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No softer gales, to waft its praise, be found,
Than mingled groans,-which fearfully resound
From fields of slaughter ?-orphans' piercing cries,-
Parents' laments, and helpless widows' sighs?
Piercing the heavens,—and making, at God's throne,
Their deep complainings 'gainst Ambition known?
Must hapless millions yet be doom'd to bleed,
That Hist'ry's tablet may record the deed,-
How some successful Chieftain rose to fame,
And bought, with ruin'd realms, a Hero's name?
Shall man, possess'd of an immortal soul;
Ordain'd t' exist while endless ages roll;
Be but the plaything of an idle day,—
Ambition's toy,-to break and cast away?
Shall that dear life, prolong'd with so much care,
Nurtur'd, protected, watch'd through many a year,
By some fond parent's tender, anxious love,—
No other purpose serve, no other value prove,
Than to be us'd by Monarchs in their wars,-
The price of laurels, titles, crowns and stars?
Shall myriads thus continue to be slain;
Be flung as refuse on the gory plain;
When not the sceptres gain'd,-the realms thus won,
Could ransom one, of all the souls undone?
Ah! why will Princes, in their thirst of fame,
Forget Humanity's dear, sacred claim!
When will the mighty Troublers of the Earth
Learn to appreciate their subjects' worth?
Begin to know that, in God's equal ken,
Monarchs and Heroes merge but into men?
That, at his bar, the sceptre and the crown,-
Sword, baton, banner, must be all laid down:
That state memorials cannot there prevail;
Nor crafty, deep-laid intrigue aught avail;
The cry of blood has reach'd th' ETERNAL's throne,
And HEAVEN prepares to make its vengeance known;
Whilst ruined souls in wrathful myriads wait,
To drag the Hero to the realms of fate;
And swell the pangs his tortur'd spirit bears,
By bitter curses, through revolving years.
Oh! when will nations link, with friendly bands,
Th' approaching boundaries of contiguous lands?
When overleap the region's rocky mound,
And clasp, in charity, the realms around?
Extend their sympathies to all their race,-
And view a friend in ev'ry human face?
When will Britannia, faithful to her creed,
From lust of pow'r, and pride, and avarice freed,-
Renounce the horrors of the tented field;
Nor send her sons War's fatal bolts to wield?
But, as she sheds o'er earth the Gospel's rays,
Prove that its precepts she herself obeys?
Shew heathen nations, whilst she lifts its light,
To guide their steps, to chase sin's dreary night,-
That beaming fair, the focus of its flame,
Britain herself adorns the CHRISTIAN name:
That Justice, Mercy, follow in her train,-
And gentle Peace, here, holds her spotless reign;
Nor, like old Etna, gilding foreign shores,
And isles, and mountains, with the light he pours,—
Whilst angry conflicts shake his rocky base,
Spread ruin round him, and his form deface,-
Who sheds his light, to burnish distant clouds,
Whilst storms and darkness his own region shrouds ;
And deep-ton'd murm'rings, brooding deadly rage,
Mischiefs more dire, and future strifes presage.-
When will the Priesthood lend its pow'rful arm,
To dissipate FALSE Glory's fatal charm?
To brand with infamy the murd❜rous clan,
Who riot wanton in the blood of man;
And hurl, unmindful of their future doom,
Millions of beings to an early tomb?
When, cease to ring War's tocsin in that place
Devote to messages of Peace and Grace?
To raise the warwhoop's fell-destructive sound
Within the Altar's consecrated bound?—
Oh! hail Millennial days! hail days of Peace!
When Wars shall end, and Discord's voice shall cease!
When Zion's KING shall hear his glorious name
Resound through Earth, with one vast, loud acclaim:
And morn's first beam,-and eve's last ling'ring ray,
Bear witness still to our MESSIAH's sway!
Extract from "Vicissitude, a Poem, by ROBERT MILLHOUSE, Corporal on
the Staff of the Royal Sherwood Foresters." 1821.
(Dedicated to the Duchess of Newcastle.)
When Peace restores contentment to the swain,
The harass'd Warrior quits the tented plain,
With beating heart and hasty steps he goes
To seek his home and terminate his woes.
At length his long-lost cot appears in view,
And all his former transports beam anew.
Anon, he trembling opes the garden gate
That fronts the cottage dress'd in rural state,
And, hastening onward, soon, with glad surprise,
His faithful wife salutes his tearful eyes.
Suddenly round his neck her arms she flings,
And with wild fondness to his bosom clings;
Pearls down her cheeks in quick succession roll,
Easing the joyful anguish of her soul.
Moved by the mother's tears, with fond desire,
Her blooming children crowd around their sire.
