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lirik lagu ghizela rowe - ode on the present time, 27th january 1795 by amelia opie

lo! winter drives his horrors round;
wide o’er the rugged soil they fly;
in their cold spells each stream is bound
while at the magic of their eye
each sign of spring’s gay beauty fades
and one white wild the aching sight invades
it is the time for woe to reign
and hark! she bids her haggard train
pale poverty and want, appear
disease, their darling child, draw near
and, grateful for the favouring hour
they feel, they seize, they riot, in their power
but winter! not to thee alone
their heart~appalling sway they owe
for they to war’s despotic throne
as tributary subjects bow;
war, who bids trembling europe gasp
with wild convulsions in his bl~~dy grasp
whence yonder groans? o wretched land!
poland, from thee, alas! they came
a despot speaks, and lo! a band
blaspheming pure religion’s name
bid cold, deliberate murder live
and death’s dread stroke to helpless thousands give
and see, on belgia’s reeking plain
alternate horrors rise and reign!
what mingled sounds affright the ear!
now, we the song of victory hear
and now, despair’s appalling tone
and now, of death the deep sepulchral groan
freedom! for whose dear sake i’d dare
each various ill that tortures life
though i thy matchless victories share
while, towering ‘midst the bl~~dy strife
i see thy form sublime, acquire
new power to charm, new beauty to inspire;
i cannot smile; i cannot join
the song of triumph; tho’ thy foes
celestial power! are also mine;
and tho’ i weep for all thy woes
yet i thy triumphs too must weep
and in my tears thy bl~~dy laurels steep
for who are they that madly bear
against thy sons the venal spear?
are they not men?—then say, what power
can bid my bosom mourn no more;
o where’s the fiend~delighting ban
forbidding man to weep for slaughtered man!
e’en victory, when reflection’s voice
breathes in her ear ‘thy brothers die,’
shall bid her sons no more rejoice
but change her shouts for pity’s sigh:
she will her breast in anguish beat
and wear the sombrous aspect of defeat
o britain! ill~starred land! no more
must peace to thee her olive bear
but on thy once~triumphant shore
must we behold the form of fear
expecting, on the swelling tide
to see the foe in proud defiance ride!
avert the threatening, awful ill;
for fraught with power, and fraught with will
to make thy hardiest veterans die
a lurking fiend, alas! is nigh
who threatens on thy sons to pour
the fatal cloud thou bad’st on gallia lower
lo! famine spreads her banners wide;[2]
she comes arrayed in horrid state;
but, not to humble gallia’s pride
and on the rear of victory wait;
she comes the humbled to subdue
and twine round fading wreaths, death’s baleful yew
she comes to britain!—at the thought
winter! thy scene with horrors fraught
fades from my sight—the present ill
appears to lose its power to k!ll:
to future scenes pale fancy flies
lifts her dim tearful eyes to heaven, and dies

- lirik lagu ghizela rowe

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