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Ô then how blind to all that truth requires, Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, Except when fast approaching danger warms; But when contending cheifs blockade the throne, Contracting regal power to stretch their own, When I behold a factious band agree To call it freedom when themselves are free; Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law: The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, , Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home; Fear, pity, justice, indignation start, Tear off reserve, and bear my swelling heart; Till half a patriot, half a coward grown, I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.
Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour, When first ambition struck at regal power ; And thus polluting honour in it's source, Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force, Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore, Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore? Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste, Like flaring tapers bright’ning as they waste; Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, Lead stern depopulation in her train, And over fields where scatter'd hamlets rose, In barren solitary pomp repose ?
Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call,
Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests,andthroughdangerous ways; Where beasts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise, The pensive exile, bending with his woe, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, Casts a long look where England's glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathise with mine.
Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centers in the mind : Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose, To seek a good each government bestows? In every government, though terrors reign. Though tyrant kings, or tyrants laws restrain, How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure. Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, Our own felicity we make or find :
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,