Spring! thy impatient bloom restrain, Nor wake so soon thy genial pow'r,
For, deeds of death must hail thy reign, And clouds of fate around thee low'r.
Alas! not all thy store of charms For patriot hearts can comfort find,
Or lull to peace the dread alarms Which rack the friends of human kind.
In vain thy balmy breath to me Scents with its sweets the ev'ning gale;
In vain the violet's charms I see, Or fondly mark thy primrose pale.
To me thy softest zephyrs breathe, Of sorrow's soul-distracting tone,
To me thy most attractive wreath Seems ting'd with human blood alone.
Arrest thy steps, thou source of love, Thou genial friend of joy and
Let not thy smile propitious prove To works of carnage, scenes of strife.
Bid Winter all his frowns recall, And back his icy footsteps trace;
Again the soil in frost inthrall, And check the War-fiend's murd'rous chace.
Ah, fruitless pray'r! thy hand divine
ST on the teeming season lead,
And (contrast dire!) at War's red shrine Must bid unnumber'd victims bleed.
But not in vain—if on this hour The fate of Freedom shall depend—If o'er this earth th' Eternal Pow'r The scale of Justice now extend.
For then,
O Spring, thy sun shall see The patriot flame triumphant shine;
IA shall bid the world be free, And
AR his blood-stain'd throne resign!
