PERPLEX'D with trifles through the vale of life,
Man ftrives 'gainst man, without a caufe for ftrife;
Armies embattled meet, and thoufands bleed,
For fome vile fpot where fifty cannot feed.
Squirrels for nuts contend, and wrong or right,
For the world's empire kings ambitious fight:
What odds!to us 'tis all the felf fame thing,
A nut, a world, a squirrel, and a king:
Beholds this man in a falfe glaring light,
Which conquest and success have thrown upon him. Did'st thou but view him right, thoud'ft fee him black With murder and crimes
my foul with horror but to name 'em.
FROM yonder heath-crown'd hill
I look'd and saw the progrefs of the foe,
As of fome tempeft, fome devouring fire,
That ruins without mercy where it spreads.
The riches of the year, the golden grain,
That liberal crown'd our plains, lies tramp led wide,
By hoftile feet, or rooted up, and wafte
Deforms the broad high way: from space to space
Far as my ftraining eye could fhoot its beam,
Trees, cottages, and caftles fmoke to heaven
In one afcending cloud.
YET, yet a little, and deftru&tive flaughter
Shall rage around, and mar this beauteous profpect;
Pafs but an hour, which ftands betwixt the lives
Of thousands and eternity, what change
Shall hafty death make in yon glittering plain?
Oh thou fell monfter, war that in a moment
Lay'st waste the nobleft part of the creation,
The boast and mafter-piece of the great maker,
That wears in vain the impreffion of his image
Unprejudic'd from thee.
Gay in the morning, as to fummer fport;
When evening comes, the glory of the morn,
The youthful warrior is a clod of clay.
Thus fall the prime of either hapless land.
WHEN kindling war the ravag'd globe ran o'er,
And fatten'd thirsty plains with human gore,
At firit, the brandifh'd arm the jay'lin threw,
Or fent wing'd arrows from the twanging yew;
In the bright air the dreadful faulchion fhone,
Or whistling flings difmifs'd th' uncertain stone :
Now men thofe lefs deftructive arms defpife,
Wide-waftful death from thund'ring cannon flies,
One hour with more batallions ftrows the plain.
Than were of yore in weekly battles flain.
EDWARD YOUNG, L. L. D.
WHILE I furvey the bleffings of our isle,
Her arts triumphant in the royal smile,
Her public wounds bound up, her credit high,
Her commerce fpreading fails in every sky,
The pleasing scene recalls my theme agen,
And fhews the madness of ambitious men,
Who, fond of bloodshed, draw the murd'ring fword,
And burn to give mankind a fingle lord,
The follies paft are of a private kind;
Their fphere is fmall; their mischief is confin'd:
But daring men there are (Awake, my mufe,
And raise thy verfe)! who bolder virtue choose;
Who ftung by glory, rave, and bound away;
The world their field and humankind their prey..
The Grecian chief, th' enthusiast of his pride,
With rage and terror stalking by his fide,
Raves round the globe; he foars into a god!
Stand faft Olympus! and sustain his nod.
The peft divine in horrid grandeur reigns,
And thrives on mankind's miferies and pains.
What flaughter'd hofts! What cities in a blaze !
What wafted countries! and what crimson seas!
With orphan's tears his impious bowl o'erflows,
And cries of kingdoms lull him to repofe.
And cannot thrice ten hundred years unpraise,
The boift'rous boy, and blast his guilty bays
Why want we then encomiums on the form,
Or famine, or volcano? They perform
Their mighty deeds; they, hero-like, can flay,
And fpread their ample deferts in a day.
O great alliance! O divine renown!
With dearth and peftilence, to share the crown.
When men extol a wild deftroyer's name,
Earth's builder and preferver they blafpheme.
One to deftroy is murder by the law;
And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;
To murder thousands, takes a specious name,
War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame.
When, after battle, I the field have feen
Spread o'er with ghaftly fhapes, which once were men;
A nation crush'd, a nation of the brave!
A realm of death! and on this fide the grave!
Are there, faid I, who from their fad furvey,
This human chaos, carry fmiles away?
How did my heart with indignation rife!
How honest nature fwell'd into my eyes!
How was I fhock'd to think the hero's trade
Of fuch materials, fame and triumph made!
Satires, fat. vii,
SEVEN hundred millions of the human kind
Are held in base subjection; and by whom?
Why, ftrange to tell, and what futurity,
(As children at the tales of witch or sprite)
Will blefs themselves to hear, by a fmall Troop
Of weak capricious defpots, fiends accurst,
Who drench the earth with tides of human gore,
And call the havoc glory.
THE feftal blazes, the triumphal show,
The ravifh'd fandard, and the captive foe,
The fenate's thanks, the Gazette's pompous tale,
With force refiftlefs o'er the brave prevail.
Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Afia whirl'd,
For fuch the fteady Roman's fhook the world;
For fuch in diftant lands the Britons fhine,
And ftain with blood the Danube or the Rhine;
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