The Argument.

Part the First.

An Invocation to the Muse; – an Address to Britannia; – to Alfred the Great, as the Founder of British Liberty; – an Allusion to King John, and the Signing of Magna Charta; – to the Triumphs of England over France, in the Reigns of Edward the Third and Henry the Fifth; – a Congratulatory Address to Britons, from a View of the Privileges they now enjoy, from the excellent Constitution of this Country, and the Mild Administration of King George the Third; – an Exhortation to watch over and defend those Privileges; – and an Hymn of Praise to God as the Guardian of England.

Part the Second.

Commences with a Simile of a Traveller reluctantly leaving Arabia the Happy, to travel through Arabia the Desart; – a View of the greatest Part of Europe groaning under Chains of Tyranny and Oppression, and overwhelmed with Ignorance and Popish Darkness; – which leads to the Celebration of the glorious Revolution in France of 1789.

Part the Third.

An Attempt to improve the two former Parts--shewing the grand Cause of the late Revolution, and the great end to which it leads, from a retrospective View of the Rise and Fall of the four great Empires spoken of by the Prophet Daniel, and exemplified by Dean Prideaux, Rollin, and Bishop Newton; – with a Prospect of the glorious Time when True Religion and Civil Liberty shall shed their Blessings all over the World.

Preface

At a time when the great and important events, which have lately taken place, (events so interesting to Mankind in general, and to the Lovers of the Protestant Religion and of Civil and Religious Liberty in particular), has fixed the attention, animated the passions, and deeply impressed almost every heart, I flatter myself that the following Poem will not be altogether unacceptable to the Public. It was not written with a view to acquire either gain or applause; but as the Divine Goodness has honoured me with the friendship of many most respectable and valuable persons, who condescend to be pleased with the little effusions of my unworthy pen, it was composed to oblige them, and indeed at the particular request of one of them; a request which was the more agreeable to me, as it was entirely suited to my inclination; being myself of French extraction, I cannot but be deeply interested in the great events which have lately taken place in France, although I possess an English heart; and therefore the interests of my native Country are particularly dear and valuable to me – Should this little piece be so highly honoured as to meet the approbation of my friends, I shall be happy; should it be any way useful to young minds, and have a tendency to impress upon them the importance and value of the noble privileges they enjoy as Britons, and have a natural and unalienable right to as men; to inspire them with generous sentiments of public spirit, and love to their Country; and, above all, with gratitude to the Divine Author and giver of all their blessings, and thereby promote, in some small degree, the glory of God; my principal design in writing will be abundantly answered. – I flatter myself that the public in general, and those in particular who are pleased to honour me with their friendship, will suffer the propriety of my intention in writing to cover the many improprieties they may discover in the Poem; and that they will do me the justice to believe, that, if I possessed the brightest genius and greatest abilities in the world, instead of the little half talent God has bestowed upon me, it would be my highest delight to lay them out for the improvement of the rising generation, and to express my gratitude to my God, my Friends, and my Country.

Maria de Fleury.

January 6, 1790,

No. 31, Jewin-Street.

Come, heav’nly Muse, assist me while I sing;

Thy sweetest lyre, thy choicest music bring:

Come, warm my heart with thy celestial fire,

With noblest rapture all my soul inspire;

Rapture like her’s* who sung the glorious day

When Sisera became a Woman’s prey;

When Freedom triumph’d, and Jehovah frown’d;

A haughty Tyrant bleeding to the ground.

Freedom’s my theme, to celebrate her name,

O that my lays were equal to my theme!

That I could write with an immortal pen,

And trace, with steady eye, “the ways of God to Men!”

Britannia, hail! thou favour’d Queen of Isles,

Long kindly foster’d by thy Maker’s smiles!

When rising first from Ocean’s oozy bed,

He bade the rear aloft thy stately head;

Bade thy white cliffs triumphant o’er the main

Through all succeeding generations reign.

When from the grave, victorious, Jesus rose,

Almighty Conqu’ror over mighty foes,

Th’ ascended Saviour claim’d thee for his own,

An early jewel planted in his crown,

And sent his everlasting Gospel down;

Disperst the shades of Druid night away,

And fill’d thy happy Isle with evangelic day.

Then, as his crowning gift, from his right hand

Freedom he sent, to bless this favour’d land;

Britain be free! he said; and Freedom then

Became the darling right of Englishmen.

To fix her throne, her standard high to rear,

Behold a long illustrious race appear!

Wise to design, firm to maintain her laws,

To bleed, and die, in Freedom’s sacred cause.

Alfred! if thy great soul can yet receive

The tribute which a grateful People give,

Look down, and hear a Nation bless thy name,

And consecrate to thee immortal fame:

Look down, and see the Temple, all divine!

Thy Sons erected from thy vast design;

Thy hands the great foundation laid, and we

Admire the Founder of our Liberty; –

A King! a Father! how rever’d a name?

Go, Kings, and emulate and share the same!

No more fair Freedom mourns her ruin’d fanes!

No more barb’rous Gothic rage complains:

In British breasts see Spartan courage flow,

And Roman virtue in their bosoms glow!

