The Project Gutenberg eBook ofWarThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: WarA poem in blank verseAuthor: John SpatemanRelease date: October 13, 2023 [eBook #71866]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: London: J. Roberts, 1745Credits: Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: WarA poem in blank verseAuthor: John SpatemanRelease date: October 13, 2023 [eBook #71866]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: London: J. Roberts, 1745Credits: Al Haines
Title: War
A poem in blank verse
Author: John Spateman
Author: John Spateman
Release date: October 13, 2023 [eBook #71866]
Language: English
Original publication: London: J. Roberts, 1745
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR ***
A
POEM.
IN
BLANK VERSE.
—O, quis, quis volet impiasCædes, et rabiem tollere?— Hor.
LONDON:Printed for J. ROBERTS, inWarwick-Lane.M.DCC.XLV.
WAR.
A
POEM.
Ah! my blest Teacher, spare; my Strength is spent,And was at best a Child's. Some younger VoiceExcite; whose Song un-disappointed HopeMay help to heighten—Must I not refuse?Dictate.—Howe'er discourag'd, lo! I speakOnce more, and trust in thy Almighty Pow'r.
WAR, Man-destroying, City-wasting WAR,Fell, horrid, hellish, execrable WAR,In rough, discordant Notes I mean to curse,Not sing. Can Harmony, and tuneful Sounds,Agree with WAR'S mad Deeds, and hideous Din?Willing, to others I resign the PraiseOf pleasing, while their Art its Horrors paints.I seek to move Abhorrence of its Cause,And Fears, while Indignation forms the Verse,That should be writ with human Gore, not Ink;Or with a Dagger's Point on human Bones,InMars's Temples, Demon-God of War,Pil'd, as in Charnels. O! could I recountThe Numbers that his Flesh-devouring SwordAnd Weapons have destroy'd, my Breath and TongueWould fail me to pronounce it: Could I showTheir Bones, on Piles assembled, they would makeHuge Mountains, scarce inferior to theAlps.
Curst be the Man, that first his Hands imbrew'dIn Blood fraternal! That dire Wretch wasCain:He first, so early, shew'd, the human SoulCould bear to hurt its Like, its second Self;Which had nothe, or some such Wretch, essay'd,Could scarce have entred human Thought. But SinWas the first Mover;Eve's andAdam's SinSlewAbel, All, whose Blood has since been shed.From that dire bitter Root, sprang Murder, WAR,And all our Evils: All had else been Peace,And Love, and Joy, and everlasting Health:O Fall from Love to WAR, from Heav'n to Hell!
Curst too behe, some genuine Son ofCain,Whose mischievous Invention hammer'd firstRude Swords and Weapons! Taught by whom, the restApt Scholars all at Evil, dull for Good,Study'd, and soon improv'd the hellish ArtOf hurting and destroying human Race!Whilehemost Praise obtain'd, who most advanc'dThe Mischief, and his Brethren most could hurt.Offensive and defensive Arms were nowTheir chief Delight, and all their Thoughts engross'd:WAR'S murd'rous Implements increas'd apace:Now the bent Bow was practis'd to dispatchWounds unforeseen, and sudden Hurt from far:Now Death and Enmity see speedy WorkWere furnish'd: Now in Companies uniteThe Sons ofBelial, bent to spoil or slayTheir mild and peaceful Brethren; Men from MenAppear'd not safe, unless completely cloath'dIn Steel, from Head to Foot: Amazing Change!From naked Majesty to Skins of Beasts,And now to Steel; yet horrider Disguise,And monstrous! How couldAdamnow have knownHis Sons?——But Steel itself too feeble prov'dTo fence from human Cruelty, and ThirstOf Blood fraternal: And yet what more firm?What could they use, when Steel appear'd too weak?
Now Troop encounter'd Troop, and Hundreds fell;These,then, were counted many to be slainAt once, and made a lamentable Tale!Now mournful Families were all in Tears;For her Espous'd the Virgin wept; her SonThe Mother wail'd; the Husband's Loss bemoan'dHis Widow, and her Children, destituteAnd helpless, and without Resource but Heav'n!
