11
While what they want not, what they yet retain,
Adds tenfold grief, more anguished throbs of pain
To each unnumbered, unrecorded woe,
Which bids the bitterest tear of want to flow;
But that the comfort, which despotic sway
Has yet allowed, stern War must tear away.
Adds tenfold grief, more anguished throbs of pain
To each unnumbered, unrecorded woe,
Which bids the bitterest tear of want to flow;
But that the comfort, which despotic sway
Has yet allowed, stern War must tear away.
Ye cold advisers of yet colder kings,
To whose fell breast no passion virtue brings,
Who scheme, regardless of the poor man's pang,
Who coolly sharpen misery's sharpest fang,
Yourselves secure. Your's is the power to breathe
O'er all the world the infectious blast of death,
To snatch at fame, to reap red murder's spoil,
Receive the injured with a courtier's smile,
Make a tired nation bless the oppressor's name,
And for injustice snatch the meed of fame.
Were fetters made for anguish, for despair?
Must starving wretches torment, misery bear?
To whose fell breast no passion virtue brings,
Who scheme, regardless of the poor man's pang,
Who coolly sharpen misery's sharpest fang,
Yourselves secure. Your's is the power to breathe
O'er all the world the infectious blast of death,
To snatch at fame, to reap red murder's spoil,
Receive the injured with a courtier's smile,
Make a tired nation bless the oppressor's name,
And for injustice snatch the meed of fame.
Were fetters made for anguish, for despair?
Must starving wretches torment, misery bear?
