How long in sloth's inglorious fetters bound <br />Slumber the brave?—The soft enchantment break. <br />Britons to arms!—The taunting nations round <br />Call forth th'ingenuous blush on manhood's cheek. <br />Calmly ye sit as in the lap of peace, <br />Tho' loud the din of battle round you roars, <br />Tho' threat'ning storms on every side encrease, <br />And the proud Gaul insults your wave-worn shores. <br />Shake off this torpid gloom—arouse, for shame, <br />And loose your fury on the barbarous foe; <br />Full in the radiant front of battle flame, <br />And even in death the bolt of vengeance throw. <br />For country, parents, children, blooming wife, <br />Let the young hero meet the foe elate, <br />Not fondly anxious for a fleeting life <br />Fore-doom'd th'inevitable prey of fate. <br />Grasp the bright sword, and rush to join the fight, <br />Since none can 'scape th'impartial stroke of death; <br />Oft from the field the recreant wings his flight <br />To yield on beds of down his coward breath. <br />To him a tear his country never gave, <br />No general grief marks his unhallow'd tomb; <br />While bending pensive o'er the warrior's grave <br />A sorrowing nation mourns his timeless doom. <br />His memory, when dead, by all deplor'd, <br />His country's guardian, and his kindred's boast: <br />When living, as a demi-god ador'd, <br />His breast a fortress, and his arm an host.<br /><br />Henry James Pye<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-war-elegies-of-tyrt-us-imitated-elegy-ii/