What thought the while their primitive Sire, what said,When he beheld his Offspring warring thusIn hostile Crouds, engag'd with mutual RageAnd Rancour in outrageous Deeds, and bentTo die, or to destroy, as if contriv'd,By Nature's Will, of worst Antipathy?How must his Love and Grief have interpos'dBetween their cruel Swords, and wildly cry'd,'Sons!—Children!—why so furious, why this Rage'And Thirst of Blood.' What Madness urges you,'Misrepresenting Objects? They are all'Your Brethren, your own Flesh, the Sons ofEve'AndAdam; them, and not wild Beasts, ye hurt;'Them, and sweet Charity, that on all Sides bleeds.'I thought our Crime had introduc'd enough'Of Death, and Evil; and ye, mad, contend'Which shall increase it most, and do Death's Work'Faster and better than himself, as hir'd'BySatan, who beholds with great Delight'Your Deeds, rejoic'd that Man is now become'To Man, as fierce and sworn a Foe, as he.'O, worse than me! unthinkingIdid Hurt'To you:Yestudy Malice, and can act'Murder propense, and glory in the Deed!'
Little, may we suppose, did they regardTheir Sire's Reproof, who GOD'S Commands despis'd,And Nature's Voice, which manifestly spakeThem Brethren, all from the fame Stock deriv'd;All of one Blood and Flesh, so similar,That each in each beheld another Self;With plain Design, that nat'ral Sympathy,And ev'ry thing, should draw them to unite;Their very Form, like that of Doves, contriv'dFor Love and Friendship, not for Deeds of Hate;And fitter to embrace, than hurt or kill;Most other Creatures ready arm'd for FightWith Horns, Hoofs, Claws, or Teeth, or Stings, or Beaks:But Man was naked and defenceless left,A Picture sweet of perfect Innocence,By the rever'd Similitude of GODImpress'd, and native Majesty secur'd.
All Grounds of Peace, all Reason, thrown behind,Dire Love of WAR, like a Contagion, spread:Those, that, so lately were but spoiling Bands,Now to such num'rous Hosts increas'd, that MenIn social Multitudes, and Cities large,Seem'd not secure, unless inclos'd in Walls.Prodigious Heaps of pond'rous Stones were dug,And brought with Labour vast: All Hands uniteFor common Safety; All, industrious, urgeThe necessary Work, till Walls were rais'dOf Height and Thickness vast, esteem'd of StrengthImpregnable, insup'rable by Man;Their heavy Gates of solid Brass, so firm,As not to yield to less than Pow'r divine.They now hop'd fearless to enjoy their own,And sleep secure from Spoilers Swords: Vain, Hope!The Murd'rers, to a mighty Host increas'd,Approach, and with close Siege their Walls begirt.*As an half-famish'd Troop of Midnight Wolves,Pinch'd by bleak Winds, and chilling Rains, surroundA Flock of Sheep, safe-fenc'd; secure the LambsBleat by their Mothers; they, excluded, rage,To be debarr'd: Keen Hunger, and their JawsLong dry from Blood, to utmost Fury urge:So these, prohibited Access, and foil'd,Vexation, Rage, and foaming Spite consume;Their cruel Ire could eat them all alive.With resolute Patience long they wait, and hopeBy Famine dire to conquer, whom their SwordsAnd Spears can't reach: Nor idle they the while;But batt'ring Engines vast, and moving Tow'rs,Their dev'lish Ingenuity, invents.Mean time, streight Penury, and dismal Pine,Hard presses the Besieg'd; forlorn DismaySits on their meagre Faces; Bread is nowThan Gold more precious; Meat obscene, a Feast:Yet they endure. So dear is LibertyTo gen'rous Souls, than Life itself more priz'd!
*Virgil.
