Classic Poem

ODE XXXII.

ON THE RETURN OF A PUBLIC ANNIVERSARY.

I.

While War thro' distant nations roams
With fiery eye and blood-stain'd spear,
And Pity o'er the warriors tombs
Hangs the pale wreath and drops a tear;
While thousands bleed, while thousands die,
Let Britons heave the generous sigh.

II.

Mirth hails in vain the festal day,
The Muse in vain prepares the song,
The note of triumph dies away,
And horror chills the poet's tongue;
For thousands bleed, for thousands die,
And Britons heave the generous sigh.

III.

By all the gallant warriors slain,
By all the tender hearts that mourn,
The orphan, and the widow train,
We pray, sweet Peace, thy blest return.
But oh! while thousand Britons die,
Let Britons heave the generous sigh.