Her sorrows cease, she, with a placid smile,

Claps her bright wings, an in this sea-girt Isle

Delights to dwell, forgets her ancient seat,

And makes this land of light her lov’d retreat.

See a proud Tyrant,** with a crown in view,

O’er blood and fratricide the prize pursue;

See him enthron’d, extend an iron rod

O’er free-born Britons, and intend his nod

To be their law; his sov’reign will the bound

Of wright and wrong. – Is no deliv’rer found?

No Junius Brutus, who will nobly stand

The glorious champion of a sinking land?

Yes; I behold ten thousand heroes rise,

I hear their shouts, re-echoing, rend the skies;

I see their banners waving in the air,

The-sounding trump proclaims, that Britons dare

Defend their sacred rights thro’ toils and death,

And boast of Freedom with their latest breath.

O Runnemnead! the great historic page

Shall celebrate thy name from age to age!

In distant times, the venerable Sire,

Feeling his bosom glow with patriot fire,

Shall tell his Sons of thee, and (pointing) say,

Remember, Boys, the memorable day

When here BRITANNIA’s valiant Barons stood,

Her noblest Sons, determin’d, brave and good;

Their cause, the cause of justice, truth, and law:

The haughty Tyrant trembled when he saw

Their gallant host, fear struck the coward pale,

While Heav’n rejoic’d to see the right prevail:

’Twas here, in spite of Hell and all her foes,

Fair Freedom triumph’d, Magna Charta rose.

See Conquest, eagle-wing’d, from Heav’n descend,

Britannia’s fleets and armies to attend;

She shakes her snowy plumes, and calls to arms,

Leading to glory thro’ the dread alarms

Of horrent war. – Gallia, thy fields can tell

How many gallant heroes fought and fell,

To raise the honours of the British name,

And deep engrave it in the lists of fame.

See weeping Cressy still lament her day,

And proud Poictiers the victors might display;

See Agincourt immortal laurels bring,

To wreath the brow of England’s youthful King.

No more let mortals trust in mortal might,

The God of Battles must decide the fight;

Let the proud boaster learn to boast no more,

But, with our Henry, wonder and adore.

In vain does Hell and Rome conspire to pour

Blind papal darkness on this happy shore;

In vain aspiring tyrants rise and rage,

Britain shall still be free from age to age.

Heav’n puffs at their designs from his high throne,

And, frowning, shakes their mighty Babels down;

At the dread sound of his avenging ire,

A james shall abdicate, a Charles expire!

A Cromwell and a William shall appear--

(Hail, glorious names! hail, names to Britain dear!)

And, like an overwhelming whirlwind, sweep

Despotic monsters to their native deep;

While Antichrist and Tyranny shall fall,

And Freedom, British Freedom, triumph over all!

Blest Halcyon days now reign – let Britons sing,

No more they groan beneath a tyrant King.

No more they smart beneath th’ oppressive sword –

Mild is the sceptre sway’d by George the Third***

In her full splendor sacred Truth appears,

And Peace and Plenty crown our happy years.

Late a black cloud o’erhung the British sky,

The thunders roll’d, the rattling storm drew nigh,

Britannia’s bosom heav’d the trembling sigh;

When, lo! her sun arose with cheerful ray,

Shone thro’ the tempest, drove the shades away;

O’erwhelm’d with joy, she tun’d her voice to sing

The god whose sov’reign pow’r restor’d her King!

Zion too, shouted; Zion caught the flame,

And sung hosannah to the gracious name

Whose condescending eye beheld her care,

And gave her much lov’d Sov’reign to her pray’r.

Long may th’ imperial diadem adorn

His royal brow; may Geoge, a Briton born,

Long over free-born Britons live to reign,

To guard their rights, their liberties maintain;

May he the Father of his People be,

And prove their love, their laws, and liberty,

The firmest, best supporters of his throne.

The choicest, brightest jewels of his crown,

Say, Muse, her name, who reigns with sov’reign sway

In British hearts? Record the happy day,

When Charlotte, like the fun, arose to bless

And crown a King and People’s happiness.

Wise, great, and good, long may she live to prove

The darling object of three kingdoms’ love;

While big-swoln Envy turns asham’d away,

And Slander’s forked tongue finds not one word to say.

Britons rejoice, no chains are forg’d for you,

To break your spirit, and your minds subdue;

No dreary caves exclude the beauteous light,

And bury heroes in perpetual night;

No Iron Cages, no Bastiles arise,

To curse the groaning earth, insult the skies;

No Widows weep, no Orphans mourn in vain

Husbands and Fathers snatch’d away, or slain,

By cruel Policy. Here Freedom reigns,

And law and justice hold the sacred reins

Of England’s Government. O Britons raise

To heav’n’s high King a monument of praise!

Mark well your blessings, see how high they rise,

Deep in your hearts record, and learn to prize

The noble privileges you possess,

Boh civil and religious happiness:

Inform your children, let the rising youth

Be taught to study this important truth;

Freedom is still (oppose who will or can)

The noble birth-right of an Englishman.

