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Address To Albion Post by :JKinakin Category :Poems Author :Thomas Gent Date :September 2011 Read :2740

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Address To Albion

To thee, O Albion! be the tribute paid
Which sympathy demands, the patriot tear;
While echo'd forth to thy remotest shade,
Rebellion's menace sounds in every ear.

Though Gallia's vaunts should fill the trembling skies,
'Till nature's undiscover'd regions start
At the rude clamor;--yet, shouldst thou despise,
While thy brave subjects own a common heart.

But lo! fresh streaming from the Hibernian(*) height
Her own red torrent wild-eyed faction pours;
While, 'mid her falling ranks, ignobly great,
Loud vengeance raves, and desperation scours.

Denouncing murderous strife, the rebel train
Wave their red ensigns of inhuman hate
O'er every hamlet, every peaceful plain;
Rejecting reason, and despising fate.

Oh! that again our raptur'd eyes could see
Their ripening crops bloom yellow o'er the land;
Their happy shepherds, like their pasture, free--
No more a factious race, a ruffian band.

That albion, once again with concord blest,
May still support that great, that glorious name,
Which ardent glows in every patriot's breast,
And crowns her hoary cliffs with matchless fame.

Then, then, might foreign foes, around our shores,
Pour the big tempest of their arms in vain;
Then, might they learn that freedom still is ours,
That Britons still control the subject main.

Oh! all ye kindred pow'rs, awake, arise!
On boundless glory's giant pinions soar;
Let Gallia tremble! while the sounding skies
Proclaim us free--'till time shall be no more!

(Footnote*: This piece was written when Ireland was in a most distracted state.)

(The end)
Thomas Gent's poem: Address To Albion

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Friend of the lonely hour, from thy lov'd strain The magic pow'r of pleasure have I known:Awhile I lose remembrance of my pain, And seem to taste of joys that long had flown.When o'er my suffering soul reflection casts The gloom of sorrow's sable-shadowing veil,Recalling sad misfortunes chilling blasts-- How sweet to thee to tell the mournful tale!And tho' denied to me the strings to move Like heavenly-gifted bards, to whom belongThe power to melt the yielding soul to love, Or wake to war, with energetic song.Yet thou, my Lyre, canst cheer the gloomy hour,