All now prepar'd for gen'ral fierce Assault,Dreadful approaches the blood-thirsty Foe.By Penthouse cover'd, some, with Hammers large,And massy Bars, their Gates attempt to break,In vain: Some shake the bounding Wall with BeamsOf mighty Force and Weight, in hopes to causeA Breach, while these at the Foundation try:Others the crouded Battlements approachIn wooden, tott'ring Tow'rs, of equal Height,Hoping by Bridges laid to pass from thenceTo the near hostile Wall. These Ladders fix,And, cover'd with their Shields; to Death devote;With desp'rate Valour mount; and with their HandsSeize on the Summits; maugre all th' EffortsOf the Defendants to prevent, repel,And back precipitate with huge Stones, and Beams,Torrents of boiling Pitch, and molten Lead,Darts, Arrows, Spears, and Swords. What dismal Work!Horror stands horror-struck; FiendMarsexults;Yet wonders at his Sons!—And what the PrizeOf all this desp'rate Intrepidity?Immortal Life?—It cannot be on Earth.The Glories, and Felicity of Heav'n?That would indeed be worth all they could risk,Or suffer: But, alas! Hell's only likeTo be the Meed of such most hellish Hate,Such dev'lish Cruelty, and Thirst of Blood.Ill would such Creatures suit with Heav'n; the SeatOf Peace, and Love perpetual: Such as theyWould soon convert its Glories to a Hell.For hard'ned Clay, Dominion, Fame; for theseWithout which Man may be as blest; theythisEndure; and hazard horrid Wounds, and Death,Yea, Hell, if Hell therebe; aFabledeem'd!
The Wall is gain'd: They conquer: Now they mountWith eager Joy and Haste, no more restrain'd:Now all is Slaughter, all infuriate Rage,That neither sees, nor hears: The Sword devoursAll in its Way; and spares nor Sex, nor Age.The hoary Head, and little Infant, lieWelt'ring in Blood; by whom the Mother bleeds,Glad to die with it; wounded most inthat.If the fair Virgin 'scapes, she 'scapes for worse;And shrieking begs for Death: In ev'ry Place,Horror, Confusion, Cries, and Bloodshed reign:Horrid Effects of wicked, wicked WAR!The Carnage ended, and their Fury tir'd;Their Heart reproves them not; they call themselvesStill Men; nor are asham'd to look at Heav'n.
The few that 'scape the Sword's devouring Rage;More wretched still, for worse reserv'd, are doom'dTo drudge in servile Works; rememb'ring oft,With daily Sighs and Tears, their former Wealth;Held vile as Beasts, and like them fed and us'd.
Ev'n on the Town, the Victors wreak their Rage,And burn its Gates and Palaces with Fire:Now a vast Heap of Ruins: In its Rooms,Once ceil'd with Cedar, soon wild Beasts will couch;And Owls and Bitterns in its Windows roost.
Such were Mankind, from old primeval Time:Giants, for Prowess fam'd, and mighty Deeds;Whose Names and Fame have perish'd with themselves:Indulgent Heav'n to these a longer SpaceAllow'd; they might have Life enjoy'd in PeaceFor Centuries, to near a thousand Years:Yet chose in sanguinary Love of War,To hazard losing such a noble Space;Sev'n times as long as human Life is now.For these, and other Crimes, the Race of ManWas quite destroy'd (goodNoah, and his Sons,Except); and Earth from its Pollutions direOf ev'ry Sort, by gen'ral Deluge, wash'd.
Heav'n now abridg'd the Term of mortal Life,And to a Handful small our Days reduc'd,To try, if when Existence was so short,They would be chary of it; but in vain:The dwindling Progeny ofNoah's Sons,No better prov'd; but plunder'd, warr'd, and slewAs eagerly, as if they meant t' exceedTheir Fathers Sins; and hasten, by their own,The last Purgation that's design'd, by Fire.
Nimrod, the famous Hunter, first beganNew Conquests' tir'd, at last, of hunting Beasts,He turn'd his Cruelty to hunt Mankind,As Beasts regarded; odious thence to God.O let me Life support with Morsels begg'd;A crippledLazar, blotch'd with nauseous Sores,Beheld with Pity by my MAKER'S Eye;Rather than rule the Empire of the WorldFor Crimes and Cruelty, by HIM abhorr'd!
When Death had taught proudNimrod, and Mankind,How weak a Wretch the mighty Conqu'ror was;Belus, his Son, not taught, inheritedHis Empire, and his Cruelty and Pride:By WAR'S perpetual, sought t'inlarge his Sire'sExtensive Conquests; nor could Limits setTo his Desires, insatiable as Death.
Down from victoriousBelus, deify'd;And not esteem'd a Fiend, as he deserv'd;Time's Archives with attentive Care evolve;You hear of nought but WAR, accursed WAR,In Act or Rumour, or its dire Effects;Of the abhorrent Earth, with human BloodPolluted; Cities fair and large, destroy'd;To ruinous Heaps reduc'd; and Countries rich,To Defarts alter'd; now by prowling WolvesPossess'd instead of Men, whose wretched Race,Curst, sanguinary Brutes, in Form of Men,Have quite extirpated. O Scenes of GriefAnd Horror; odious, or to Sight or Thought!
