WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
The student's bower for gold, some fears un named
I had, my Country!-am I to be blamed?
Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art,
Verily, in the bottom of my heart,
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.
For dearly must we prize thee; we who find
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men;
And I by my affection was beguiled:
What wonder if a Poet now and then,
Among the many movements of his mind,
Felt for thee as a lover or a child!
ONE might believe that natural miseries
Had blasted France, and made of it a land
Unfit for men; and that in one great band
Her sons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease.
But 'tis a chosen soil, where sun and breeze
Shed gentle favours: rural works are there,
And ordinary business without care;
Spot rich in all things that can soothe and please!
How piteous then that there should be such dearth
GREAT men have been among us; hands that Of knowledge; that whole myriads should
To work against themselves such fell despite : Should come in phrensy and in drunken mirth, Impatient to put out the only light
Of Liberty that yet remains on earth!
THERE is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wall,
Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall:
'Tis his who walks about in the open air,
One of a Nation who, henceforth, must wear
Their fetters in their souls. For who could be,
Who, even the best, in such condition, free
From self-reproach, reproach that he must
share
With Human nature? Never be it ours
To see the sun how brightly it will shine,
And know that noble feelings, manly powers,
Instead of gathering strength, must droop and
pine;
And earth with all her pleasant fruits and flowers
Fade, and participate in man's decline.
While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,
Men unto whom sufficient for the day
And minds not stinted or untilled are given,
Sound, healthy, children of the God of heaven,
Are cheerful as the rising sun in May.
What do we gather hence but firmer faith
That every gift of noble origin
Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath;
That virtue and the faculties within
Are vital, and that riches are akin
To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death?
XXI.
ENGLAND! the time is come when thou should'st
Thy heart from its emasculating food;
The truth should now be better understood;
Old things have been unsettled; we have seen
Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been
But for thy trespasses; and, at this day,
If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa,
Aught good were destined, thou would'st step
England! all nations in this charge agree:
But worse, more ignorant in love and hate,
Far-far more abject, is thine Enemy:
Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the
freight
Of thy offences be a heavy weight:
Slaves, vile as ever were befooled by words,
Striking through English breasts the anarchy
Of Terror, bear us to the ground, and tie
Our hands behind our backs with felon cords?
Yields every thing to discipline of swords?
Is man as good as man, none low, none high?
Nor discipline nor valour can withstand
The shock, nor quell the inevitable rout,
When in some great extremity breaks out
A people, on their own beloved Land
Risen, like one man, to combat in the sight
Of a just God for liberty and right.
LINES ON THE EXPECTED INVASION.
1803.
COME ye-who, if (which Heaven avert!) the
Land
Were with herself at strife, would take your
stand,
And, like Montrose, make Loyalty your pride
Like gallant Falkland, by the Monarch's side,
Come ye-who, not less zealous, might display
Banners at enmity with regal sway,
And, like the Pyms and Miltons of that day,
Think that a State would live in sounder health
If Kingship bowed its head to Commor
wealth-
Oh grief that Earth's best hopes rest all with Ye too-whom no discreditable fear
WHEN, looking on the present face of things,
I see one Man, of men the meanest too!
Raised up to sway the world, to do, undo,
With mighty Nations for his underlings,
The great events with which old story rings
Seem vain and hollow; I find nothing great:
Nothing is left which I can venerate;
So that a doubt almost within me springs
Of Providence, such emptiness at length
Seems at the heart of all things. But, great
God!
I measure back the steps which I have trod ;
And tremble, seeing whence proceeds the
strength
Of such poor Instruments, with thoughts
I tremble at the sorrow of the time.
TO THE MEN OF KENT. OCTOBER, 1803.
VANGUARD of Liberty, ye men of Kent,
Ye children of a Soil that doth advance
Her haughty brow against the coast of France,
Now is the time to prove your hardiment !
To France be words of invitation sent!
They from their fields can see the countenance
Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance,
And hear you shouting forth your brave intent.
Left single, in bold parley, ye, of yore,
Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath;
Confirmed the charters that were yours be-
No parleying now! In Britain is one breath;
We all are with you now from shore to shore :-
Ye men of Kent, 'tis victory or death!
WHAT if our numbers barely could defy
The arithmetic of babes, must foreign hordes,
Would keep, perhaps with many a fruitless
Uncertain what to choose and how to steer-
And ye-who might mistake for sober sense
And wise reserve the plea of indolence-
Come ye-whate'er your creed-O waken all,
Whate'er your temper, at your Country's call,
Resolving (this a free-born Nation can)
To have one Soul, and perish to a man,
Or save this honoured Land from every Lord
But British reason and the British sword
ANTICIPATION. OCTOBER, 1803.
SHOUT, for a mighty Victory is won!
On British ground the Invaders are laid low;
The breath of Heaven has drifted them like
And left them lying in the silent sun,
Never to rise again!-the work is done.
Come forth, ye old men, now in peaceful show
And greet your sons! drums beat and trumpets
blow!
Make merry, wives! ye little children, stun
Your grandame's ears with pleasure of your
noise !
Clap, infants, clap your hands! Divine must be
That triumph, when the very worst, the pain
And even the prospect of our brethren slain,
In glory will they sleep and endless sanctity.
