XXXII.

'Tis well for monarchs that the nations sleep,

For in their waking will the thrones be hurled Hither and thither, like the troubled deep

When a strong earthquake heaves the trembling world.

Then o'er the tyrants' heads the storm shall sweep; While Freedom's glorious banner, high unfurled, Gathers beneath it Earth's enfranchised slaves, Like Ocean re-assembling all her waves.

XXXIII.

In my young days, when history was a book,
And I lived on with nations page by page,
I well remember how my bosom shook

With passionate longings, deepening into rage, Which by degrees a darker colour took.

Like to a tiger in a fiery cage

Opinion grew, the history of France

Made every drop of blood within me dance.

E

XXXIV.

Great Heavens! it was a frightful page to read,

How woman, child, and man were daily crushed Beneath the iron heel which made them bleed,— Yet bled in silence; for their cry was hushed By that foul leprosy, the Popish creed.

Great Nature, roused at last, in madness rushed On her tormentors, and with hellish glee Did deeds which shamed e'en royal tyranny!

XXXV.

Dawn breaks at last!—the night of tyranny
Slowly recedes before the growing day,

Which faintly glimmers in the Eastern sky,

Then to the hills and valleys slopes away.

Freedom and Truth as yet in slumber lie,

But will be stirring 'neath its gladsome ray; When, arm'd for fight, arise those glorious twins, Look out, ye gouty tyrants, for your shins!

XXXVI.

O war and trumpets!-peace and penny-whistles!
How is it that a wholesale slaughter brings
(Instead of stinging plants and thorny thistles)
The wreath of laurel on the brow of kings?
Is it that weak digestions feed on gristles?
Or that the tortured linnet better sings?
But Truth declares she sees no earthly reason,
Why loyalty is less a vice than treason!

XXXVII.

We'll deem Ferando heard these sentiments,
And that they did not shock his Tory morals:
Ah! there are many gentlemen, or "gents,"

Think duelling the Christian end of quarrels,
And by "prosperity" who mean high rents:
In short, that all mankind are stupid squirrels,
For ever rushing round an iron cage,

Instead of going onward with the age.

XXXVIII.

The monk informed Ferando that his wife

Spent all her money and her tears for him;
And that she parcelled out her daily life
In trying to release him, soul and limb,
From the sharp pangs of purgatorial strife.
"Twas first a "paternoster," then a hymn,
Then a wax taper, then a mass divine,
In which the Abbot felt delight to join.

XXXIX.

"All this will, doubtless, in due time," said he, "Release you from this shocking place of tears : We'll hope once more you will the daylight see, Though really, to my mind, it now appears Your only vice was foolish jealousy;

A fault you can amend in future years,— That is, if your dear wife should agitate

For your release: if so, your chance is great.

XL.

"You see that Purgatory has its tattle,
And that the dead are not so very stupid;
Perchance what we denominate 'death rattle,"
Is the first lisping of the future Cupid!
Ofttimes a peace is brought on by a battle;
And battles are sometimes won by a group
Behind a hillock;-thus what we can't see,
May very often gain the victory."

hid

XLI.

With such reflections, moral and religious,
The monk left poor Ferando to his dose
Of daily slumber, which soon grew prodigious!
For being shut up in a dungeon close

Inclines to sleep, like down-beds at the Bridge-house
Hotel. One should be careful where one goes,

For at an inn upon the Rhine, Schmitz swears The fleas combined, and carried him down stairs.