Improving fast, this Second Race outvy'dAnte-diluvian Cruelty: How muchDid these (tho' dressing hideous WAR in Pomp,To hide its foul Deformity) increaseIts Horrors dire, and multiply its Woes?These barb'd their dreadful Arrow-Heads; and dipp'dIn Juices venomous: A simple WoundToo small a Mischief seem'd to satisfyTheir deadly Malice: These invented firstScyth'dChariots; as if Men wereGrassindeed!How many horrid Internments of DeathAnd Engines terrible, did these contrive,Unknown to former Ages! How improveTheTradeof killing Men!—Thelib'ral Art,I should have said; for WAR wasnowan Art;And none in greater Credit; none esteem'dFitter for such as boasted noble Birth.
And, as this wicked World is now become,None is more fit forsuchwho should excelIn Magnanimity, as well as Wealth:When WAR is unavoidable; I mean,In Self-defence against invading Foes;Then GEORGE, thenCumberland, by Heav'n approv'd,Intrepid lead their animated Troops;ThenMarlbro', then a hundred Heroes more,Follow their glorious Chief; withHimresolv'dTo live or die: Yet, gen'rous, pity ThoseThey conquer; and had rather do them Good.
But these esteem'd WAR glorious, tho' unjust;WereSatan's Volunteers; and wilfullyCreated, fought, abominable War;And chose it for their Business, and Delight.With these, all Arts, all useful Sciences,All moral Excellence, Man's Glory, trueAnd only Heroism, were mean, compar'dTo the superior Praise of killing Man.This was heroic Virtue deem'd; this thoughtThe noblest Way to gain immortal Fame;This, their Historians celebrate, as WorthDivine; this, flatt'ring Poets to the Skies,To Heav'n itself exalt; and deifyTheir Heroes false, more fitly, by themselves,Sometimes compar'd torav'nousBeasts of Prey.Rapt, by the magic Sweetness of their Verse,From due Reflection, Men with Pleasure hearOf horrid Wounds and Death; which Souls humaneShould with Abhorrence think of, tho' deserv'd.
This brutal Fierceness, by a vile AbuseOf Words, was Fortitude and Manhood call'd,As most becoming Man; tho' his chief Shame;Contrariant quite to true Humanity:For Man was in GOD'S Image made; and GODIs Love; which therefore suits with Manhood best.O! had their Heroes equal Courage shewn,Protecting Innocence and Right, from Wrong,And cruel Violence; in Defence of TruthOppress'd; in bearing the worst Ills of LifeWith Fortitude heroic; had they, wise,Rather subdu'd to Reason's Sway whate'erWas vicious in their Souls; they then had PraiseIn Truth deserv'd, and well been Heroes styl'd:More truly, now, dire, bloody Murderers,Who multiply ten-hundred-thousand-foldThe Sin of Cain:HebutoneBrother slew.
In horrid, barbarous, destructive WAR,In one brief Day, has the voracious SwordDevour'd a Hundred-thousand five times told!Like the vast Herds, atSion's solemn Feasts,They fell, a pompous Sacrifice toMars:What Appetite to kill! What IndustryUntir'd! What Rage and Fury prompted on!
Let lively Fancy picture in your Mind,How grand a Spectacle such Host must yieldAt first; all rang'd in Bands, and due Array,With order'd Spear and Shield, and burnish'd Arms.Suppose them now encount'ring: WhatLe BrunThe Horrors and Confusion of the FightCan paint? O human Souls! O Madness dire!*When did ten thousand Tigers, Lions, Bulls,Ten thousand of their Species meet, and thusEngage with all their Fury? Men aloneAct thus;this, thisis the superior FruitOf Reason:SavageCreatures spare their Kind,Or but enconter single, or by Hap.
*Bruyere.
Victory gain'd, and Slaughter glutted now;Walk o'er the Field of Battle, soak'd with Blood,As after plenteous Rain; and if thy SoulSustains the shocking Sight, the Carnage view;Their maim'd, and mangled Corpses, horrid Wounds,Surprising Postures, Countenances grim,Convuls'd by Rage and Death, and threat'ning still:But if thy Heart be Flesh, and loves Mankind,Soon, with Abhorrence, wilt thou turn away,And, weeping; curse abominable WAR.