Seated, at length, as soon as words find way,
She tells how sad the months have passed away
Since his departure gave her up to tears-
And asks, what dangers and what gloomy cares
Have been his portion, since his last adieu
To join the band that waited then in view?
And now a mournful story he runs o'er,
Of men and horses weltering in their gore;
How on the right and left his friends were slain;
And with his hand describes th' embattled plain;
Shews on his breast a deep and ghastly wound,
Giv'n when superior numbers pressed them round;
How the reserve beheld their woeful plight,
And put the enemy to sudden flight.
Chill'd with the horrors of the mournful tale,
Their pitying hearts the woes of War bewail!
Detested War! thy desolating strife
Sprinkles with blood the gloomy walks of life!
'Tis thy delight to hear the orphan cry,
And to behold the widow's heaving sigh!
To see the father and the husband bleed,
And look with pleasure on each murderous deed!
Famine and Sickness are to thee allied,
And Guilt and Outrage riot at thy side!
Grim Devastation moves at thy command,
And turns a paradise to heaps of sand!
Ye sons of Adam! when shall Reason's ray
Prompt you to drive the demon War away,
And cultivate the sacred arts of Peace,
That smile to see the human race increase?
O say, does mother Earth (too scant of room)
Compel to chase our neighbours to the tomb?
Millions of acres yet untill'd remain
In forest wilds, or common, heath and plain,
Where, undisturb'd the timid wild-fowl flies,
And the sweet flow'ret flourishes and dies!
Or is it that the high-born sons of pride
Hate to behold an equal by their side?
Wherefore, Oh! ye, whom Fortune's favours bless,
Who vast hereditary power possess,
Whose potent hands the rod of empire sway,
And see with pride surrounding states obey,
Oh! as along the tide of Power you go,
Think on the gloomy scenes of human woe!
And as in War you waste the splendid store,
Reflect what misery haunts the needy poor,
When the bleak wind pervades the tatter'd vest,
And meagre Famine chills the orphan's breast!
O gentle Peace! to thy mild reign belong
The warmest praises of the Poet's song!
Thy hallow'd altars pure and bloodless rise,
The dove, thy messenger, about thee flies!
Frisking, the lamb and fawn around thee play,
Or, softly sleeping, bask beneath thy ray!
Plenty, thine handmaid, revels in thy courts,
And virgin Innocence o'erlooks thy sports!
Safety sits smiling by the shepherd's side,
And streams of bliss through all thy landscapes glide!
On reading the Account of the young Officer (Mr. Smith) who gallantly lost his life in attempting to assist the Crew of the Thames East Indiaman, on the morning of the 3d of February, 1822.
FROM whatever causes the fact he shall abide for ever.""
Upon every subject, but more especially upon those which are connected with our religious obligations, it is of the first consequence that our conduct be the result of scriptural principles, clearly understood, strongly believed, and habitually acted upon? The latter, indeed, will be a necessary consequence of the two former; for it is impossible but that moral truth, well understood, and firmly held, should produce correspondent conduct. Any good man who may have been drawn aside from the path of duty for a time, will find, upon recollection, that, during the sad season of aberration, he ceased to possess a clear perception of the truth and importance of the virtue from which he had unhappily strayed.
But, may have arisen, it must be alas! when the awful storms of evident to a very casual observer of Heaven beat upon that house, it is mankind, that there is a great want discovered, too late, that its foundaof firmness and consistency among tion is on the sand; for it falleth, many persons, whose pretensions to and "great is the fall thereof." superiority in religious acquirement have been considerable. These imperfections in the human character, may be sometimes owing to natural imbecility, or to the absence of those external impressions which, for the time, are sufficiently powerful and efficacious to give energy and stabi lity to the mind. But we apprehend that the following are really the simple causes of all such deficiency and weakness-the want of a clear per ception of what is true, and of a strong conviction of the force and immutability of truth It must therefore be admitted, that moral or religious conduct, which is destitute of consistent, permanent, and operative principle as its basis, is such in name only. A change of situation, or circumstance, or society, will probably overturn the fair fabric, and leave the ignorant or wicked architect covered with confusion. The structure may be very pleasing to the eye, and the admiring passenger may suppose that its foundation stands strong even the thoughtless inhabitant himself may entertain the same fallacious idea,
"His inward thought is that VOL. 1. NEW SERIES.
These observations we are particularly desirous that the Friends of Peace should apply to the subject they advocate. We invite them frequently to investigate the principles upon which their views of permanent and universal peace are founded; and not to feel satisfied unless they arise, not from mere emotions of pity at the horrors of War, nor from gratify