| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
164 TO BRITAIN. |
||
|
Britain, what laurel canst thou hope to gain ? Can any action give a hero fame ? Ln brother's blood our soldiers' hands imbruM, And barb'rous hostiles by our chiefs pursu'd.
Afflicting Britain, thus to spoil thy name, Defeat's a scandal, conquest but a shame. Our senators all lost in dire excess, Lovers of pleasure, luxury, and dress.
Almighty ruler, stretch thy potent hand, And o'er Britannia wave the olive wand ; Preserve our nation from th' impending fate, Drive clouds of Scotchmen from the British state; Fair peace descend, with all thy prosp'rous train, And spread thy blessings o'er our spacious plain. |
||