Assemble, all ye Beasts, and Birds of Prey,Lo, what a Feast the Cruelty of Man,And WAR, provides you: Fill yourselves, devour;But wonder, while ye feed, that Men should proveMore cruel, and more foolish Brutes than you.Help ye to bury those whom no Man will:No pityingTobitthese are like to find:But ye, however willing, are too few:Your Leavings, their half-eaten Carcases,Abhorr'd byyou, at last will putrefy;And by their nauseous Stench endanger moreThe Conquerors, than Living, by their Arms.
On yonder Hill, see littleRomearise,Unpromising, despis'd, andbold, to hopeEv'n short Duration: That ere long will proveThe Queen of Cities; MartialRome; as ifIts Founder were in Truth the ProgenyOfMars; and spread its Conquests o'er the Earth.A Race as bloody, as tho' all had fuck'dWolves, like their Founder; all, like him, been doom'dTo raise their City on their Brethrens Blood.Fit Omen; well by the Event explain'd!Woe to theEast, andWest, andNorth, andSouth,Whose SonsThat Romeshall sacrifice toMars!Yet the pugnacious Brood, between themselvesEngag'd, shall oft revenge the injur'd World.
The LORD could strike with various Plagues: But HeAbhorrence feels, in Mercy: HE could sendHis Angels; theyobey, not love the Task,And pity while they strike: HE could employFoul Fiends for Executioners; but findsYet fitter Instrument; and sends aMan;Heloves it, and will do the odious WorkWith Pleasure, and not tire; not nauseate BloodAt last; but like the Leech, still thirst for more:AnAlexander,Cæsar,Kouli-Kan;Compared to these, a Fiend would be a Fool.
KNOW, ye dire Pests, and Butchers of Mankind,The greatest Conquest will be that of Death,The glorious Crown of the MESSIAH'S Acts;And this, by shedding his own precious Blood,Without a Drop of other, will be won.There, there, will be a Victor stain'd all o'erWith truly glorious Blood, the Blood of Love,Of Godlike Love; not hellish Rage and Hate:There will ye see a Hero, that all Praise,Glory, and Altars, will indeed deserve,For Millions sav'd, and not destroy'd: His PraiseFrom public Good, not public Hurt, will spring:Who ne'er will take away a single Life,Not one make wretched; but to Millions such,To Myriads of such Millions, by his ownSore Suff'rings, and free Off'ring of his Life,Forfeited Happiness and Life restore.You,Ammon, wept, that you had but one WorldTo conquer: He had wish'd more Worlds to save.
HE, comes, long needed by a wicked World:A nobler Flight of Ages now begins:The promis'd Virgin with the Prince of PeaceIs pregnant:Thiswill be the Golden Age.O come, be born, sweet Babe, the World's Desire,In Hour auspicious, blest! End, end your Wars,Ye Nations, let no Clarions Sound disturbThe slumb'ring Infant's Visions: Hush, be still;And know, that He is GOD, who maketh WARSTo cease at Will; to Ploughshares turn your Swords;Forgotten, let your needless Armour rust;And break your useless Spears to feed the Fire.Now the chang'd Lion with the Ox shall feedAt the same Crib; the little Child shall stroakThe Tiger; Scorpions, Cockatrices, Asps,Be harmless Things; henceforth let nothing hurt,But all be Peace, and Innocence, and Love!Sweet Age! Yet such the World had always been,If sinless; suchshouldbe, now He is come.
At least, we might have hop'd forsucha StateInHis, whoshouldbe like their peaceful Lord,A People all of Innocence and Love.But, ah! Mankind continue still the same,And we must wait forthis, till He returnsTo raise us to immortal Life, and BlissMore perfect than our first; Thenthisshall be,And more: At present Sin's Corruption works,So strong in all, but in his chosen Few,That, oh! instead of better, they are worse;They war like Heathens, and like Heathens live;Yet Christians theywillbe, in spite of Heav'n,Instead of Hell; forthissuch Saints approves,Whilethatabhors, and utterly disowns:Far diff'rent should have been the Wars of these;Their Sword, the Spirit; perfect Righteousness,Their Panoply divine; and Faith, their Shield;The Cross, their Banner, Universal LoveTheir Motive to subdue the World to ChristAnd Happiness; their Aim, to bless their FoesWith Life eternal, not deprive ofthis.But these, too, lust; these, likewise, carnal ArmsAssume, and all the same dire Scenes ensue.