O! hold it fast, than ease, than life more dear,

And old and wise in its defence appear;

Watch o’er your rights, with more than Argus’ eyes,

Lest force or fraud despoil you of the prize;

To distant ages, to the end of time,

Hand it unfullied – let this favour’d clime

Long reign the mighty Empress of the sea,

Renown’d for Truth, for Peace, and Liberty.

Let distant ages with the present join,

To raise, in numbers sweet,’ a song divine;

A song of grateful praise to Britain’s god,

Who breaks our en’mies with an iron rod;

But sways a golden sceptre o’er this land,

And keeps it safe in his Almighty hand.

Hail, Britain’s god! Britannia bows to thee,

Thou Sov’reign Author of her Liberty;

’Twas thou dispell’d the shades of papal night,

And shed abroad the beams of Gospel light.

Thy Sov’reign love has made her still thy care,

Thy wrath hath crush’d her Tyrants in despair;

From thee her ever-new salvation springs,

Great Setter-up and Putter-down of kings:

Let earth and sea conspire to speak thy praise,

Let old and young a ceaseless anthem raise;

Let King and People swell the triumph high,

And shout hosannahs thro’ the echoing sky.

And still, oh! still may we enjoy thy smile,

Almighty Guardian on this happy Isle;

O! send thy Spirit down to crown thy truth;

Let venerable sires, let blooming youth,

Won by the pow’r of thy victorious word,

To holiness and happiness restor’d,

Take at a Saviour’s feet their humble place,

The willing subjects of Almighty grace:

Let error flee, let truth and justice reign,

Long as Britannia’s compass’d with the main;

Let British hearts still glow with patriot fire,

Till sun, and moon, and stars, and worlds expire.

Part the Second.

From the fair fields of Araby the blest,

With spicy groves and constant verdure drest;

Where Nature’s richest fruits profusely grow,

And cooling streams in pleasing murmurs flow;

How the loath trav’ler, with reluctant feet,

Quits the lov’d soil, his favourite retreat,

T’ explore the horrors of the wilderness,

New scenes of woe and multiply’d distress;

’Midst burning sands, where no cool springs arise,

But oft the fainting trav’ler thirsts and dies;

Where savage bands rapacious roam for prey,

And whirlwinds sweep whole caravans away:

So from the Land of Liberty and Light,

With drooping wing, my Muse must take her flight;

She for a while must lay her triumphs by,

And sing with plaintive voice, and view with weeping eye

O’er mighty realms deep shades of night preail,

Mysterious Babel spread her gloomy veil

O’er millions of immortal minds, who lay

Far from the borders of celestial day;

Absorpt in ignorance and slavish fears,

Thro’ the long period of a thousand years;

Their gen’rous spirit curb’d, their noble fire,

Such as the love of Freedom must inspire;

Quench’d by a sweeping flood, a deluge wild,

Of arbitrary pow’r, chasing each mild

And amiable virtue far away,

While horrid Tyranny her frowns display.

See the proud purple Despot wave his hand,

Th’ important signal of supreme command.

His will the law of millions; at his nod

They bow and tremble, as a demigod;

He shines illustrious, thinks a nation born

To swell his triumph, and his pomp adorn.

Justice and Virtue, from his presence driv’n,

Quit his domains, and seek their native heav’n;

Mercy and Truth retire, and in their stead

See treach’rous Falshood raise her hateful head;

Adult’rous Lust, insatiate thirst for gold,

And Rapine her rapacious jaws unfold:

Ambition forms a thousand plans to rise,

A thousand arts employs to gain the prize;

The glitt’ring prize, pursu’d with ardent zeal,

And ev’ry motive, but the public weal,

Attain’d, the giddy pageant of an hour

Basks in the sunshine of a Tyrant’s pow’r;

His smile exalts him, but, anon, a frown

Tumbles the wretch and all his honours down.

From age to age this aweful curse hath ran,

And in the Slave been lost the rights of Man:

If e’er a Patriot felt his bosom move

With that great principle, his country’s love,

A noble spark of true heroic fire,

And durst to liberty and truth aspire,

See prisons rise, see dungeons sink for him,

And racks and wheels must tear him limb from limb;

While silent multitudes their tears suppress;

Nor dare in secret signs their grief express,

Lest keen suspicion, with her jealous eyes,

Should read rebellion in their secret signs;

Should sacrifice to political fears,

And in their martyr’s ruin mingle their’s.

Each gen’rous effort of the soul to bind,

And rivet fetters on the free-born mind,

A thousand terrors rise, contriv’d in Hell –

How black, how horrible, what tongue can tell?

O’er hapless realms stretch out their dark domain,

And in Bastiles and Inquisitiions reign.

The mighty bulwarks of despotic pow’r,

Where Tyranny enthron’d, with hideous roar,

Darts her grim horrors round a frighted state,

A nation trembles, crush’d beneath the weight;

Prostrate receives, and patient bears the stroke,

And groans supine beneath the iron yoke.

Such were thy chains, O Gallia! while the fun

From age to age his destin’d periods run;

While pow’r despotic hurl’d her thunders round,

A thousand generations felt the wound.

