The French Nation In 1792,At a time in history when female published writers were very rare, Anna Laetitia Barbauld stood out with her English Romantic style of writing poetry. She also produced a number of essays, including works on political subjects, and was a noted children’s author.
She was certainly outspoken, even into her late sixties, and she fell foul of a literary society when she published a poem called Eighteen Hundred and Eleven which, at the time of the Napoleonic wars, was derided as unpatriotic. She basically saw England as a post-war ruin and she protested vehemently about the British involvement in the war. The reviews of this poem were so vicious that she decided to lay down her pen for the rest of her life.
On the Expected General Rising of The French Nation In 1792
Rise, mighty nation, in thy strength,
And deal thy dreadful vengeance round;
Let thy great spirit, roused at length,
Strike hordes of despots to the ground!
Devoted land! thy mangled breast
Eager the royal vultures tear;
By friends betrayed, by foes opprest,—
And Virtue struggles with Despair.
The tocsin sounds! arise, arise!
Stern o’er each breast let Country reign;
Nor virgin’s plighted hand nor sighs
Must now the ardent youth detain:
And deal thy dreadful vengeance round;
Let thy great spirit, roused at length,
Strike hordes of despots to the ground!
Devoted land! thy mangled breast
Eager the royal vultures tear;
By friends betrayed, by foes opprest,—
And Virtue struggles with Despair.
The tocsin sounds! arise, arise!
Stern o’er each breast let Country reign;
Nor virgin’s plighted hand nor sighs
Must now the ardent youth detain:
Nor must the hind who tills thy soil
The ripened vintage stay to press,
Till Rapture crown the flowing bowl,
And Freedom boast of full success.
Briareus-like extend thy hands,
That every hand may crush a foe;
In millions pour thy generous bands,
And end a warfare by a blow!
Then wash with sad repentant tears
Each deed that clouds thy glory’s page;
Each phrensied start impelled by fears,
Each transient burst of headlong rage:
Then fold in thy relenting arms
Thy wretched outcasts where they roam;
From pining want and war’s alarms,
O call the child of misery home!
The ripened vintage stay to press,
Till Rapture crown the flowing bowl,
And Freedom boast of full success.
Briareus-like extend thy hands,
That every hand may crush a foe;
In millions pour thy generous bands,
And end a warfare by a blow!
Then wash with sad repentant tears
Each deed that clouds thy glory’s page;
Each phrensied start impelled by fears,
Each transient burst of headlong rage:
Then fold in thy relenting arms
Thy wretched outcasts where they roam;
From pining want and war’s alarms,
O call the child of misery home!
Then build the tomb—O not alone
Of him who bled in Freedom’s cause;
With equal eye the martyr own
Of faith revered and ancient laws.
Then be thy tide of glory staid;
Then be thy conquering banners furled;
Obey the laws thyself hast made,
And rise the model of the world!
Of him who bled in Freedom’s cause;
With equal eye the martyr own
Of faith revered and ancient laws.
Then be thy tide of glory staid;
Then be thy conquering banners furled;
Obey the laws thyself hast made,
And rise the model of the world!