Hath something in it which the heart enjoys:-
That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low. | Or let their wishes loose, in forest-glade,
O dastard whom such foretaste doth not cheer!
We shall exult, if they who rule the land
Be men who hold its many blessings dear,
Wise, upright, valiant; not a servile band,
Who are to judge of danger which they fear
And honour which they do not understand.
WHO rises on the banks of Seine,
And binds her temples with the civic wreath?
What joy to read the promise of her mien!
How sweet to rest her wide-spread wings
beneath!
But they are ever playing,
And twinkling in the light,
And, if a breeze be straying,
That breeze she will invite;
And stands on tiptoe, conscious she is fair,
And calls a look of love into her face,
And spreads her arms, as if the general air
Alone could satisfy her wide embrace.
--Melt, Principalities, before her melt!
Her love ye hailed-her wrath have felt!
But She through many a change of form hath
gone,
And stands amidst you now an armèd creature,
Whose panoply is not a thing put on,
But the live scales of a portentous nature;
That, having forced its way from birth to birth,
Stalks round-abhorred by Heaven a terror to
the Earth!
Among the lurking powers
Of herbs and lowly flowers,
Or seek, from saints above, miraculous aid—
That Man may be accomplished for a task
Which his own nature hath enjoined ;-and
why?
If, when that interference hath relieved him,
He must sink down to languish
In worse than former helplessness and lie
Till the caves roar,-and, imbecility
Again engendering anguish,
The same weak wish returns that had before
deceived him.
But Thou, supreme Disposer! may'st not speed
The course of things, and change the creed
Which hath been held aloft before men's sight
Since the first framing of societies,
Whether, as bards have told in ancient song:
Built up by soft seducing harmonies;
Or prest together by the appetite,
And by the power, of wrong
ON A CELEBRATED EVENT IN ANCIENT
A ROMAN Master stands on Grecian ground, And to the people at the Isthmian Games Assembled, He, by a herald's voice, proclaims THE LIBERTY OF GREECE:-the words rebound
Until all voices in one voice are drowned;
I marked the breathings of her dragon crest; Glad acclamation by which air was rent!
My Soul, a sorrowful interpreter,
In many a midnight vision bowed
Before the ominous aspect of her spear;
Whether the mighty beam, in scorn upheld,
Threatened her foes,-or, pompously at rest,
Seemed to bisect her orbèd shield,
As stretches a blue bar of solid cloud
Across the setting sun and all the fiery west.
So did she daunt the Earth, and God defy! And, wheresoe'er she spread her sovereignty, Pollution tainted all that was most pure.
Have we not known-and live we not to tell
That Justice seemed to hear her final knell? Faith buried deeper in her own deep breast Her stores, and sighed to find them insecure! And Hope was maddened by the drops that fell From shades, her chosen place of short-lived
Shame followed shame, and woe supplanted
Is this the only change that time can show?
How long shall vengeance sleep? Ye patient
Heavens, how long?
- Infirm ejaculation! from the tongue
Of Nations wanting virtue to be strong
p to the measure of accorded might,
And daring not to feel the majesty of right!
Weak Spirits are there-who would ask, pon the pressure of a painful thing, he lion's sinews, or the eagle's wing;
III. TO THOMAS CLARKSON, ON THE FINAL PASSING OF THE BILL FOR THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE.
CLARKSON! it was an obstinate hill to climb;
How toilsome-nay, how dire-it was, by thee
Is known; by none, perhaps, so feelingly:
But thou, who, starting in thy fervent prime,
Didst first lead forth that enterprise sublime,
Hast heard the constant Voice its charge repeat,
Which, out of thy young heart's oracular seat,
First roused thee.-O true yoke-fellow of Time,
Duty's intrepid liegeman, see, the palm
Is won, and by all Nations shall be worn!
The blood-stained Writing is for ever torn;
And thou henceforth wilt have a good man's
calm,
A great man's happiness; thy zeal shall find
Repose at length, firm friend of human kind!
A PROPHECY. FEBRUARY, 1807.
For some Aspirant of our short-lived race,
Anxious an aery name to immortalize.
There, too, ere wiles and politic dispute
Gave specious colouring to aim and act,
See the first mighty Hunter leave the brute-
To chase mankind, with men in armies packed
For his field-pastime high and absolute,
While, to dislodge his game, cities are sacked!
COMPOSED WHILE THE AUTHOR WAS ENGAGED IN WRITING A TRACT, OCCASIONED BY THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA.
NOT 'mid the World's vain objects that enslave 'The free-born Soul-that World whose vaunted skill
In selfish interest perverts the will,
Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave-
Not there; but in dark wood and rocky cave,
And hollow vale which foaming torrents fill
With omnipresent murmur as they rave
Down their steep beds, that never shall be still;
Here, mighty Nature; in this school sublime
HIGH deeds, O Germans, are to come from I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering Spain;
CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid bars Through the grey west; and lo! these waters, steeled
By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield
A vivid repetition of the stars;
Jove, Venus, and the ruddy crest of Mars
Amid his fellows beauteously revealed
At happy distance from earth's groaning field,
Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars.
