HERE pause: the poet claims at least this praise, That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope In the worst moment of these evil days; From hope, the paramount duty that Heaven lays, For its own honour, on man's suffering heart. Never may from our souls one truth depart- That an accursed thing it is to gaze On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye; Nor-touched with due abhorrence of their guilt For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt, And justice labours in extremity- Forget thy weakness, upon which is built, O wretched man, the throne of tyranny!
THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA.
HUMANITY, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay, Hath painted Winter like a traveller old, Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day, In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain, As though his weakness were disturbed by pain: Or, if a juster fancy should allow An undisputed symbol of command, The chosen sceptre is a withered bough, Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand. These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn; But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.
For he it was dread Winter! who beset, Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net, That host, when from the regions of the Pole They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal- That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied Their God, and placed their trust in human pride! As fathers persecute rebellious sons,
He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;
He called on Frost's inexorable tooth
Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold; Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs; For why-unless for liberty enrolled
And sacred home-ah! why should hoary Age be bold?
Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,
But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind, Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed, And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind, And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride, And to the battle ride.
No pitying voice commands a halt, No courage can repel the dire assault; Distracted, spiritless, benumbed, and blind, Whole legions sink-and, in one instant, find Burial and death: look for them-and descry, When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky, A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!
YE Storms, resound the praises of your King! And ye mild Seasons-in a sunny clime, Midway on some high hill, while father Time Looks on delighted-meet in festal ring, And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing! Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and flowers,
Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers, And the dire flapping of his hoary wing!
Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass; With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain; Whisper it to the billows of the main,
And to the aërial zephyrs as they pass, That old decrepit Winter-He hath slain That Host, which rendered all your bounties vain!
By Moscow self-devoted to a blaze Of dreadful sacrifice; by Russian blood Lavished in fight with desperate hardihood; The unfeeling Elements no claim shall raise To rob our Human-nature of just praise For what she did and suffered. Pledges sure Of a deliverance absolute and pure She gave, if Faith might tread the beaten ways Of Providence. But now did the Most High Exalt his still small voice;-to quell that Host Gathered his power, a manifest ally;
He, whose heaped waves confounded the proud boast Of Pharaoh, said to Famine, Snow, and Frost, "Finish the strife by deadliest victory!"
THE GERMANS ON THE HEIGHTS OF HOCK HEIM
ABRUPTLY paused the strife;-the field throughout Resting upon his arms each warrior stood, Checked in the very act and deed of blood, With breath suspended, like a listening scout. O Silence! thou wert mother of a shout That through the texture of yon azure dome Cleaves its glad way, a cry of harvest home Uttered to Heaven in ecstasy devout! The barrier Rhine hath flashed, through battle- On men who gaze heart-smitten by the view, As if all Germany had felt the shock! -Fly, wretched Gauls! ere they the charge renew Who have seen-themselves now casting off the yoke-
The unconquerable Stream his course pursue.
Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright, Our aged Sovereign sits, to the ebb and flow Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe, Insensible. He sits deprived of sight, And lamentably wrapt in twofold night, Whom no weak hopes deceived; whose mind ensued, Through perilous war, with regal fortitude,
Peace that should claim respect from lawless Might. Dread King of Kings, vouchsafe a ray divine To his forlorn condition! let thy grace Upon his inner soul in mercy shine;
Permit his heart to kindle, and to embrace
(Though it were only for a moment's space) The triumphs of this hour; for they are THINE!