’Tis past, the hour is come, the glorious hour,

When France no more shall own a Tyrant’s pow’r;

The day appears, the grand illustrious day,

Dispersing night with all her shades away.

O come, fair Freedom! daughter of the skies,

To thee a Nation lifts their longing eyes;

’Tis thee they invocate, with patriot breath,

Determin’d to be free, or sleep in death;

Extend thy gracious sway from shore to shore,

And reign till suns shall rise and set no more.

From sleep, from sloth awake! (a hero cries)

Ye noble Franks: Echo aloud replies,

From sleep, from sloth awake! Shake off your chains,

To dwell with slaves fair Liberty disdains;

She reigns o’er Men. No more supinely lay

Hugging your fetters, let your deeds display

The vigour of immortal minds; rouse, rouse!

And at fair Freedom’s shrine repeat your vows;

Live free, or nobly stamp it on your graves;

Awake, arise, or be for ever slaves!

He spake, and thro’ the Nations swift it flew--

The Nations heard, the Nations triumph’d too;

With noble zeal, a thousand tongues repeat

The voice of Heav’n, of Freedom, and Fayette.

See from Americ’s shore the Hero come,

And brings a noble brand of worthies home;

Persidious policy had sent them forth,

They studied Freedom in the hostile North.

Now safely landed on their native shore,

They must be free, they will be slaves no more;

While gen’rous Britons scorn a mean revenge,

And leave their wrongs for Heaven to avenge.

Exulting see the Gallic heroes come,

And bring the sweets of British Freedom home;

They saw in Freedom’s cause her Sons expire,

And, lo! their bosoms caught the gen’rous fire;

They see their Country bound in slavish chains,

They see her bleeding at a thousand veins;

Their hearts expand with noble zeal to save,

Or in her ruins form themselves a grave.

“Let France awake to Freedom!” (Fayette cries);

“Let France awake!” around the Nation flies;

Winds waft the voice afar, and who’s so bound

In slavish fetters, not to hear the sound?

What heart so spiritless, so sunk in fears,

As not to glow with ardour when he hears

The call to Liberty? The noble fire

Catches from heart to heart; the hoary Sire,

And ruddy Boy, alike its rays inspire:

They hear! they start! they come! fair Freedom’s call

Revives the spirit of the ancient Gaul;

The sleeping Lion’s rous’d, he paws the ground,

He shakes his mane, his eye darts lightning round.

Let Tyrants tremble, while his awful roar

Confusion flings on arbitrary pow’r;

To eastern climes let despotism flee,

European bosoms pant for Liberty;

An injur’d People claim the rights of men,

A mighty good, well bought with present pain;

Heav’n looks propitious down, resolv’d to bless

And crown the glorious struggle with success.

From East and West, from North and South, behold

A band of worthies come; in war not bold

Alone to execute, but wise to plan,

And model laws of Empire worthy Man.

On every brow deliberation sits,

And public care and prudence, as befits

The Senate of a mighty Nation, met

To form anew, and organize the State.

Zeal gives their councils life, while caution wards

A thousand dangers, circumspection guards

(A faithful centinel) their country’s love,

The noble spring which all their actions move.

See love to Freedom every heart inspire,

See every bosom glow with warm desire,

To break their Country’s chains, and set her free,

To taste the golden fruits of well-earn’d Liberty.

Hail, Patriots! hail! th’ astonish’d world admire,

And catch a spark of your heroic fire;

From heart to heart it runs, from land to land,

And kingdoms big with expectation stand,

To see the glorious day when France shall be

Emancipate from chains and slavery;

When the foundation which your wisdom laid,

Solid and firm, in equal poises weigh’d,

Shall in a noble superstructure rise,

And Freedom’s glorious temple greet the skies;

When Tyrants banish’d from the realms of day,

And lawless rule for ever swept away,

Gallia no more shall under bondage groan,

But boast a Constitution like our own.^±

Then shall the monumental brass declare

Who the great Fathers of their Country were;

Who dar’d stand forth in the important hour,

And rescue France from arbitrary pow’r:

Your Sons shall tell their Children – they shall own,

And make your names to unborn ages known:

Go on then, Heroes, may a hand divine

Direct, complete, and crown the grand design.

Nor these alone, tho’ pillars of the State,

In wisdom, council, erudition great;

The noble ardour runs from soul to soul,

Breathes in each part, and animates the whole.

The artizan lays his mechanics by

In Freedom’s cause, his skill in arms to try;

Students forget their books, Merchants their gains,

Self-love expires, and Public Spirit reigns.

See Husbandmen forsake the plough, and stand

Renowned champions for their native land,

Like Rome’s fam’d Cincinatus.^±± Old and young

Around their Country’s glorious standard throng;

While those, by palsied limbs forbid to come,

Chain’d by disease to an ignoble home,

Pant for the field, and bid their sons arise,

And nobly die, or win the darling prize.

