Home > Uncategorized > Thomas Tickell: The Soldier’s late destroying Hand shall rear new Temples in his native Land

Thomas Tickell: The Soldier’s late destroying Hand shall rear new Temples in his native Land


Anti-war essays, poems, short stories and literary excerpts

British writers on peace and war


Thomas Tickell
From A Poem, on the Prospect of Peace

To Britain’s QUEEN the scepter’d Suppliant bends,
To Her his Crowns and Infant Race commends,
Who grieves Her Fame with Christian Blood to buy,
Nor asks for Glory at a Price so high.
At Her Decree, the War suspended stands,
And Britain’s Heroes hold their lifted Hands,
Their open Brows no threat’ning Frowns disguise,
But gentler Passions sparkle in their Eyes.
The Gauls, who never in their Courts could find
Such temper’d Fire with manly Beauty join’d,
Doubt if they’re those, whom, dreadful to the View
In Forms so fierce their fearful Fancies drew;
At whose dire Names ten thousand Widows prest
Their helpless Orphans clinging to the Breast.
In silent Rapture each his Foe surveys,
They vow firm Friendship, and give mutual Praise.
Brave Minds, howe’er at War, are secret Friends,
Their gen’rous Discord with the Battel ends;
In Peace they wonder whence Dissension rose,
And ask how Souls so like could e’er be Foes…

Henceforth be Thine, Vice-Gerent of the Skies,
Scorn’d Worth to raise, and Vice in Robes chastise,
To dry the Orphan’s Tears, and from the Bar,
Chace the Brib’d Judge, and hush the wordy War,
Deny the curst Blasphemer’s Tongue to rage,
And turn God’s Fury from an impious Age.
Blest Change! the Soldier’s late destroying Hand
Shall rear new Temples in his native Land…

At length, Heaven’s Wrath appeas’d, he quits the War,
To roll his Orb, and guide his destin’d Star,
To shed kind Fate, and lucky Hours bestow,
And smile propitious on the World below…

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