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1730-1783
I HATE that drums discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round:
To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields,
And lures from cities and from fields,
To sell their liberty for charms
Of tawdry lace, and glittering arms;
And when Ambitions voice commands,
To march, and fight, and fall, in foreign lands.
I hate that drums discordant sound,
Parading round, and round, and round:
To me it talks of ravagd plains,
And burning towns, and ruind swains,
And mangled limbs, and dying groans,
And widows tears, and orphans moans;
And all that Miserys hand bestows,
To fill the catalogue of human woes.
Poetical Works,1782.
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