The martial bands, long train’d to war and arms,

Inur’d to fierce Bellona’s dread alarms;

The scourge of Freedom, Tyrants hope and boast,

Whose sceptre’s guarded by an armed host,

Not by their subjects love – Shall these oppose

And meet their Fathers and their Sons as foes,

And plant their daggers in their Country’s breast?

Their wretched Country, long with ills opprest!

Now, when a great salvation’s near in view,

Shall these, her cruel Sons, their hands embrue

In her deliv’rers blood? Oh! no; the fire

Of patriot zeal their manly breasts inspire;

Their noble legions shout for Liberty,

And swear that Gallia henceforth shall be free.

Nor is the love of Liberty confin’d,

Or martial ardour, to the manly mind;

In female bosoms see the flame arise,

Glow in their hearts, and sparkle in their eyes:

With Amazonian courage, lo! they quit

Domestic trifles, and the still retreat,

For noise and bustle, all in the din of war,

Where wounds and terrors, death and dangers are;

To curb the bouding steed, to wield the spear,

And all the thunders of the fight to hear.

This is thy triumph, sacred Liberty;

Women and Priests, inspir’d by love of thee,

Lay by their weakness and timidity;

They shine in arms, and let the Nations know

They shun no danger, and they fear no foe.

Thus bold, thus firm, when a whole People rise,

Breathing one spirit, valiant, ardent, wise,

What can resist? – The mighty torrent sweeps

Guilt and Oppression to their native deeps;

Plucks Usurpation from her ancient throne,

And all the tools of Despotism down:

While Virtue, Law, and Justice, once again

Call’d to new life, begin their happy reign.

No more a long insulted People feel

The fearful terrors of a proud Bastile;

Awak’d to vengeance, lo! their fury pours

Deserv’d destruction on those hated tow’rs;

The bellowing cannon shake the horrid walls –

Hark! with a mighty crash, the wide-spread ruin falls.

Welcome, ye wretches, long inur’d to lay

In chains and darkness, where no glimm’ring ray,

No cheerful beam of heav’nly light appears,

Condemn’d to pine away the tedious years

In night, in damps, in all the depths of woe,

Where no soft soothing rills of comfort flow;

Welcome! oh! welcome to the new-found day!

Fair Freedom comes to wipe your tears away,

To burst your chains, to bid you live again,

And taste the balmy blessings of her reign!

Freedom for you a patriot People won,

Rise from your dungeons and enjoy the fun.

Hail, Gallia! may thy noble Sons go on,

And crown the work they have so well begun;

Wise, bold, and steady, may they persevere,

Knit in firm union, and unmov’d by fear;

Rising superior to surrounding foes,

Till Peace, sweet Peace, shall all her charms disclose,

And the rude horrors of the storm compose.

Then shall your noble toil be richly crown’d,

Commerce and Plenty shedding blessings round;

While Justice, Virtue, Truth, a sacred train,

Offspring of Liberty, shall rise and reign

To distant ages, and enroll the name

Of this grand era in the lists of fame;

Your free-born Sons shall guard their happy helm,

And future Neckars rises to guide the helm.

Fir’d by the great example, see it flies

Swift as a darting meteor thro’ the skies;

The noble contest spreads from shore to shore,

Men feel their rights, and will be slaves no more;

The Belgic legions rouse, and call to arms;

Germanic cities shake with rude alarms;

Castillian bosoms feel the rising flame,

They lift their hopes to Heav’n, from whence it came,

And sign for Liberty. – From Heav’n’s high King

Fair Freedom comes, descending with swift wing,

To crown the brave. – Hark! Despotism groans,

And Tyrants tremble on their tott’ring thrones;

Pale Superstition droops with panic fear,

She feels and mourns her dissolution near;

The shades retire, the welcome morning ray

Proclaims the glad approach of heav’nly day.

Go on then, heroes, may your bosoms feel

Encreasing ardour for the public weal;

May prudent Councils guide your grand designs,

And Resolution arm your gen’rous minds.

Firm, wise, and valiant, to maintain your laws,

He nobly dies who dies in Freedom’s cause.

Where’er the fun beholds a Nation bound

In chains ignoble, may the glorious sound

Of your high deeds with emulation fire

Each virtuous Youth, each venerable sire,

Till from the earth despotic sway be driv’n,

And Truth and Freedom, eldest-born of Heav’n,

Erect their banners high the world around,

Triumphant over all, with conquest crown’d.

Then shall sweet Peace her softest blessings bring,

The free-born Muse shall tune her choicest string,

And Heav’n and earth shall one grand chorus sing.

Part the Third.

While round the world the rude alarms of war,

Discordant, sounds with harsh ungrateful jar;

From realm to realm the strange commotion flies,

And the hoarse trump salutes the echoing skies:

Waving the spear of death, with horrors crown’d,

The dæmon of destruction stalks around;

Ten thousand terrors march on either hand,

And Desolation flies from land to land

Close in his rear, while Empires rise and fall,

And Change and Revolution threaten all--

Come thou, my soul, and in the land of peace,

Where Freedom reigns, improve the hour of ease;

To the lone cot retire, the humble cell,

Where sweet content and meditation dwell;

There listen to the noisy clang of war,

And view the horrors of the storm from far;

And ask from whence these awful wonders rise,

That shake the affrighted earth, and rend the skies

With fierce convulsions? – Whence the secret springs

That move and actuate all created things? –

The hand that guides, the eye that views the whole,

Of this great Universe, the mighty Soul,

Disposing all events? – Or do they flow

From chance? Is chance great arbiter below?

