Written
in
the
Winter
of
MDCCXCI
,
Whilst
on
Barnet
Field
.
THE
northern
wind
howls
o'er
the
dreary
plain
,
And
thick
and
frequent
fall
the
drifted
snows
:
Pleas'd
,
Desolation
views
her
waste
domain
,
And
torpid
Vegetation's
dead
repose
.
Yet
here
my
pensive
Muse
delights
to
stray
,
And
silent
o'er
this
barren
wild
to
tread
;
For
well
the
prospect
suits
my
solemn
lay
,
Which
sings
of
battles
and
the
mighty
dead
.
Yes
,
ye
cold
relics
of
what
once
were
great
,
To
you
alone
my
homage
shall
be
paid
:
I
scorn
to
flatter
living
Power
or
State
,
But
bend
with
reverence
to
the
Hero's
shade
.
Soon
the
gay
pageants
vulgar
minds
adore
Shall
rest
neglected
in
the
lonely
grave
,
Where
Adulation
sooths
their
ears
no
more
,
And
Vanity
no
longer
can
enslave
.
The
wise
and
brave
attends
a
different
fate
;
Their
names
shall
flourish
to
remotest
time
;
Fame
shall
for
them
her
golden
trump
inflate
,
And
sound
their
praises
in
each
distant
clime
.
Then
cease
,
ye
Bards
,
to
stoop
to
gilded
Pride
;
On
genuine
Worth
alone
your
praise
bestow
:
For
Wealth
,
or
Rank
,
to
Merit
unallied
,
Serves
but
the
owner's
littleness
to
show
.
What
slaughter
once
empurpled
o'er
this
field
!
Here
constant
Loyalty
in
vain
expir'd
:
Her
sanguine
votaries
here
Ambition
steel'd
,
While
frantic
Hate
each
hostile
bosom
fir'd
.
Here
princely
Warwick
,
generous
,
wise
,
and
brave
,
Pour'd
from
unnumber'd
wounds
life's
crimson
flood
:
Here
dying
Montague
a
token
gave
Of
love
fraternal
ratified
in
blood
.
Hard
fate
of
War
!
when
Warwick's
Warwick
had
just
before
deserted
the
Party
of
Edward
IV
.
rebel
hand
Against
his
Sovereign
grasp'd
the
direful
sword
,
That
Victory
should
on
his
banners
stand
,
And
leave
him
when
to
Virtue's
cause
restor'd
!
Yet
let
not
Man
,
presumptuous
,
weak
,
and
vain
,
Murmur
at
God's
inscrutable
decree
—
But
own
,
whate'er
his
Wisdom
shall
ordain
Is
right
,
though
Man's
too
blind
the
cause
to
see
.
By
ties
of
blood
here
fickle
Clarence
Clarence
had
deserted
Warwick
in
this
battle
.
sway'd
,
Basely
betray'd
his
unsuspecting
Friend
:
But
the
transgression
soon
his
life
repaid
,
By
Glo'ster
doom'd
to
an
inglorious
end
.
Here
fainting
Exeter
The
Duke
of
Exeter
.
Vide
Rapin's
History
.
,
by
wounds
opprest
,
Mixt
with
the
dead
,
lay
senseless
on
the
plain
,
Till
friendly
Night
outspread
her
sable
vest
,
When
his
slow
steps
a
neighbouring
cottage
gain
.
Nor
,
though
his
ensigns
In
this
battle
the
ensigns
of
the
Earl
of
Oxford
were
mistaken
for
those
of
the
enemy
by
his
own
party
,
who
charged
each
other
—
and
thus
,
the
day
was
lost
.
lost
the
doubtful
day
,
Should
Oxford
The
Earl
of
Oxford
,
a
chief
commander
;
he
led
the
van
also
of
Richmond's
army
.
lose
the
well-earn'd
meed
of
praise
;
For
long
he
fought
,
nor
left
the
dire
affray
Till
even
fond
Hope
withdrew
its
latest
rays
;
Then
fled
with
Somerset
to
Tewks'bury's
plain
,
To
join
,
unwearied
Margaret's
hostile
bands
:
But
all
thy
courage
,
Somerset
The
Duke
of
Somerset
,
afterwards
slain
at
Tewksbury
.
