A
POEM.
IN
BLANK VERSE.
—O, quis, quis volet impias
Cædes, et rabiem tollere?— Hor.
LONDON:
Printed for J. ROBERTS, in Warwick-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 Voice
Excite; whose Song un-disappointed Hope
May help to heighten—Must I not refuse?
Dictate.—Howe'er discourag'd, lo! I speak
Once 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 Praise
Of 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,
In Mars's Temples, Demon-God of War,
Pil'd, as in Charnels. O! could I recount
The Numbers that his Flesh-devouring Sword
And Weapons have destroy'd, my Breath and Tongue
Would fail me to pronounce it: Could I show
Their Bones, on Piles assembled, they would make
Huge Mountains, scarce inferior to the Alps.
Curst be the Man, that first his Hands imbrew'd
In Blood fraternal! That dire Wretch was Cain:
He first, so early, shew'd, the human Soul
Could bear to hurt its Like, its second Self;
Which had not he, or some such Wretch, essay'd,
Could scarce have entred human Thought. But Sin
Was the first Mover; Eve's and Adam's Sin
Slew Abel, 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 be he, some genuine Son of Cain,
Whose mischievous Invention hammer'd first
Rude Swords and Weapons! Taught by whom, the rest
Apt Scholars all at Evil, dull for Good,
Study'd, and soon improv'd the hellish Art
Of hurting and destroying human Race!
While he most Praise obtain'd, who most advanc'd
The Mischief, and his Brethren most could hurt.
Offensive and defensive Arms were now
Their chief Delight, and all their Thoughts engross'd:
WAR'S murd'rous Implements increas'd apace:
Now the bent Bow was practis'd to dispatch
Wounds unforeseen, and sudden Hurt from far:
Now Death and Enmity see speedy Work
Were furnish'd: Now in Companies unite
The Sons of Belial, bent to spoil or slay
Their mild and peaceful Brethren; Men from Men
Appear'd not safe, unless completely cloath'd
In Steel, from Head to Foot: Amazing Change!
From naked Majesty to Skins of Beasts,
And now to Steel; yet horrider Disguise,
And monstrous! How could Adam now have known
His Sons?——But Steel itself too feeble prov'd
To fence from human Cruelty, and Thirst
Of Blood fraternal: And yet what more firm?
What could the