Do all things wait upon the will of Kings?

Are earth’s proud potentates such mighty things,

That with a frown they can a world embroil,

And hush the tumult with their magic smile?

By Man’s proud will are crowns and sceptres hurl’d,

And like a plaything toss a frighted world?

Lo! from the skies descends a heav’nly ray,

Bright with the splendours of celestial day,

Beyond a thousand suns, my doubts to clear,

Illume my mind and dissipate my fear –

Hail, Revelation! source of sacred light,

Thy glorious beams dispelling mental night,

The grand inquiry solves – all, all is right.

Jehovah reigns, let Heav’n and earth adore,

Let angels bow, let mortals boast no more;

But low in dust with awful wonder fall,

And own Jehovah-Jesus Lord of all.

He reigns triumphant, let his people sing,

Zion rejoice, and glory in her King;

High on his Holy Hill he reigns supreme,

Let universal Nature worship him.

When from rude chaos, and the womb of night,

His potent fiat call’d celestial light,

And bade a universe of wonders rise,

Fixt the firm earth, and spread the starry skies;

His mighty mind when fixt the periods sure,

Earth’s future rising Empires should endure;

The grand resolves of his infinite mind

Time brings to view, eternity design’d –

Still King of Kings and Lord of Lords he reigns,

And, uncontroul’d, his sov’reign right maintains;

Rules over all, supreme disposer still,

And worketh all things as his righteous will

Determines. Clouds and darkness mark his way,

The whirlwind and the storm a God display;

Divine perfection shines in all his ways,

Almighty power and stupendous grace;

Wisdom and justice, truth and smiling love,

Direct his councils, all his actions move.

Of all the creatures, all the worlds he made,

The government is on his shoulders laid;

In vain does Hell and human pride combine

His grand designs by their’s to countermine.

They boast in vain, he reigns triumphant still,

His arm of strength shall execute his will;

The rage of Hell and human pride shall join

As engines to fulfil his great design –

That must prevail, and, whatsoe’er oppose,

No disappointment, no prevention knows.

See proud Assyrian Monarchs shake the world,

See their wide Empire into darkness hurl’d;

A lofty throne the Medo-Persian rears,

Till fierce in arms the conqu’ring Greek appears:

He like a meteor shines, the sudden blaze

Strikes the affrighted earth with dread amaze;

Lo! he dissolves in air, his train expires,

And Roman bosoms catch his falling fires.

Imperial Rome, before whose potent sway

Kings veil their glories, Empires fade away;

It rose, it shone awhile, in splendor bright;

It sunk, it fell, o’erwhelm’d with Gothic night.

But see a nobler Monarchy arise,

Spread o’er the earth, and shoot beyond the skies;

An everlasting kingdom, which shall know

No dissolution, but shall rise and grow

To boundless domination, and endure

When suns and moons shall rise and set no more.

This Daniel sung^±±± when with enlighten’d eyes,

He saw the great Prophetic Vision rise;

Four mighty beasts from out the raging main

Successive rise, successive fall and reign.

To Babel’s haughty builder this was shewn –

In dreams of night he saw the mystic stone

Cut without hands, earth’s wide dimensions fill,

Subduing all things to his sov’reign will;

Extending boundless sway from shore to shore,

When death, and sin, and time, shall be no more.

Firm as the throne of God, his great decrees

Shall stand, and changeless as his nature is;

His Scriptures make his mighty purpose known,

The hidden secrets of th’ eternal throne

To Man revealing; while his arm of pow’r,

O’erruling all things, in the appointed hour,

Fulfils the grand Prediction, and displays

A God of Vengeance, or a God of Grace.

His Providence fulfils his great designs,

In and thro’ all immense Perfection shines –

When thus he howns his truth by sov’reign pow’r,

Earth shakes, Hell trembles, and the Heav’ns adore.

Be still, then, O my soul! Jehovah reigns,

And all is well, for all thy God ordains;

Tho’ tumult and distraction roar around,

All shall with sweet tranquility be crown’d –

All shall exalt the glories of thy God,

His golden sceptre, and his iron rod;

Shall raise the honours of thy Saviour’s name,

And thro’ a wond’ring world shall spread Messiah’s fame.

See in impervious shades the Nations sit,

Black glooms ascending from the ruthless pit;

In papal darkness bury half the world,

The bloody flag of Antichrist unfurl’d;

While thro’ long ages, see the Kingdoms join

T’ erect his throne, and stamp him half divine,

And in God’s holy place the idol beast inshrine.

But, lo! ’tis written, Antichrist shall fall,

Earthquake and fire consume and swallow all

His boasted glories, thunderbolts of wrath

Shall drive him head-long from the groaning earth

To fathomless perdition, there to weep

And howl for ever in the boiling deep.

