No rays of joy her evening hour illume, 'Tis one sad chaos, one unmingled gloom! Too soon she sinks unheeded to the grave, No eye to pity and no hand to save: What are her crimes that she alone must bend? Where are her hosts to conquer and defend-- Must she alone with these new regions part, These realms that lay the nearest to her heart, But soar'd at once to independent power, Not sunk like Scotland in the trying hour?-- See slothful Spaniards golden empires keep, And rule vast realms beyond the Atlantic deep; Must we alone surrender half our reign, And they their empires and their worlds retain? Britannia, rise--send Johnstone to Peru, Seize thy bold thunders and the war renew, Conquest or ruin--one must be thy doom, Strike--and secure a triumph or a tomb! But we, sad outcasts from our native reign, Driven from these shores, a poor deluded train, In distant wilds, conducted by despair, Seek, vainly seek, a hiding place from care! Even now yon' tribes, the foremost of the band, Croud to the ships and cover all the strand: Forc'd from their friends, their country, and their God, I see the unhappy miscreants leave the sod! Matrons and men walk sorrowing side by side And virgin grief, and poverty, and pride, All, all with aching hearts prepare to sail And late repentance that has no avail! While yet I stand on this forbidden ground I hear the death-bell of destruction sound, And threat'ning hosts with vengeance on their brow Cry, "Where are Britain's base adherents now?" These, hot for vengeance, by resentment led, Blame on our hearts the failings of the head; To us no peace, no favours they extend, Their rage no bounds, their hatred knows no end; In one firm league I see them all combin'd, We, like the damn'd, can no forgiveness find-- As soon might Satan from perdition rise, And the lost angels gain their vanish'd skies As malice cease in their dark souls to burn, Or we, once fled, be suffer'd to return. Curs'd be the union that was form'd with France, I see their lillies and the stars advance! Did they not turn our triumphs to retreats, And prove our conquests nothing but defeats?-- My heart misgives me as their chiefs draw near, I feel the influence of all potent fear, Henceforth must I, abandon'd and distrest, Knock at the door of pride, a beggar guest, And learn from years of misery and pain Not to oppose fair Freedom's cause again!-- One truth is clear from changes such as these,[240] Kings cannot always conquer when they please, Nor are they rebels who mere freedom claim, Conquest alone can ratify the name-- But great the task, their efforts to controul When genuine virtue fires the stubborn soul; The warlike beast in Lybian deserts plac'd To reign the master of the sun-burnt waste, Not tamely yields to bear a servile chain, Force may attempt it, and attempt in vain, Nervous and bold, by native valour led,