Epode 7 -

TO THE THOUGHTLESS AND DELUDED MULTITUDE,
ADMIRERS OF FRENCH FRATERNITY .

A H whither, Traitors, with your pikes in hand,
Rush ye — to desolate your native land?
Has blood of yours been spar'd upon the sea,
Or on the Continent has life been free?
Or is it that at Paris , or The Hague ,
Ye may repel in arms that impious plague?
Or is it in the consecrated way,
Lords of the main, your trophies to display?
Is it for these? — No, Rebels, no! ye fight
Against yourselves, — impair and waste your might —
Smooth all the perils that Invaders run,
That ere the battle 's fought it may be won.
The wolves of Paris to the wolves are kind,
Nor brutes nor fiends are to their interest blind.
Is it a madness, or an impulse wild,
Or is it Gallic Revolution's child? "
— They answer not a word: their cheek with guilt
Is pale at thoughts of blood which they have spilt.
This comes of that Fraternity accurs'd,
Which Cain devis'd — of Jacobins the first.
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