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O Thou! who sittest a smiling bride

By Valour's arm'd and awful side,
lentlest of sky-born forms, and best adored :

Who oft, with songs, divine to hear,

Wean'st from his fatal grasp the spear,
synd hidest in wreaths of flowers his bloodless

Thou who, amidst the deathful field,

By god-like chiefs alone beheld,
Oft with thy bosom bare art found,
Pleading for him, the youth who sinks to ground:

See, Mercy, see! with pure and loaded hands,

Before thy shrine my country's Genius stands,
And decks thy altar still though pierced with many
a wound!

When he whom e'en our joys provoke,
The fiend of Nature, join'd his yoke,

And rush'd in wrath to make our isle his prey :

T'hy form, from out thy sweet abode,

O’ertook him on his blasted road, And stopp'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away

I see recoil his sable steeds,

That bore him swift to savage deeds,
Thy tender melting eyes they own;
O maid! for all thy love to Britain shown,

Where Justice bars her iron tower,

To thee we build a roseate bower, Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our

monarch's throne.



My meed hath got me fame, I have not stopp'd my ears to their demands, Nor posted off their suits with slow delays ; My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds, My mildness hath allay'd their swelling griefs, My mercy dried their water-flowing tears : I have not been desirous of their wealth, Nor much oppress'd them with great subsidies, Nor forward to revenge, 'though they much erred.





PLEASE you to hear me, Satraps ! And chiefly thou, my priest, because I doubt thee More than the soldier, and would doubt thee all Wert thou not half a warrior: let us part In peace-I'll not say pardon-which must be Earn’d by the guilty: this I'll not pronounce ye, Although upon this breath of mine depends Your own; and, deadlier for ye, on my fear. But fear not-for that I am soft, and fearfulAnd so live on. Were I the thing some think me Your heads would now be dripping the last drops Of their attainted gore from the high gates Of this our palace, into the dry dust, Their only portion of the coveted kingdom They would be crown'd to reign o'er-let that pass, As I have said, I will not deem ye guilty, Nor doom ye guiltless. Albeit better men Than ye or I stand ready to arraign you: And should I leave your fate to sterner judges, And proofs of all kinds, I might sacrifice Two men, who, whatsoe'er they now are, were Once honest. Ye are free, sirs, Your swords and persons are at liberty To use them as ye will—but from this hour I have no call for either.



Men of Jerusalem ! whose hardy zeal
And valiant patience in a cause less desperate
Might force the foe to reverence and admire;
To you thus speaks again the Queen of Earth,
All-conqu’ring Rome! whose kingdom is where'er
The sunshine beams on living men; beneath
The shadow of whose throne the world reposes,
And glories in being subjected to her,
Even as 'tis subject to the immortal gods-
To you, whose mad and mutinous revolt
Hath harrow'd all your rich and pleasant land
With fiery rapine ; sunk your lofty cities
To desolate heaps of monumental ashes;
Yet with that patience, which becomes the mighty,
The endurance of the lion, that disdains
The foe whose conquest brings no glory with it,
Rome doth command you to lay down your arms,
And bow the high front of your proud rebellion,
Even to the common level of obedience
That holds the rest of human kind. So doing,
Ye cancel all the dark and guilty past:
Silent Oblivion waits to wipe away
The record of your madness and your crimes;
And in the stead of bloody Vengeance, claiming
Her penal due of torture, chains and death,
Comes reconciling Mercy.

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