And Fancy, keeping unreluctant watch, Was free her choicest favours to dispense; I saw, in wondrous perspective displayed, A landscape more august than happiest skill Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade; An intermingled pomp of vale and hill, City, and naval stream, suburban grove, And stately forest where the wild deer rove; Nor wanted lurking hamlet, dusky towns, And scattered rural farms of aspect bright; And, here and there, between the pastoral downs, The azure sea upswelled upon the sight. Fair prospect, such as Britain only shows! But not a living creature could be seen Through its wide circuit, that, in deep repose, And, even to sadness, lonely and serene, Lay hushed; till-through a portal in the sky Brighter than brightest loop-hole, in a storm, Opening before the sun's triumphant eye- Issued, to sudden view, a glorious Form! Earthward it glided with a swift descent: Saint George himself this Visitant must be; And, ere a thought could ask on what intent He sought the regions of humanity, A thrilling voice was heard, that vivified City and field and flood ;-aloud it cried—
“Though from my celestial home, "Like a Champion, armed I come; "On my helm the dragon crest, "And the red cross on my breast; "I, the Guardian of this Land, "Speak not now of toilsome duty;
"Well obeyed was that command
"Whence bright days of festive beauty;
"Haste, Virgins, haste!-the flowers which sum
"Have perished in the field;
"But the green thickets plenteously shall yield
"Fit garlands for the brave,
"That will be welcome, if by you entwined;
"Haste, Virgins, haste; and y ou, ye Matrons
"Go forth with rival youthfulness of mind,
"And gather what ye find
“Of hardy laurel and wild holly boughs— "To deck your stern Defenders' modest brows! "Such simple gifts prepare,
"Though they have gained a worthier meed; "And in due time shall share
"Those palms and amaranthine wreaths "Unto their martyred Countrymen decreed,
"In realms where everlasting freshness breathes!"
And lo! with crimson banners proudly streaming, And upright weapons innocently gleaming, Along the surface of a spacious plain Advance in order the redoubted Bands,
And there receive green chaplets from the hands Of a fair female train— Maids and Matrons, dight
In robes of dazzling white;
While from the crowd bursts forth a rapturous noise
By the cloud-capt hills retorted; And a throng of rosy boys
In loose fashion tell their joys; And grey-haired sires, on staffs supported, Look round, and by their smiling seem to say, Thus strives a grateful Country to display The mighty debt which nothing can repay!
Anon before my sight a palace rose Built of all precious substances,—so pure And exquisite, that sleep alone bestows Ability like splendour to endure:
Entered, with streaming thousands, through the gate, I saw the banquet spread beneath a Dome of state, A lofty Dome, that dared to emulate
The heaven of sable night
With starry lustre; yet had power to throw Solemn effulgence, clear as solar light, Upon a princely company below,
While the vault rang with choral harmony, Like some Nymph-haunted grot beneath the roar- ing sea.
-No sooner ceased that peal, than on the verge Of exultation hung a dirge
Breathed from a soft and lonely instrument, That kindled recollections
Of agonised affections;
And, though some tears the strain attended, The mournful passion ended
In peace of spirit, and sublime content!
So may she labour for thy civic halls: And be the guardian spaces
Of consecrated places,
As nobly graced by Sculpture's patient toil; And let imperishable Columns rise Fixed in the depths of this courageous soil; Expressive signals of a glorious strife, And competent to shed a spark divine Into the torpid breast of daily life ;— Records on which, for pleasure of all eyes, The morning sun may shine With gratulation thoroughly benign!
And ye, Pierian Sisters, sprung from Jove And sage Mnemosyne,-full long debarred From your first mansions, exiled all too long From many a hallowed stream and grove, Dear native regions where ye wont to rove, Chanting for patriot heroes the reward
Now (for, though Truth descending from above The Olympian summit hath destroyed for aye Your kindred Deities, Ye live and move, Spared for obeisance from perpetual love For privilege redeemed of godlike sway) Now, on the margin of some spotless fountain, Or top serene of unmolested mountain, Strike audibly the noblest of your lyres, And for a moment meet the soul's desires! That I, or some more favoured Bard, may hear What ye, celestial Maids! have often sung Of Britain's acts,-may catch it with rapt ear, And give the treasure to our British tongue! So shall the characters of that proud page Support their mighty theme from age to age; And, in the desert places of the earth, When they to future empires have given birth, So shall the people gather and believe The bold report, transferred to every clime; And the whole world, not envious but admiring, And to the like aspiring,
Own-that the progeny of this fair Isle Had power as lofty actions to achieve As were performed in man's heroic prime; Nor wanted, when their fortitude had held Its even tenor, and the foe was quelled, A corresponding virtue to beguile The hostile purpose of wide-wasting Time- That not in vain they laboured to secure, For their great deeds, perpetual memory, And fame as largely spread as land and sea, By Works of spirit high and passion pure!
