Rural Tales: Ballads and Songs

Halt! ye Legions, sheathe your Steel:

Blood grows precious; shed no more:

Cease your toils; your wounds to heal

Lo! beams of Mercy reach the shore!

From Realms of everlasting light

The favour'd guest of Heaven is come:

Prostrate your Banners at the sight,

And bear the glorious tidings home.

The plunging corpse with half-clos'd eyes,

No more shall stain th' unconscious brine;

Yon pendant gay, that streaming flies,

Around its idle Staff shall twine.

Behold! along th' etherial sky

Her beams o'er conquering Navies spread;

Peace! Peace! the leaping Sailors cry,

With shouts that might arouse the dead.

Then forth Britannia's thunder pours;

A vast reiterated sound!

From Line to Line the Cannon roars,

And spreads the blazing joy around.

Return, ye brave! your Country calls;

Return; return, your task is done:

While here the tear of transport falls,

To grace your Laurels nobly won.

Albion Cliffs—from age to age,

That bear the roaring storms of Heav'n,

Did ever fiercer Warfare rage?

Was ever Peace more timely given?

Wake! sounds of Joy: rouse, generous Isle;

Let every patriot bosom glow.

Beauty, resume thy wonted smile,

And, Poverty, thy cheerful brow.

Boast, Britain, of thy glorious Guests;

Peace, Wealth, and Commerce, all thine own:

Still on contented Labour rests

The basis of a lasting Throne.

Shout, Poverty! 'tis Heaven that saves;

Protected Wealth, the chorus raise:

Ruler of War, of Winds, and Waves,

Accept a prostrate Nation's praise.