And mighty Lords like Percy, fly again; When every pulse with treble force shall beat And each exert his valour to retreat. And each shall wish his stature may be made, Long as it seems at Sol's descending shade: So tallest trees that tour toward the skies, From simple acorns take their humble rise. To see from death their boasted valour shrink, And basely fly, has sometimes made me think, The true great heart is often found remote From the gay trappings of a scarlet coat. Stranger, in pity lend one pensive sigh, For all that dy'd and all that yet may die, If wars intestine long their rage retain, This land must turn a wilderness again. While civil discord plumes her snaky head, What streams of human gore most yet be shed, With sanguine floods shall Mystick's waves be dy'd, And ting'd the ocean, with her purple tide; Enough.--The prospect fills my heart with woe; Back to the heart my freezing spirits flow, No more remains; no more than this, that all Must fight like Romans, or like Romans fall: O heaven-born peace, renew thy wonted charms, Where Neptune westward spreads his aged arms; To hostile lands return an honour'd guest, And bless our crimson shores among the rest; 'Till then may heaven assert our injur'd claims, And second every stroke Columbia aims, Direct our counsels and our leaders sway, Confound our foes and fill them with dismay. So shall past years, those happy years, return, And war's red lamp in Boston cease to burn: Hear and attest the warmest wish I bring, God save the Congress and reform the King! Long may Britannia rule our hearts again, Rule as she rul'd in George the Second's reign; May ages hence her growing empire see, And she be glorious, but ourselves be free,