( 3 )
Amidſt uncoffin'd bones, as thus he paſs'd,
Where many a gallant Briton breath'd his laſt,
From diſtant hills ſtrange fires began to glow,
That mark'd the ravage of the barbarous foe.
The ſcene, the hour, renew'd the trickling tear,
When thus, with mingled groans, the mournful ſeer.
God of my life! protect me as I ſtray,
Where panthers prowl, and murderous men betray.
Once I was bleſt beyond the peaſant's lot,
In humble neatneſs roſe my little cot.
I ſaw my whitening fleece the down adorn,
I ſaw my valley wave with golden corn,
I ſaw my duteous children round me bloom,
Nor envied pride its palace and its plume.
Pleas'd with what heaven had lent, and for from ſtrife,
Calm, unreprov'd, I walk'd the vale of life.
But vain the humbleſt hope the poor can form,
When fierce oppreſſion wings th' unfeeling ſtorm,
Nor peace, nor love, nor merit's modeſt wo,
Can or avert, or mitigate the blow.
Alas! regardleſs of the ſuppliant train,
The tyrant lord uſurps the whole domain.
The peaſant's glebe, his garden's decent bound,
The ſhade he rear'd, the lane with ſweet-brier crown'd.
All, all muſt yield, as wills imperious pride,
And e'en the ſtraw-thatch'd cottage is denied.
Hence, at this hour, by deſperate ſorrow led,
A baniſh'd man, I roam the world for bread.
Yet witneſs Heav'n, tho' ſuch thy chang'd decrees,
Ne'er did I waſte my hours in loit'ring eaſe;
Ne'er did the bleſſings prompt a wiſh to ſtray,
Health nerv'd my limbs, and virtue bleſs'd my day.
Conſtant at dawn to hardy toils I roſe,
