Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/181

A savage race my fearful steps surround,
Practised in blood and disciplined to wound;
Unknown alike to pity as to fear,
Hard as their soil, and as their skies severe.
Skilled in each mystery of direst art,
They arm with double death the poisoned dart;
Uncombed and horrid grows their spiky hair;
Uncouth their vesture, terrible their air;
The lurking dagger at their side hung low,
Leaps in quick vengeance on the hapless foe.
No steadfast faith is here, no sure repose;
An armed truce is all this nation knows:
The rage of battle works, when battles cease;
And wars are brooding in the lap of peace.
Since Caesar wills, and I a wretch must be,
Let me be safe at least in misery!
To my sad grave in calm oblivion steal,
Nor add the woes of fear to all I feel!
Ye tuneful maids ! who once in happier days
Beneath the myrtle grove inspired my lays,