Part 1
_WAR._
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 they use, when Steel appear'd too weak?
Now Troop encounter'd Troop, and Hundreds fell; These, _then_, were counted many to be slain At once, and made a lamentable Tale! Now mournful Families were all in Tears; For her Espous'd the Virgin wept; her Son The Mother wail'd; the Husband's Loss bemoan'd His Widow, and her Children, destitute And helpless, and without Resource but Heav'n!
What thought the while their primitive Sire, what said, When he beheld his Offspring warring thus In hostile Crouds, engag'd with mutual Rage And Rancour in outrageous Deeds, and bent To die, or to destroy, as if contriv'd, By Nature's Will, of worst Antipathy? How must his Love and Grief have interpos'd Between 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 of _Eve_ 'And _Adam_; 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 'By _Satan_, 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! unthinking _I_ did Hurt 'To you: _Ye_ study Malice, and can act 'Murder propense, and glory in the Deed!'
Little, may we suppose, did they regard Their Sire's Reproof, who GOD'S Commands despis'd, And Nature's Voice, which manifestly spake Them 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'd For Love and Friendship, not for Deeds of Hate; And fitter to embrace, than hurt or kill; Most other Creatures ready arm'd for Fight With 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 GOD Impress'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 Men In 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 unite For common Safety; All, industrious, urge The necessary Work, till Walls were rais'd Of Height and Thickness vast, esteem'd of Strength Impregnable, 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, surround A Flock of Sheep, safe-fenc'd; secure the Lambs Bleat by their Mothers; they, excluded, rage, To be debarr'd: Keen Hunger, and their Jaws Long 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 hope By Famine dire to conquer, whom their Swords And 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 Dismay Sits on their meagre Faces; Bread is now Than Gold more precious; Meat obscene, a Feast: Yet they endure. So dear is Liberty To 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 Beams Of mighty Force and Weight, in hopes to cause A Breach, while these at the Foundation try: Others the crouded Battlements approach In wooden, tott'ring Tow'rs, of equal Height, Hoping by Bridges laid to pass from thence To the near hostile Wall. These Ladders fix, And, cover'd with their Shields; to Death devote; With desp'rate Valour mount; and with their Hands Seize on the Summits; maugre all th' Efforts Of 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; Fiend _Mars_ exults; Yet wonders at his Sons!--_And what the Prize Of 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 like To 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 Seat Of Peace, and Love perpetual: Such as they Would soon convert its Glories to a Hell. For hard'ned Clay, Dominion, Fame; for these Without which Man may be as blest; they _this_ Endure; and hazard horrid Wounds, and Death, Yea, Hell, if Hell there _be_; a _Fable_ deem'd!
The Wall is gain'd: They conquer: Now they mount With eager Joy and Haste, no more restrain'd: Now all is Slaughter, all infuriate Rage, That neither sees, nor hears: The Sword devours All in its Way; and spares nor Sex, nor Age. The hoary Head, and little Infant, lie Welt'ring in Blood; by whom the Mother bleeds, Glad to die with it; wounded most in _that_. 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 themselves Still 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'd To 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 Space Allow'd; they might have Life enjoy'd in Peace For 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 Man Was quite destroy'd (good _Noah_, and his Sons, Except); and Earth from its Pollutions dire Of 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 of _Noah_'s Sons, No better prov'd; but plunder'd, warr'd, and slew As eagerly, as if they meant t' exceed Their Fathers Sins; and hasten, by their own, The last Purgation that's design'd, by Fire.
_Nimrod_, the famous Hunter, first began New 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 crippled _Lazar_, blotch'd with nauseous Sores, Beheld with Pity by my MAKER'S Eye; Rather than rule the Empire of the World For Crimes and Cruelty, by HIM abhorr'd!
When Death had taught proud _Nimrod_, and Mankind, How weak a Wretch the mighty Conqu'ror was; _Belus_, his Son, not taught, inherited His Empire, and his Cruelty and Pride: By WAR'S perpetual, sought t'inlarge his Sire's Extensive Conquests; nor could Limits set To his Desires, insatiable as Death.
