Classic Poem

ON THE BATTLE OF GLADSMUIR . 1745.

As over Gladsmuir's blood-stain'd field,
Scotia, imperial goddess, flew;
Her lifted spear and radiant shield
Conspicuous blazing to the view:
Her visage, lately clouded with despair,
Now reassum'd its first majestic air.

Such seen as oft in battle warm
She glow'd through many a martial age;
Or mild to breathe the civil charm,
In pious plans and counsel sage:
For, o'er the mingling glories of her face,
A manly greatness heighten'd female grace.

Loud as the trumpet rolls its sound,
Her voice the power celestial rais'd;
Whilst her victorious sons around
In silent joy and wonder gazed:
The sacred Muses heard the' immortal lay,
And thus to earth the notes of fame convey:

" 'Tis done! my sons! 'tis nobly done!"
Victorious over tyrant power;
How quick the race of fame was run!
The work of ages in one hour:
Slow creeps the' oppressive weight of slavish reigns;
One glorious moment rose, and burst your chains.

But late, forlorn, dejected, pale,
A prey to each insulting foe;
I sought the grove and gloomy vale,
To vent in solitude my woe;
Now to my hand the balance fair restor'd;
Once more I wield on high the imperial sword:

What arm has this deliverance wrought?
'Tis he! the gallant youth appears;
O warm in fields, and cool in thought!
Beyond the slow advance of years!
Haste, let me, rescued now from future harms,
Strain close the filial virtue in my arms.

Early I nurs'd this royal youth,
Ah! ill detain'd on foreign shores;
I fill'd his mind with love of truth,
With fortitude and wisdom's stores:
For when a noble action is decreed,
Heav'n forms the hero for the destin'd deed.

Nor could the soft seducing charms
Of mild Hesperia's blooming soil
E'er quench his noble thirst of arms,
Of generous deeds and honest toil;
Fix'd with the warmth a country's love imparts,
He fled their weakness, but admir'd their arts.

With him I plow'd the stormy main;
My breath inspir'd the' auspicious gale;
Reserv'd for Gladsmuir's glorious plain,
Through dangers wing'd his daring sail:
Where, form'd with inborn worth, he durst oppose
His single valour to an host of foes.

He came! he spoke! and all around,
As swift as Heav'ns quick-darted flame,
Shepherds turn'd warriors at the sound,
And every bosom beat for fame:
They caught heroic ardour from his eyes,
And at his side the willing heroes rise.

Rouse, England! rouse, Fame's noblest son,
In all thy ancient splendour shine;
If I the glorious work begun,
O let the crowning palm be thine:
I bring a prince, for such is Heav'n's decree,
Who overcomes but to forgive and free.

So shall fierce wars and tumuits cease,
While plenty crowns the smiling plain;
And Industry, fair child of peace,
Shall in each crowded city reign;
So shall these happy realms for ever prove
The sweets of union, liberty, and love. "