Lo,Spring, fair Maid, in fragrant Blossoms clad,And deck'd with Flow'rs, preserving some RemainsOf our First State in Paradise, invitesT'enjoy its Sweets, forgetful of our CaresAnd Misery! For Mischief rather madeAnd Horror, than Enjoyment, forth they march,In Arms, as if their War was with the Spring,Yea, Heav'n itself, and its most gracious Gifts,No less than with their Brethren; all they mar,Relentless, till the Land a Defart seems,That, crown'd with Plenty, late likeEdensmil'd.
Subject to Mis'ry, in Ten thousand Shapes,Thro' GOD'S just Ire and Doom, we drop apace,Like blasted Fruit; and thence should pity, help,And comfort each his Neighbour, and uniteTo pacify, by Pray'r, the Wrath Divine:But they, possess'd by Furies, multiplyOur Woes innumerable; and, of their ownContrivance, add as many more, and worse.
Thanks to thee, hoary Father,Winter, ThanksTo thy bleak Winds, and Rains, and Frosts severe,That check awhile their Thirst of human Blood,And force them Warmth to seek beneath the RoofsOf Towns and Cities; yet not always thouVacation gain'st us, oft they will endureThy worst, and rather die, than not destroy;And never once think towhom! O eloquentPaul,Or ye styl'dThunder's Sons, to Earth descend,And thus, with elevated Voice and Hands,And Zeal inflam'd, attempt to stop their Rage:
"Stay, stay your Hands, ye Madmen, know ye not,"That Blood is Christ's, and from his Members flows?"He that woundsthem, woundsHim; will ye, too, kill"Your Lord, and use Him like the murd'rousJews?"Throw down those horrid Arms, and, chang'd, embrace"His Brother each; and, with repentant Tears,"Mutual Forgiveness ask, or name not Christ."
NotPaulhimself could stop them, no, nor Christ,Unless, array'd in Glory, he should comeTo judge them instantly:——And may he not?What if he should? Silence the thund'rous GunsAnd Cannons, and suspend the horrid fray?How well prepar'd for Hell, how ill for Heav'n,Would they before his dread Tribunal stand?
Men, Christians, the same Language, Customs, Laws,And Country, Kindred, Blood, Affinity,What farther Ties of Union can be fram'd?Yet will their dire Propensity to WarBreak thro' all these, and feel no more Restraint,Than Hornets from the Spider's feeble Web.The more strong Bands oblige them to be Friends,Worse Foes they are, encounter with more Rage,And with their Teeth each other's Flesh could tear.What shall we do to keep Mankind from War,When, ev'n Religion, too, has prov'd its Cause?——-Religion makes us war!TheTurkish, sure?Nay, but the Christian—Where, or how does thatEncourage WAR, or bid us fight for Heav'n?Did Jesus save us by the Sword? Did He,Orhis, resist the Pow'rs that were? Do moreThan suffer patiently, and conquerso?Pull off the Mask, Religion's vain Pretence;WAR, WAR, is thy Religion; Gold, thy God;Thy Sacrifices, Hecatombs of Men!At least, of Jesu's Spirit talking much,You know not what it is, but are impell'dBy carnal Passions, all inflam'd by Fiends.
ASword, aSwordis born, a bloody Sword!Strange Birth!——Or thus, I ween, his Mother dream'd,EreMahometwas born, or such a Sword,Stamp'd on his Breast, with liveliest Signature,Did, or else should have mark'd the nascent Babe;A Sword, indeed, to punish Earth, chastizeChristians, a Scandal to the Name, that lov'd!The Sword, and War, and Bloodshed, Sons ofMars,Not GOD'S; vileCain's Disciples, and not Christ's.What Havock will it make of human Race!With what Effusion dire of Christian BloodPollute the Earth, and half the World o'er-run!All this a despicable Slave will cause!Dread smallest Things: The smallest in the HandOf GOD, and his o'er-ruling Providence,Is much too strong for greatest human Strength!