Down from victorious _Belus_, 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 Blood Polluted; Cities fair and large, destroy'd; To ruinous Heaps reduc'd; and Countries rich, To Defarts alter'd; now by prowling Wolves Possess'd instead of Men, whose wretched Race, Curst, sanguinary Brutes, in Form of Men, Have quite extirpated. O Scenes of Grief And Horror; odious, or to Sight or Thought!
Improving fast, this Second Race outvy'd Ante-diluvian Cruelty: How much Did these (tho' dressing hideous WAR in Pomp, To hide its foul Deformity) increase Its Horrors dire, and multiply its Woes? These barb'd their dreadful Arrow-Heads; and dipp'd In Juices venomous: A simple Wound Too small a Mischief seem'd to satisfy Their deadly Malice: These invented first _Scyth'd_ Chariots; as if Men were _Grass_ indeed! How many horrid Internments of Death And Engines terrible, did these contrive, Unknown to former Ages! How improve The _Trade_ of killing Men!--The _lib'ral Art_, I should have said; for WAR was _now_ an Art; And none in greater Credit; none esteem'd Fitter for such as boasted noble Birth.
And, as this wicked World is now become, None is more fit for _such_ who should excel In Magnanimity, as well as Wealth: When WAR is unavoidable; I mean, In Self-defence against invading Foes; Then GEORGE, then _Cumberland_, by Heav'n approv'd, Intrepid lead their animated Troops; Then _Marlbro'_, then a hundred Heroes more, Follow their glorious Chief; with _Him_ resolv'd To live or die: Yet, gen'rous, pity Those They conquer; and had rather do them Good.
But these esteem'd WAR glorious, tho' unjust; Were _Satan_'s Volunteers; and wilfully Created, fought, abominable War; And chose it for their Business, and Delight. With these, all Arts, all useful Sciences, All moral Excellence, Man's Glory, true And only Heroism, were mean, compar'd To the superior Praise of killing Man. This was heroic Virtue deem'd; this thought The noblest Way to gain immortal Fame; This, their Historians celebrate, as Worth Divine; this, flatt'ring Poets to the Skies, To Heav'n itself exalt; and deify Their Heroes false, more fitly, by themselves, Sometimes compar'd to _rav'nous_ Beasts of Prey. Rapt, by the magic Sweetness of their Verse, From due Reflection, Men with Pleasure hear Of horrid Wounds and Death; which Souls humane Should with Abhorrence think of, tho' deserv'd.
This brutal Fierceness, by a vile Abuse Of 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 GOD Is 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 Truth Oppress'd; in bearing the worst Ills of Life With Fortitude heroic; had they, wise, Rather subdu'd to Reason's Sway whate'er Was vicious in their Souls; they then had Praise In Truth deserv'd, and well been Heroes styl'd: More truly, now, dire, bloody Murderers, Who multiply ten-hundred-thousand-fold The Sin of Cain: _He_ but _one_ Brother slew.
In horrid, barbarous, destructive WAR, In one brief Day, has the voracious Sword Devour'd a Hundred-thousand five times told! Like the vast Herds, at _Sion_'s solemn Feasts, They fell, a pompous Sacrifice to _Mars_: What Appetite to kill! What Industry Untir'd! What Rage and Fury prompted on!
Let lively Fancy picture in your Mind, How grand a Spectacle such Host must yield At first; all rang'd in Bands, and due Array, With order'd Spear and Shield, and burnish'd Arms. Suppose them now encount'ring: What _Le Brun_ The Horrors and Confusion of the Fight Can paint? O human Souls! O Madness dire! *When did ten thousand Tigers, Lions, Bulls, Ten thousand of their Species meet, and thus Engage with all their Fury? Men alone Act thus; _this, this_ is the superior Fruit Of Reason: _Savage_ Creatures 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 Soul Sustains 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 prove More cruel, and more foolish Brutes than you. Help ye to bury those whom no Man will: No pitying _Tobit_ these are like to find: But ye, however willing, are too few: Your Leavings, their half-eaten Carcases, Abhorr'd by _you_, at last will putrefy; And by their nauseous Stench endanger more The Conquerors, than Living, by their Arms.
