"Let them approach: / Myriads of slaves like these appal not me, / Who in my people's hearts have built my throne, / Strong as their courage, stedfast as their truth."
— Burges, Sir James Bland (1752-1824)
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed by J. Wright ... for Lackington, Allen, and Co. [etc.]
Date
1807-8
Metaphor
"Let them approach: / Myriads of slaves like these appal not me, / Who in my people's hearts have built my throne, / Strong as their courage, stedfast as their truth."
Metaphor in Context
Whilst in these veins the blood of Esau flows,
No pulse within this vital frame shall beat,
That does not beat the summons to revenge;
No thought in this recording heart shall dwell,
But of eternal war with Jacob's sons,
And hatred deep as Jacob's perfidy.
More guileful than the crocodile, that lurks
In fatal ambush on the banks of Nile,
More noxious than the pestilential south,
That sweeps the wilderness with mortal blast,
Was he, from whom these hordes of slaves descend;
Therefore no peace with them; for as the source
So is the stream; each son is Jacob's self,
And in each mother a Rebecca lives.
In falsehood they were born; upon their lips
Their founder stamp'd th' hereditary lie,
And it abides; for lo! as he deceiv'd
His father Isaac when by age grown blind,
And stole a blessing from the elder-born,
So they from us by artifice would wrest
These ample districts, our inheritance,
Intent on plunder whilst professing peace.
But we, whose cities are the tented field,
Who exercise no arts but those of war,
A nation ever ready, ever arm'd,
'Gainst all invaders will maintain our rights:
And what have we to fear from Jacob's race,
Outcasts of Egypt, who to Pharaoh's yoke
For ages past have tamely bow'd the neck?
Come they not here yet smarting with the scourge,
Their hands yet hard with labour, and their limbs
Scarr'd with ignoble stripes? Let them approach:
Myriads of slaves like these appal not me,
Who in my people's hearts have built my throne,
Strong as their courage, stedfast as their truth.
Though Egypt's thousand gods could not withstand,
Nor the seas stay them, nor the desart starve,
Yet when the trumpet sounds, as soon it shall,
The charge to battle, and the fatal twang
Of Chemos' bow high o'er their heads is heard,
Terror shall seize and turn to shameful flight
Their dastard tribes; then conquest shall be ours,
Glory and great revenge shall crown our arms,
And Chemos, fed with hecatombs of slain,
Shall stop his flaming chariot, where he sits
With glittering shafts, and garments roll'd in blood,
To share our triumph and enjoy our praise."
No pulse within this vital frame shall beat,
That does not beat the summons to revenge;
No thought in this recording heart shall dwell,
But of eternal war with Jacob's sons,
And hatred deep as Jacob's perfidy.
More guileful than the crocodile, that lurks
In fatal ambush on the banks of Nile,
More noxious than the pestilential south,
That sweeps the wilderness with mortal blast,
Was he, from whom these hordes of slaves descend;
Therefore no peace with them; for as the source
So is the stream; each son is Jacob's self,
And in each mother a Rebecca lives.
In falsehood they were born; upon their lips
Their founder stamp'd th' hereditary lie,
And it abides; for lo! as he deceiv'd
His father Isaac when by age grown blind,
And stole a blessing from the elder-born,
So they from us by artifice would wrest
These ample districts, our inheritance,
Intent on plunder whilst professing peace.
But we, whose cities are the tented field,
Who exercise no arts but those of war,
A nation ever ready, ever arm'd,
'Gainst all invaders will maintain our rights:
And what have we to fear from Jacob's race,
Outcasts of Egypt, who to Pharaoh's yoke
For ages past have tamely bow'd the neck?
Come they not here yet smarting with the scourge,
Their hands yet hard with labour, and their limbs
Scarr'd with ignoble stripes? Let them approach:
Myriads of slaves like these appal not me,
Who in my people's hearts have built my throne,
Strong as their courage, stedfast as their truth.
Though Egypt's thousand gods could not withstand,
Nor the seas stay them, nor the desart starve,
Yet when the trumpet sounds, as soon it shall,
The charge to battle, and the fatal twang
Of Chemos' bow high o'er their heads is heard,
Terror shall seize and turn to shameful flight
Their dastard tribes; then conquest shall be ours,
Glory and great revenge shall crown our arms,
And Chemos, fed with hecatombs of slain,
Shall stop his flaming chariot, where he sits
With glittering shafts, and garments roll'd in blood,
To share our triumph and enjoy our praise."
Categories
Provenance
Searching "throne" and "heart" in HDIS (Poetry)
Date of Entry
08/07/2004