Is it a mirror?--or the nether Sphere
Opening to view the abyss in which she feeds
Her own calm fires? - But list! a voice is near;
Great Pan himself low-whispering through the
"Be thankful, thou; for, if unholy deeds Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!"
Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes
The genuine mien and character would trace
Of the rash Spirit that still holds her place,
Prompting the world's audacious vanities!
Go back, and see the Tower of Babel rise;
The pyramid extend its monstrous base,
For her consult the auguries of time,
And through the human heart explore my way; And look and listen-gathering, whence I may, Triumph, and thoughts no bondage can restrain.
COMPOSED AT THE SAME TIME AND ON THE
SAME OCCASION.
I DROPPED my pen; and listened to the Wind
That sang of trees up-torn and vessels tost-
To the general sense of men by chains confined
A midnight harmony; and wholly lost
Of business, care, or pleasure; or resigned
To timely sleep. Thought I, the impassioned
strain,
Which, without aid of numbers, I sustain,
Like acceptation from the World will find.
Yet some with apprehensive ear shall drink
A dirge devoutly breathed o'er sorrows past;
And to the attendant promise will give heed-
The prophecy,-like that of this wild blast,
Which, while it makes the heart with sadness
shrink,
Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed.
Sweet Nymph, O rightly of the mountains named!
Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound
And o'er the eternal snows, like Echo, bound; Like Echo, when the hunter train at dawn Have roused her from her sleep: and forestlawn,
Cliffs, woods and caves, her viewless steps resound
And babble of her pastime !-On, dread Power! With such invisible motion speed thy flight, Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to height,
Through the green vales and through the herdsman's bower
That all the Alps may gladden in thy might, Here, there, and in all places at one hour.
FEELINGS OF THE TYROLESE.
THE Land we from our fathers had in trust,
And to our children will transmit, or die;
This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and Nature say that it is just.
That which we would perform in arms-we
We read the dictate in the infant's eye;
In the wife's smile; and in the placid sky;
And, at our feet, amid the silent dust
Of them that were before us.-Sing aloud
Old songs, the precious music of the heart!
Give, herds and flocks, your voices to the
While we go forth, a self-devoted crowd,
O'ER the wide earth, on mountain and on plain,
Dwells in the affections and the soul of man
A Godhead, like the universal PAN ;
But more exalted, with a brighter train:
And shall his bounty be dispensed in vain,
Showered equally on city and on field,
And neither hope nor steadfast promise yield
In these usurping times of fear and pain?
Such doom awaits us. Nay, forbid it, Heaven!
We know the arduous strife, the eternal laws
To which the triumph of all good is given,
High sacrifice, and labour without pause,
Even to the death:--else wherefore should the
eye
Of man converse with immortality?
ON THE FINAL SUBMISSION OF THE TYROLESE.
It was a moral end for which they fought; Else how, when mighty Thrones were put to shame,
Could they, poor Shepherds, have preserved an aim,
A resolution, or enlivening thought?
Nor hath that moral good been vainly sought;
For in their magnanimity and fame
Powers have they left, an impulse, and a claim
Which neither can be overturned nor bought.
Sleep, Warriors, sleep! among your hills re-
pose!
We know that ye, beneath the stern control
Of awful prudence, keep the unvanquished
soul:
And when, impatient of her guilt and woes,
With weapons grasped in fearless hands, to Europe breaks forth: then, Shepherds! shall
AND is it among rude untutored Dales,
There, and there only, that the heart is true?
And, rising to repel or to subdue,
Is it by rocks and woods that man prevails?
Ah no! though Nature's dread protection fails,
There is a bulwark in the soul. This knew
Iberian Burghers when the sword they drew
In Zaragoza, naked to the gales
Of fiercely-breathing war.
The truth was felt
By Palafox, and many a brave compeer,
Like him of noble birth and noble mind;
By ladies, meek-eyed women without fear;
And wanderers of the street, to whom is dealt
The bread which without industry they find.
For perfect triumph o'er your Enemies.
HAIL, Zaragoza! If with unwet eye
We can approach, thy sorrow to behold,
Yet is the heart not pitiless nor cold;
Such spectacle demands not tear or sigh.
These desolate remains are trophies high
Of more than martial courage in the breast
Of peaceful civic virtue: they attest
Thy matchless worth to all posterity.
Blood flowed before thy sight without remorse
Disease consumed thy vitals; War upheaved
The ground beneath thee with volcanic force:
Dread trials! yet encountered and sustained Till not a wreck of help or hope remained, And law was from necessity received.
SAY, what is Honour?-'Tis the finest sense
Of justice which the human mind can frame,
Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim,
And guard the way of life from all offence
Suffered or done. When lawless violence
Invades a Realm, so pressed that in the scale
Of perilous war her weightiest armies fail,
Honour is hopeful elevation,-whence
Glory, and triumph. Yet with politic skill
Endangered States may yield to terms unjust ;
Stoop their proud heads, but not unto the dust-
A Foc's most favourite purpose to fulfil :
Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust
Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill.
THE martial courage of a day is vain,
An empty noise of death the battle's roar,
|