On yonder Hill, see little _Rome_ arise, Unpromising, despis'd, and _bold_, to hope Ev'n short Duration: That ere long will prove The Queen of Cities; Martial _Rome_; as if Its Founder were in Truth the Progeny Of _Mars_; and spread its Conquests o'er the Earth. A Race as bloody, as tho' all had fuck'd Wolves, like their Founder; all, like him, been doom'd To raise their City on their Brethrens Blood. Fit Omen; well by the Event explain'd! Woe to the _East_, and _West_, and _North_, and _South_, Whose Sons _That Rome_ shall sacrifice to _Mars!_ Yet the pugnacious Brood, between themselves Engag'd, shall oft revenge the injur'd World.
The LORD could strike with various Plagues: But He Abhorrence feels, in Mercy: HE could send His Angels; they _obey_, not love the Task, And pity while they strike: HE could employ Foul Fiends for Executioners; but finds Yet fitter Instrument; and sends a _Man_; _He_ loves it, and will do the odious Work With Pleasure, and not tire; not nauseate Blood At last; but like the Leech, still thirst for more: An _Alexander_, _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'er With 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 Praise From 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 own Sore Suff'rings, and free Off'ring of his Life, Forfeited Happiness and Life restore. You, _Ammon_, wept, that you had but one World To 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 Peace Is pregnant: _This_ will 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 disturb The slumb'ring Infant's Visions: Hush, be still; And know, that He is GOD, who maketh WARS To 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 feed At the same Crib; the little Child shall stroak The 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; such _should_ be, now He is come.
At least, we might have hop'd for _such_ a State In _His_, who _should_ be like their peaceful Lord, A People all of Innocence and Love. But, ah! Mankind continue still the same, And we must wait for _this_, till He returns To raise us to immortal Life, and Bliss More perfect than our first; Then _this_ shall 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 they _will_ be, in spite of Heav'n, Instead of Hell; for _this_ such Saints approves, While _that_ abhors, 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 Love Their Motive to subdue the World to Christ And Happiness; their Aim, to bless their Foes With Life eternal, not deprive of _this_. But these, too, lust; these, likewise, carnal Arms Assume, and all the same dire Scenes ensue.
Lo, _Spring_, fair Maid, in fragrant Blossoms clad, And deck'd with Flow'rs, preserving some Remains Of our First State in Paradise, invites T'enjoy its Sweets, forgetful of our Cares And Misery! For Mischief rather made And 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 like _Eden_ smil'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 unite To pacify, by Pray'r, the Wrath Divine: But they, possess'd by Furies, multiply Our Woes innumerable; and, of their own Contrivance, add as many more, and worse.
Thanks to thee, hoary Father, _Winter_, Thanks To thy bleak Winds, and Rains, and Frosts severe, That check awhile their Thirst of human Blood, And force them Warmth to seek beneath the Roofs Of Towns and Cities; yet not always thou Vacation gain'st us, oft they will endure Thy worst, and rather die, than not destroy; And never once think to _whom_! O eloquent _Paul_, Or ye styl'd _Thunder'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 wounds _them_, wounds _Him_; will ye, too, kill "Your Lord, and use Him like the murd'rous _Jews_? "Throw down those horrid Arms, and, chang'd, embrace "His Brother each; and, with repentant Tears, "Mutual Forgiveness ask, or name not Christ."
Not _Paul_ himself could stop them, no, nor Christ, Unless, array'd in Glory, he should come To judge them instantly:----And may he not? What if he should? Silence the thund'rous Guns And Cannons, and suspend the horrid fray? How well prepar'd for Hell, how ill for Heav'n, Would they before his dread Tribunal stand?