Written in the Winter of MDCCXCI , Whilst on Barnet Field . THE northern wind howls o'er the dreary plain , And thick and frequent fall the drifted snows : Pleas'd , Desolation views her waste domain , And torpid Vegetation's dead repose . Yet here my pensive Muse delights to stray , And silent o'er this barren wild to tread ; For well the prospect suits my solemn lay , Which sings of battles and the mighty dead . Yes , ye cold relics of what once were great , To you alone my homage shall be paid : I scorn to flatter living Power or State , But bend with reverence to the Hero's shade . Soon the gay pageants vulgar minds adore Shall rest neglected in the lonely grave , Where Adulation sooths their ears no more , And Vanity no longer can enslave . The wise and brave attends a different fate ; Their names shall flourish to remotest time ; Fame shall for them her golden trump inflate , And sound their praises in each distant clime . Then cease , ye Bards , to stoop to gilded Pride ; On genuine Worth alone your praise bestow : For Wealth , or Rank , to Merit unallied , Serves but the owner's littleness to show . What slaughter once empurpled o'er this field ! Here constant Loyalty in vain expir'd : Her sanguine votaries here Ambition steel'd , While frantic Hate each hostile bosom fir'd . Here princely Warwick , generous , wise , and brave , Pour'd from unnumber'd wounds life's crimson flood : Here dying Montague a token gave Of love fraternal ratified in blood . Hard fate of War ! when Warwick's Warwick had just before deserted the Party of Edward IV . rebel hand Against his Sovereign grasp'd the direful sword , That Victory should on his banners stand , And leave him when to Virtue's cause restor'd ! Yet let not Man , presumptuous , weak , and vain , Murmur at God's inscrutable decree — But own , whate'er his Wisdom shall ordain Is right , though Man's too blind the cause to see . By ties of blood here fickle Clarence Clarence had deserted Warwick in this battle . sway'd , Basely betray'd his unsuspecting Friend : But the transgression soon his life repaid , By Glo'ster doom'd to an inglorious end . Here fainting Exeter The Duke of Exeter . Vide Rapin's History . , by wounds opprest , Mixt with the dead , lay senseless on the plain , Till friendly Night outspread her sable vest , When his slow steps a neighbouring cottage gain . Nor , though his ensigns In this battle the ensigns of the Earl of Oxford were mistaken for those of the enemy by his own party , who charged each other — and thus , the day was lost . lost the doubtful day , Should Oxford The Earl of Oxford , a chief commander ; he led the van also of Richmond's army . lose the well-earn'd meed of praise ; For long he fought , nor left the dire affray Till even fond Hope withdrew its latest rays ; Then fled with Somerset to Tewks'bury's plain , To join , unwearied Margaret's hostile bands : But all thy courage , Somerset The Duke of Somerset , afterwards slain at Tewksbury . , is vain , Whose life relentless Destiny demands . A doom less rigorous was thine , De Vere The name of the Oxford family . ! For , deeply though you drank the cup of woe , At length you saw , reliev'd from every fear , The tyrant Richard's blood at Bosworth flow . To march victorious o'er this plain After the battle of Bosworth . was thine , Where first severest Fortune you had known , And to behold the great Lancastrian line Once more securely plac'd on Albion's throne . But in what plaintive accents shall my Muse , Unhappy Henry , weep thy lorn estate ! What heart to thee compassion could refuse ? For thy meek virtues ill deserv'd thy fate . When the sad tidings reach'd thine anxious ear Of Warwick slain , thy brightest hopes undone , Did not thy mind presage new anguish near , Thy captive princess , and thy murder'd son ? Did not prophetic fancy paint the steel By Glo'ster pointed to thy harmless breast , Design'd by heaven thy sharper woes to heal , And grant thee long-lost liberty and rest ? Far different hopes deceitful Fortune gave , Whose brightest influence shone upon thy birth , When , form'd each adverse nation to enslave , Thy warlike sire adorn'd the wondering earth ; When happy England bless'd his equal sway , And Gallia's sceptre fill'd his conquering hand . How chang'd thy prospect at life's parting ray ! A bleeding captive in thy native land . Thus Goodness infinite would wean the mind , By strange vicissitudes and endless strife , From Earth's dull joys , to happiness refin'd In the pure regions of eternal life — Where crowns of glory for the good await , Whose dazzling splendour , to our eyes unknown , Shall far surpass the eastern monarch's state 'Mid all the gaudy glitter of his throne . No more then , Henry , I lament thy fall , Or envy guilty Richard his renown : Nor Pain nor Death the virtuous man appall ; Cheer'd by his God , he scorns their Idle frown . But though Prosperity and vain Parade Through life's short path the wicked may sustain ; Yet a few hours , and all their glories fade , And nought but grief and bitterness remain . Farewell , ye scenes of Anarchy and Woe ! From you henceforth be dread Rebellion far ! And ne'er again mayst thou , Britannia , know The dire misfortunes of intestine war ! Let fickle France indulge each wild extreme , While Peace and Virtue mourn their injur'd cause ; But long may England baffle every scheme By Faction form'd against her matchless laws ! For real Liberty is theirs alone Who bend submissive , Justice , at thy shrine ; Where , studious to support thine equal throne , The Subject and the Monarch both combine .