When the keen axe remorseless laid <br />The woods of Edgecombe low, <br />Lest now their leafy skreen should aid <br />The approaches of the foe; <br />Astonish'd from their dark retreats <br />The frantic Dryads rove, <br />And Echo shrieks of woe repeats <br />Through all the wasted grove: <br />‘Must we,’ they cry, ‘so long who dwelt <br />‘On this wave-cinctur'd steep, <br />‘Who each rude blast unshrinking felt <br />‘That heaves the Atlantic deep, <br />‘Must we forsake these solemn shades <br />‘To distant regions driven, <br />‘Or view expos'd our forest glades <br />‘To every beam of heaven?— <br />‘But ah! what horrid scenes are these!— <br />‘Lo Bourbon's hostile train <br />‘Here spread their canvas to the breeze, <br />‘And darken half the main: <br />‘Britannia's bloody cross no more <br />‘Aloft triumphant flies, <br />‘For see by this insulted shore <br />‘The Gallic lilies rise! <br />‘Speed then, oh speed your eager toil! <br />‘And on this lofty steep <br />‘Tear every sapling from the soil <br />‘And launch them on the deep. <br />‘To you we sisters of the wood <br />‘At once our charge resign, <br />‘Ye sea-green daughters of the flood, <br />‘Old Ocean's Nereid line. <br />‘So shall they to this threaten'd place <br />‘A barrier firm extend, <br />‘And shores their shade was wont to grace, <br />‘Their thunder shall defend.’<br /><br />Henry James Pye<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-in-the-year-1779-when-the-combined/
