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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


MARS DISARMED BY LOVE by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED

Poet Analysis

First Line: AYE, BEAR IT HENCE, THOU BLESSED CHILD
Last Line: TAKE, TAKE THE SWORD AWAY.

AYE, bear it hence, thou blessed child,
Though dire the burthen be,
And hide it in the pathless wild,
Or drown it in the sea:
The ruthless murderer prays and swears;
So let him swear and pray;
Be deaf to all his oaths and prayers,
And take the sword away.

We've had enough of fleets and camps,
Guns, glories, odes, gazettes,
Triumphal arches, coloured lamps,
Huzzes and epaulettes;
We could not bear upon our head
Another leaf of bay;
That horrid Buonaparte 's dead;--
Yes, take the sword away.

We're weary of the noisy boasts
That pleased our patriot throngs:
We've long been dull to Gooch's toasts,
And tame to Dibdin's songs;
We're quite content to rule the wave,
Without a great display;
We're known to be extremely brave;
But take the sword away.

We give a shrug, when fife and drum
Play up a favourite air;
We think our barracks are become
More ugly than they were;
We laugh to see the banners float;
We loathe the charger's bray;
We don't admire a scarlet coat;
Do that the sword away.

Let Portugal have rulers twain;
Let Greece go on with none;
Let Popery sink or swim in Spain,
While we enjoy the fun;
Let Turkey tremble at the knout;
Let Algiers lose her Dey;
Let Paris turn her Bourbons out;--
Bah! take the sword away.

Our honest friends in Parliament
Are looking vastly sad;
Our farmers say with one consent
It's all immensely bad;
There was a time for borrowing,
But now it's time to pay;
A budget is a serious thing;
So take the sword away.

And O, the bitter tears we wept,
In those our days of fame,--
The dread, that o'er our heart-strings crept
With every post that came,--
The home-affections, waged and lost
In every far-off fray.--
The price that British glory cost!
Ah! take the sword away.

We've plenty left to hoist the sail,
Or mount the dangerous breach;
And Freedom breathes in every gale,
That wanders round our beach.
When duty bids us dare or die,
We'll fight another day:
But till we know a reason why,
Take, take the sword away.



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