While thus engaged, through the medium of honour, under the tremendous
banners of Mars; buoyed up by him, we sally forth, and bear down all
mortal opposition. We scarcely, in our thoughts, survey the disconsolate
many we left behind; who, though concerned, are not engaged, in the
murderous contest. Flushed with the hopes of suspended victory, the
insignia of triumph hanging doubtful over our heads, whole hosts
advancing to dispute with us our martial prowess, we indulge no thoughts
about those who lament the loss of a father, a child, a husband,
a brother, or a friend.
Stunned with the fatal tidings, which mournfully announce the death of
an affectionate father, behold the wretched family, the disconsolate,
the helpless relict, of a gallant warrior; who, with the bravery of his
arm, supplied the wants of nature to a once happy family: now, robbed of
their entire support, they in vain call out to the manes of their Sire;
in vain invoke all that was most clear to them, to return from the
mouldering dust! But this trying scene is too affecting to demand
expression. Let us, then, survey, in return, the condition of those
venerable parents who weep the loss of their beloved offspring. A prey
to that incessant grief which naturally accompanies those to whom the
fatal loss happens, the worthy sire, and the tender matron, lament the
eternal exit of their ill-fated son; whom, as they nurtured him in
happiness, the tear of genuine affection trickled down the manly cheek,
and the sweet smile of maternal fondness pervaded the mother’s
enraptured looks. Now, that scene of mutual content is changed for
misery, sorrow, and incessant tears. None but parents can conceive their
condition; none but parents picture what it is impossible for the tongue
or pen to describe. Let us, from this scene, turn to view another
equally affecting.
In pourtraying the situation of the disconsolate and mournful widow, we
should find, were we to confine our ideas to her alone, an ample field
for grief and serious consideration. Living, perhaps, in uninterrupted
harmony, friendship, and love, the happy pair, if poor, supplied the
wants of nature with an industrious hand; and, if ever persecuted by the
hand of mercenary, fickle Fortune, sought in each others bosom an asylum
against the storms of Fate: if rich, perhaps a bright example of
conjugal affection, the love and happiness of all around, of all
connections and dependencies. An adieu, a final adieu! took place
between the brilliant pair, previously to his entering the plains of
Mars. The calls of Honour are loud; the calls of honour must be obeyed:
obeyed they are; and, sacrificed to them, are the best, the bravest of
her votaries! Returning, to behold the situation of the widow absorbed
in grief, we find beauty in distress. Bereft of every consolation that
this life affords, the partner of her joys, the solace of her cares, and
the partaker of her fond embraces, she languishes a life of widowhood in
misery; lamenting the hour that gave her birth, to linger out a
miserable existence in the nursery of Woe. This is one of the many fatal
consequences produced by that aweful, that terrific hydra, War.
Now, finally, let us survey the condition of the man, who, in the loss
of a real friend, has lost every thing of value in this world. The
sharer, as it were, of his bosom; his comforter in this vale of tears;
his refuge in adversity; and, in short, all that he esteemed; is gone,
in a moment gone, and launched for ever into those boundless realms of
beatitude, “from whose bourne no traveller returns.” Is it the loss of
an affectionate brother he mourns, and yet laments with mental
fortitude? If so, it was friendship indeed! Where two hearts congenial
rise, amicably, fraternally, combining each other’s souls. They lived,
and lived happy in each other, a most unparalleled example of fraternal
amity and love. But, alas! how transitory is this earthly vision, this
temporary bliss! How little to be depended on, our situation here! These
two, who the rugged paths of life together trod, each other’s souls
exchanged, & the sweet balm of friendship tasted, are separated for
ever; never, never to meet, till the massy ambrosial gates of those
mansions of eternal bliss shall be opened to them, where every vice, and
it’s attendant passions, are wrecked to annihilation, and vanish to
eternity!
A few more reflections, and I have done. War, tho’ often productive of
the most solid advantages, is always attended with the most miserable
consequences; and what serves to enrich a few individuals, may reduce
many to misery and want, whose former circumstances were none of the
most inferior sort. Callous, indeed, must be the heart of that man, and
lost to every sense of fellow-feeling, who can behold such scenes, and
not be melted at the sight. These are the consequences of war; of that
war which, when of long duration, entails wretchedness on the greatest
part of the community, and tends to destroy and reduce to general
distress, nations once the envy of the world. Well may we, then, in such
critical emergencies, pour out our souls to the omniscient Disposer of
all things; and, with fervency of heart, exclaim--
“Great God of wars, make rage and discord cease;
And let the busy world be hush’d in peace.”