Classic Poem

Whene'er this Stone, now hid beneath the Lake,
The Horse shall trample, or the Plough shall break,
Then, O my Country! shalt thou groan distrest,
Grief swell thine Eyes, and Terror chill thy Breast.
Thy Streets with Violence of Woe shall sound,
Loud as the Billows bursting on the Ground.
Then thro' thy Fields shall scarlet Reptiles stray,
And Rapine and Pollution mark their Way.
Their hungry Swarms the peaceful Vale shall fright
Still fierce to threaten, still afraid to fight;
The teeming Year's whole Product shall devour,
Insatiate pluck the Fruit, and crop the Flow'r:
Shall glutton on the industrious Peasants Spoil,
Rob without Fear, and fatten without Toil.
Then o'er the World shall Discord stretch her Wings,
Kings change their Laws, and Kingdoms change their Kings.
The Bear enrag'd th'affrighted Moon shall dread;
The Lilies o'er the Vales triumphant spread;
Nor shall the Lyon, wont of old to reign
Despotic o'er the desolated Plain,
Henceforth th'inviolable Bloom invade,
Or dare to murmur in the flow'ry Glade;
His tortur'd Sons shall die before his Face,
While he lies melting in a lewd Embrace;
And, yet more strange! his Veins a Horse shall drain,
Nor shall the passive Coward once complain.