Th’ enlighten’d Kingdoms shall unite their powe’r,

Shall hate and desolate the scarlet whore;

No more her vassals, they shall rise and sing

Salvation to the everlasting King,

Who reigns o’er Heav’n and Earth with sov’reign sway,

And bless him for a glorious Gospel-day.

Big with the joyful hope, the glad’ning Muse

Looks round, with cheerful eye the prospect views;

The present prospect, sees a hand divine

In all the great events of eighty-nine;

She sees Jehovah riding on the storm,

His word and gracious purpose to perform;

He speaks, ’tis done; the slumb’ring Nations rouse,

They pant for Liberty, and pay their vows

At Freedom’s altar. Here the work begins,

The dawn appears, the welcome morning shines,

Of an illustrious day. Come, stretch thy wing,

My vent’rous Muse; come soar aloft, and sing

Of future wonders, which shall soon surprise

Th’ astonish’d earth, and fill th’ adoring skies

With Hallelujahs. May the Muse presume,

With sacred awe, to sing of things to come?

She may; her hand divine prediction holds;

The word of truth futurity unfolds;

She leans by faith on that unerring guide,

No failing prop, no fluctuating tide,

But solid rock, firm basis. With one eye

She views the earth; the other, lifted high,

Pieces thro’ all things to th’ eternal throne,

Of him who calls ten thousand worlds his own:

She sees his pow’r fulfil his word, and then

May safely sing of future times to Men.

See from the skies sweet Liberty descend,

The Nations hope, the groaning captive’s friend,

To bless the world, to bid the exile come,

The mourning exile to his long-lost home:

But not alone she comes, a heav’nly ray,

A beam of radiance from the source of day,

Shines round her steps; no more shall fetters bind,

And chains of darkness hold th’ immortal mind.

Truth, like an angel, wings her way from Heav’n,

The best, the noblest gift to mortals giv’n;

Before her pow’rful beams, see, Error flies,

And vanquish’d Superstition faints and dies.

Down from his throne, where long exalted higher

Than all on earth cal’d God, doom’d to expire,

Antichrist, like a falling star, descends,

Swept from his seat, his proud dominion ends;

While Truth assumes the chair, divinely bright,

Her funlike glories dissipate the night;

Millions, who sat in darkness, bless the rays,

Rise from the gloom, and sing triumphant grace.

The glorious day draws near, on Time’s swift wing

It comes, when Sion’s everlasting King

Shall make his pow’rful arm and wonders known,

And claim the distant Kingdoms for his own.

Th’ enlightened’d East shall scorn Mahomet’s name,

Charm’d by the splendor of Emmanuel’s fame;

Shall throw aside their Alcoran as dross,

The silver crescent bowing to the cross;

Shall bind his Gospel to their raptur’d breast,

And own him God o’er all, for ever blest;

From North to South he shall extend his sway,

And long-lost Israel shall his call obey;

Fall at his feet, renouncing legal pride,

And glory in a Saviour crucified.

Then shall fair Freedom[2] rear her throne on high,

And mortals prove the joys of Liberty;

Not bodies only, but th’ immortal mind,

In chains, by Sin and Satan, long confin’d,

Shall from their dread captivity be freed –

Freed by the Son, they must be free indeed.

The Gospel’s silver trump proclaims the day

Of free salvation; see the lawful prey

Snatch’d from the dragon’s jaws, by sov’reign grace,

To dwell secure in all the sweets of peace;

Slaves from their iron bondage call’d, arise

To share the noble freedom of the skies;

Exult in privileges freely given,

And triumph as the Citizens of Heav’n.

Then shall the seventh trumpet’s glorious sound

Alarm the skies, and shake the trembling ground;

Angelic voices shall their songs prepare,

To usher in the grand Sabbatic year –

With bursts of loud applause, they sing to thee,

And shout thy fame, incarnate Deity!

Exult, ye Heav’ns! with mighty joy (they cry)

Swell the glad triumphs of your King on high;

With Hallelujahs compass round his throne,

In solemn anthems make his wonders known:

For the Lord God Omnipotent appears

In robes of majesty; the crown he wears,

And reigns o’er all supreme, high rears his throne,

And calls the Kingdoms of the earth his own;

They bow to Jesu’s sceptre, and adore;

He reigns, and he shall reign for ever more.

Just are thy judgments, mighty King; thy pow’r

Hath pour’d destruction on the scarlet whore;

Thy truth shall triumph, and thy Gospel spread,

Till time shall cease, and Death itself is dead.

Then, at thy potent word, dissolv’d in fire,

The Heav’ns shall melt, the Universe expire:

But from its ashes see a phoenix rise,

An unpolluted earth, and purer skies;

Where dwelleth righteousness, there Saints shall sing

The matchless triumphs of their matchless King;

There perfect holiness, and perfect peace,

Shall fill their bosoms with consumate bliss;

Their God their temple, sun, and great reward,

And they the ransom’d People of the Lord:

While Heav’n and Earth shall sing triumphant grace,

In one grand chorus of eternal praise.