Trillions cut off, near half the peopled GlobeA Defart made by thy unblunted Edge,Sword of the Lord, now to thy Sheath returnAt length, and rest: Howcanit rest, injoin'd,To flay? Howcanit rest, whenChristianswar?When those, who should be Sons of Peace and LoveUnanimous, are to each other,Turks?
Nor, oh, do Christians only war as muchAsTurksor Heathens, but their Wars are worse.Such, and so many Instruments of DeathInvented; one mightnowhave hop'd, that Man,Howe'er blood-thirsty, would have been content,And not have fought for new ones; or, at least,That Christ's Disciples, far from making new,Would have destroy'd the old ones; when a Monk,(Who would have thought a Monk would have supply'dMan's Cruelty with direr Arms?) a Monk,Who should have been at Pray'rs, beseeching PeaceFor wretched Mortals,heexperienc'd firstThe hellish Fury of that thund'rous Grain,That since, with greater Ease, and more Dispatch,Has done WAR'S bloody Work; Invention dire!And not, I think, to be outdone on Earth,If ev'n in Hell! New Scenes of War arise,With doubled Horrors; now its Rage appear'dDreadful indeed, with Thunders arm'd, and Bolts,That mimic those of Heav'n, all-patient Heav'n!Which direct, matchless Thunderbolts would elseConglomerate, and drive them down to Hell,To fight and thunder; there the fittest Place!
O couldthyEyes behold a modern Siege,OrIdescribe the Horrors of the Place,An antique Siege would seem a harmless Thing!A hundred Cannons from their hellish MouthsBelch Fire and Smoke, and level ThunderboltsAgainst the shatter'd Walls, that at each StrokeTremble; a hundred pregnant Bombs, the whileTheir cursed Globes, with Death and Mischief fraught,Discharge, that drop like Comets from the Sky;Too little all, without the Aid of HellIn Mines beneath, that, like an Earthquake, Walls,And Castles, from their strong Foundations throw;Hell from beneath, Heav'n threatens from above!
Go, bombVesuvius, with thy dev'lish Tubes!And let its Fires, to tenfold Rage inflam'd,Whirl red-hot, rocky Fragments on thy Head,And Hell encounter Hell; nor thus destroyWomen, and harmless Babes, as well as Men,Ev'n those thy Brethren, and the Flock of Christ!
Sands, Tempests, Rocks, and Waves, are Dangers few:'Tis a small Thing to fail within a FootOf Death, and scorn the Monsters of the Main,That open their prodigious Jaws, like Hell,And soon expect them all; but Man is nowThe direst Monster of the watry World,Andmakesworse Perils in it than hefinds.Lo, from their floating Arks, to save MankindInvented, not destroy, in Fire and SmokeInvelop'd, volly'd Thunders they discharge,And on each others Heads hail Wounds and Death.What worse has the just Ire of Heav'n denounc'dThan Fire and Brimstone, Storm, and thund'rous Bolts?All this, as if it were in Scorn, they forgeBy Art; and, mad, anticipate their Hell;Complete, if the curst Grain ofonetakes Fire;With dire Displosion, all involv'd in Flame,Aloft they mount, with broken Planks commixt;Thence, scorch'd, likePha'tons, fall into the Sea.The other, bor'd, perhaps, with many a Wound,Founders, and sinks apace into the Deep,While, o'er their Heads, the Billows booming close.
Thus Christians war, who should not war at all,But, as they are one Body, have one Soul,One Spirit, Breath of mutual Love and Peace.If Christians thus encounter, what the WarsOf Fiends? Or, more to shame us, have they none!Should peaceful Flocks of Sheep, with rabid Jaws,Assault and tear each other, could it beMore monstrous, than for Christians thus to fight?Jesus, Exemplar of consummate LoveAnd Meekness; Jesus, God and King of Peace!Such Strangers to thy Spirit thou wilt holdStrangers to thee, I fear; but where their SinTo some ambitious Monarch must be charg'd,Who, as Aggressor, must account for allThis Spilth of human, if not Christian Blood.