,
is
vain
,
Whose
life
relentless
Destiny
demands
.
A
doom
less
rigorous
was
thine
,
De
Vere
The
name
of
the
Oxford
family
.
!
For
,
deeply
though
you
drank
the
cup
of
woe
,
At
length
you
saw
,
reliev'd
from
every
fear
,
The
tyrant
Richard's
blood
at
Bosworth
flow
.
To
march
victorious
o'er
this
plain
After
the
battle
of
Bosworth
.
was
thine
,
Where
first
severest
Fortune
you
had
known
,
And
to
behold
the
great
Lancastrian
line
Once
more
securely
plac'd
on
Albion's
throne
.
But
in
what
plaintive
accents
shall
my
Muse
,
Unhappy
Henry
,
weep
thy
lorn
estate
!
What
heart
to
thee
compassion
could
refuse
?
For
thy
meek
virtues
ill
deserv'd
thy
fate
.
When
the
sad
tidings
reach'd
thine
anxious
ear
Of
Warwick
slain
,
thy
brightest
hopes
undone
,
Did
not
thy
mind
presage
new
anguish
near
,
Thy
captive
princess
,
and
thy
murder'd
son
?
Did
not
prophetic
fancy
paint
the
steel
By
Glo'ster
pointed
to
thy
harmless
breast
,
Design'd
by
heaven
thy
sharper
woes
to
heal
,
And
grant
thee
long-lost
liberty
and
rest
?
Far
different
hopes
deceitful
Fortune
gave
,
Whose
brightest
influence
shone
upon
thy
birth
,
When
,
form'd
each
adverse
nation
to
enslave
,
Thy
warlike
sire
adorn'd
the
wondering
earth
;
When
happy
England
bless'd
his
equal
sway
,
And
Gallia's
sceptre
fill'd
his
conquering
hand
.
How
chang'd
thy
prospect
at
life's
parting
ray
!
A
bleeding
captive
in
thy
native
land
.
Thus
Goodness
infinite
would
wean
the
mind
,
By
strange
vicissitudes
and
endless
strife
,
From
Earth's
dull
joys
,
to
happiness
refin'd
In
the
pure
regions
of
eternal
life
—
Where
crowns
of
glory
for
the
good
await
,
Whose
dazzling
splendour
,
to
our
eyes
unknown
,
Shall
far
surpass
the
eastern
monarch's
state
'Mid
all
the
gaudy
glitter
of
his
throne
.
No
more
then
,
Henry
,
I
lament
thy
fall
,
Or
envy
guilty
Richard
his
renown
:
Nor
Pain
nor
Death
the
virtuous
man
appall
;
Cheer'd
by
his
God
,
he
scorns
their
Idle
frown
.
But
though
Prosperity
and
vain
Parade
Through
life's
short
path
the
wicked
may
sustain
;
Yet
a
few
hours
,
and
all
their
glories
fade
,
And
nought
but
grief
and
bitterness
remain
.
Farewell
,
ye
scenes
of
Anarchy
and
Woe
!
From
you
henceforth
be
dread
Rebellion
far
!
And
ne'er
again
mayst
thou
,
Britannia
,
know
The
dire
misfortunes
of
intestine
war
!
Let
fickle
France
indulge
each
wild
extreme
,
While
Peace
and
Virtue
mourn
their
injur'd
cause
;
But
long
may
England
baffle
every
scheme
By
Faction
form'd
against
her
matchless
laws
!
For
real
Liberty
is
theirs
alone
Who
bend
submissive
,
Justice
,
at
thy
shrine
;
Where
,
studious
to
support
thine
equal
throne
,
The
Subject
and
the
Monarch
both
combine
.