This is the song of Heav’n; but Saints below

Catch the glad theme, intense desires flow

In Sion’s bosom for the happy day,

When Sin and Sorrow shall be done away;

She longs to see her Saviour’s name ador’d,

And all the nations call her Jesus Lord;

She longs to see his chariot wheels appear,

His regal ensign flaming in the air,

At his right hand to take her pompous place,

And see her Heaven in his smiling face.

In that great day, how shall his foes appear?

Struck dumb with terror and appall’d with fear!

The rich, the poor, the tyrant, and the slave,

Call’d from their silent slumbers in the grave,

Before Messiah’s bar to stand, and hear

His awful lips their final doom declare.

Proud Unbelief shall stop her mouth, and see

The Man who died upon th’ accursed tree

In all the splendours of a God shine forth,

And groan beneath the vengeance of his wrath.

All who refuse his golden sceptre’s sway,

Crush’d by his rod in that tremendous day,

Shall hear the gentle Lamb’s meek voice no more;

But Judah’s Lion, with his awful roar,

Their souls transfixing in eternal woe,

Nor can they fly, or from his presence go.

In vain to rocks and hills they call for aid,

The falling mountains can afford no shade;

Amidst dissolving worlds no safety’s found,

The Heav’ns depart, and all is horror round;

Fierce lightnings, issuing from the burning throne,

Drive the accursed crew of rebels down,

To dwell with black Despair, to howl and weep

Eternal ages in the fiery deep!

O think of this in time, ye Sons of Men!

Lest ye repent too late, and tremble then,

When awful Justice shuts Compassion’s door,

And Mercy, meek-ey’d Mercy, reigns no more.

The Spirit and the waiting Bride say, Come;

O come, Redeemer, from thy heav’nly home!

Come in thy kingdom of Almighty Grace,

Come and receive us to thy sweet embrace!

Thy Dove, that wanders in the wilderness,

Longs to put on her glorious marriage dress;

From thy kind hand to take the promis’d crown,

And humbly at thy footstool lay it down:

She sighs for thee, she longs to tune her lyre,

And join her songs with the seraphic choir;

To raise her joyful notes, their notes above,

And sing the wonders of redeeming love;

Worthy the Lamb, the Lamb for Sinners slain,

To fill his Father’s throne, and ever reign;

While Saints and Angels sing immortal praise,

And view his glories thro’ eternal days!

THE END.

* Deborah, Judges, Chap. V.

** King John.

*** Let it be remembered here, that I write of things in a general point of view It is to be lamented, that, notwithstanding the excellence of the British Constitution, notwithstanding the mild disposition of our present Sovereign, yet there exist in this Country some very arbitrary Courts of Judicature; and there also exist some men of corrupt minds,who, putting their own glosses upon good and wholesome laws, are not ashamed to deem speaking the TRUTH libellous; so that, even in these days of Freedom, there are very respectable persons, loyal subjects, pining in n odious prison with felons and murderers, whose only crime is speaking the TRUTH. When will English Liberty triumph over these oppressions?

^± The British.

^±± A famous Roman General. See Rollin’s Ancient History.

^±±± Daniel, 7th Chap. See Rollin’s Ancient History, and Bishop Newton’s Dissertations on the Prophecies.

Inside the front cover is the following advertisement: Select Books on the Dignity and Perogatives of an Englishman.

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The above titles are as follows: A Clear Idea of the Genuine and Uncorrupted British Constitution: In an Address to the Inhabitants of the Province of Quebec, from the forty-nine Delegates in the Continental Congress at Philadelphia; September 5, to October 10, 1774. Extracted from their votes and proceedings. London, [s.n.] 1774; The Corner Stone of the British Constitution; Or, The Golden Passage in the Great Charter of England, called Magna Charta, or, The charter of British Liberties. Agreeed [sic] to by King John with his subjects, in the seventeenth year of his reign, in running mead, between Staines and Windsor, June 15, 1215, and 574 years ago. With Lord Coke’s Remarks and Explanation. London: Printed and sold by W. Justins, Blackfriars, 1789; and the last one is most likely The Divine Inspiration and Authority of the Holy Scriptures Asserted and Proved. A Poem. By John Ryland, Junior, of Northampton. London: J. W. Pasham 1772; 3^rd ed., Northampton: Thomas Dicey, 1778. Two of the titles have not been located.

Text: British Liberty Established, | and | Gallic Liberty Restored; | or, The | Triumph of Freedom. |A Poem. | Occasioned by the | Grand Revolution in France, | M, DCC, LXXXIX. | To a prospect of the glorious time when true | religion and civil liberty shall shed their | benign influences over the world. | By Maria de Fleury. | London: | (from Peterborough-House Press) | Printed for the Author, No. 31, Jewin Street; and sold by | J. Matthews, Strand; H. D. Symonds, Pater-Noster-Row; J. Nott, Lombard Street; Ash, Tower Street; Thompson, Oxford Road; and by Mrs. Hancock, Beach Street, Barbican. | M, DCC, XC [hereafter British 1790].