If Christians make no better Use than thisOf their Religion, Sciences, and Arts,What Angel will convey a Son of PeaceTo somePhilippinefruitful Isle, unknownTo the Sea-roving Tribe, where, all at Peace,In poor, half-naked Innocence and Love,The Heav'n-taught, uncorrupted Nations dwell,Dove-like; and think that Man can't murder Man?Weare theSavages. TheChristians,These,In Love, at least; well-fitted to receiveThe Gospel's Seed divine, and bring forth Fruit.But, ah! what Isle so secret to escapeThese Christian Murderers, with eager Scent,Hunting for Gold all o'er the spacious Main?When once they find us out, our peaceful MindsWill nought avail us; Spoiling, Chains, or Death,Must be our Lot; while they, profane, presumeTo name the GOD of Love, and talk of CHRIST.
Tho' in these sinful Regions Christian LoveAnd Peace secure are not to be attain'd;Jesus, great Judge of Spirits, when thy WillCalls mine before thee, and thy righteous VoiceAppoints my Portion, O in Mercy grant,Grant me a Mansion, where will be no War:Assign my Soul to some sweet Land of Peace,There, gracious, place in Station low, but blest,Thy Poet, Peace's Advocate, though meanIn both Respects, and all: But thou the WillRegarded; lov'st the Heart before the Head.
These God, Man, Hell-contemning Warriors, sure,All to one Place will be consign'd and doom'd,There with each other to wage endless Wars,To hack, and thrust, and wound, and vainly striveTo kill their Foes immortal, or, by Death,End their own Misery; with Earth's dire Grain,Or worse, to thunder there, and mine, and bomb:Or are they rather doom'd to live in Peace,And mutual Love, for ever? Sad Estate!That,thatmay be the greater Hell tothem!
But why despair I yet of Peace on Earth?Great Shepherds of the Nations, O be wise!At length, awake to Reason's Use, from DreamsOf vain Ambition: Let the hideous DinOf your own Cannons, and disploding Bombs,Wake you to due Reflection: Ask yourselves,Unprejudic'd, if neither Heav'n nor EarthCan you accuse of these unchristian Wars.O give us Peace; compassionate the World:Compare th' Advantages and Sweets of PeaceWith all the Woes and Miseries of War:And can ye not desire and love the one,?The other not abhor as much as DeathWhat? What your Gain? Behold, your People, peel'd,Impoverish'd, curse your Wars, and wicked Schemes!Be truly Sires, and your dear People viewWith all the Yearnings of paternal Love:How glorious is a wife and peaceful King?To make such Numbers blest, is Praise indeed.ViewAntonine, aPaganPrince: What Wars,What Victories will render you so great?Which of you will renew that glorious Scheme,A Heathen Prince could frame, to put an EndTo human Wars; and Peace, sweet Peace, confirmBetween the Nations, while the Work endures;He, he shall be Fame's Minion in the YearsTo come, and Conqu'rors be admir'd no more.
GEORGE, great in War, but to defend thy own,To help the Weak, by wicked Pow'r oppress'd,Not to oppress them; not for wide Domain,Or Fame disgraceful; Monarch, good as great,Whose Wisdom scorns to conquer, but for Peace;O may this mighty Praise be also thine!O may thy Counsels, or thy Arms succeed,And bless the groaning World with endless Peace!
Tremble, ye Sceptred Sons of the Most High,Tremble! The Lord of Lords, and King of Kings,Looks down displeas'd: The solar Splendors fade,And Planets shrink with Horror; chiefly Earth,With Wickedness, and human Blood, defil'd.Dearth, Murrain, Pestilence, await his Beck,To visit Men, who well deserve them all;While Mercy humbly sues for longer SpaceOf Patience, Piety for her Children pleads,Tho' few. O Judges of the Earth, appeaseHis Ire, while yet ye may: IfHebe Wroth,What is a King? Or will the Pest revereYour Sceptres? Will your Gems and Diadems proveSure Amulets? Or Gold secure your Lives?Ah, save us from the Judgments that impend,Ah, save yourselves! Reflect how Virtue fails,How little Piety our Age can boast.Will War amend our Ways? Is War a SchoolWhere Christ is taught, and his Commands inforc'd?Far from it; they proceed from Sin to Sin,TillTurksand Heathens have much more of Christ.O Sires, consider that your Hosts make WarOn Christ, and on His Brethren, and your own,On Virtue, Piety, and Plenty too.Peace to all these concede: Be truly great,Delight in Justice, Virtue, Goodness, Love:This is the only Way to be like GOD.
FINIS.