gan Edward Williams (Iolo Morganwg; 1747–1827)
Lleoliad: English-Language Poetry from Wales 1789–1806, thif / no. 181.
Now loosed from his mighty chain
Old Satan comes with man to dwell,
Thrives here for ever to remain,
Aided by all the Pow’rs of hell
See from his pitt infernal hurld,
Comes what this earth with horror fills
In whelming ravage o’er the world
A pouring flood of countless ills.
Gigantic ills, too lately known
The canting priesthood first we name,
With Kingship on a tyrants throne
Whose flinty bosom feels no shame,
In these all other ills abound
Hark o’er the land their titles ring,
In slavish phrase that’s bray’d around
The madden’d rant cant of Church and King.
Attorneys that no conscience feel
Drive on the pettifogging trade
The man of blood with heart of steel
In war employs the murd’ring blade
In lordly pomp adored by fools
Dwells honour that infernal thing
All these come tutor’d from the schools
Of hellish pride of Church and King.
What lawless mobs along the street
Roll tiger-like with savage roars
Hurl brutal rage on all they meet
Demolish windows, break our doors,
They brandish high th’ assassins knife
These pitt and reaves together bring,
To burn your house to take your life
In worship homage due to Church and King.
Religion flies our fetter’d land
From persecution speeds away
For shelter seeks a foreign strand
Where dawns of truth a summer’s day.
’Tis Freedom’s woful doom to see
Fiends in our Isle together cling,
To rule by spies and perjury
Enslaving all to church and King.
Our feet are every where beset
By wily spies an odious clan
How lies conseald [sic] th’ informer’s oppressor’s net
for those who claim the rights of man,
On all that seek the paths of peace
What vollied slanders Villains fling,
What ireful shouts that never cease,
For wars, for murders, church and King.
Deluded sons of Britain’s Isle
Obey the swindling minion’s voice
Nor see what fraudful arts beguile,
But, madden’d, in their shame rejoice,
Idolatry from shore to shore
Bids Blasphemous responses ring
Enacts her laws, and bids adore
The infernal God of Church and King.
Sorely complains degraded man
Of ills that powers that would his reason blind,
Of Laws meant only to trepan
But not to form the virtuous mind.
Words are too feeble to relate
What horrid ills forever spring
From maxims of tyrannic state
From perjured clubs of church and king
O Let us to some desert wild
Haste o’er the stern atlantic wave
There live with freedom self exiled
From realms where bloody Tyrants rave
and, thanking heav’n, there shall we thus
In strains of joy together Sing
“Good Lord! thou hast deliver’d us
From Pitt and Spies, from Church and King”
Thou that by Nature nobly blest
Hast view’d her charms from earliest youth
and, of an eagle’s eye possess’d
Canst bear th’ effulgent blaze of truth:
Haste! thy devoted head conceal!
Fly to the Pole on speedful wing,
Or thou shalt soon unpitied feel
Th’ infuriate fang of Church and King.