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 repose! We know that ye, beneath the stern control Of awful prudence, keep the unvanquished soul: And when, impatient of her guilt and woes, Europe breaks forth; then, Shepherds! shall ye rise
For perfect triumph o'er your Enemies.
THE martial courage of a day is vain, An empty noise of death the battle's roar, If vital hope be wanting to restore, Or fortitude be wanting to sustain, Armies or kingdoms. We have heard a strain Of triumph, how the labouring Danube bore A weight of hostile corses: drenched with gore Were the wide fields, the hamlets heaped with slain. Yet see (the mighty tumult overpast) Austria a Daughter of her Throne hath sold! And her Tyrolean Champion we behold Murdered, like one ashore by shipwreck cast, Murdered without relief. Oh! blind as bold, To think that such assurance can stand fast!
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 Foe's most favourite purpose to fulfil: Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill.
BRAVE Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight From Prussia's timid region. Go, and rest With heroes, 'mid the islands of the Blest, Or in the fields of empyrean light.
A meteor wert thou crossing a dark night: Yet shall thy name, conspicuous and sublime, Stand in the spacious firmament of time, Fixed as a star: such glory is thy right. Alas! it may not be for earthly fame Is Fortune's frail dependant; yet there lives A Judge, who, as man claims by merit, gives; To whose all-pondering mind a noble aim, Faithfully kept, is as a noble deed;
In whose pure sight all virtue doth succeed.
CALL not the royal Swede unfortunate, Who never did to Fortune bend the knee; Who slighted fear; rejected steadfastly Temptation; and whose kingly name and state Have 'perished by his choice, and not his fate!' Hence lives He, to his inner self endeared; And hence, wherever virtue is revered, He sits a more exalted Potentate,
Throned in the hearts of men. Should Heaven ordain
That this great Servant of a righteous cause Must still have sad or vexing thoughts to endure, Yet may a sympathising spirit pause, Admonished by these truths, and quench all pain In thankful joy and gratulation pure*.
* See Note to Sonnet VII. page 237.
Look now on that Adventurer who hath paid His vows to Fortune; who, in cruel slight Of virtuous hope, of liberty, and right, Hath followed wheresoe'er a way was made By the blind Goddess,-ruthless, undismayed; And so hath gained at length a prosperous height, Round which the elements of worldly might Beneath his haughty feet, like clouds, are laid. O joyless power that stands by lawless force! Curses are his dire portion, scorn, and hate, Internal darkness and unquiet breath; And, if old judgments keep their sacred course, Him from that height shall Heaven precipitate By violent and ignominious death.
IN due observance of an ancient rite, The rude Biscayans, when their children lie Dead in the sinless time of infancy,
Attire the peaceful corse in vestments white; And, in like sign of cloudless triumph bright, They bind the unoffending creature's brows With happy garlands of the pure white rose: Then do a festal company unite
In choral song; and, while the uplifted cross Of Jesus goes before, the child is borne Uncovered to his grave: 'tis closed, her loss The Mother then mourns, as she needs must mourn; But soon, through Christian faith, is grief subdued; And joy returns, to brighten fortitude.
Is there a power that can sustain and cheer The captive chieftain, by a tyrant's doom, Forced to descend into his destined tomb- A dungeon dark! where he must waste the year, And lie cut off from all his heart holds dear; What time his injured country is a stage Whereon deliberate Valour and the rage Of righteous Vengeance side by side appear, Filling from morn to night the heroic scene With deeds of hope and everlasting praise: :- Say can he think of this with mind serene And silent fetters? Yes, if visions bright Shine on his soul, reflected from the days When he himself was tried in open light.
FEELINGS OF A NOBLE BISCAYAN AT ONE OF THOSE FUNERALS.
YET, yet, Biscayans! we must meet our Foes With firmer soul, yet labour to regain Our ancient freedom; else 'twere worse than vain To gather round the bier these festal shows. A garland fashioned of the pure white rose Becomes not one whose father is a slave: Oh, bear the infant covered to his grave! These venerable mountains now enclose A people sunk in apathy and fear. If this endure, farewell, for us, all good! The awful light of heavenly innocence Will fail to illuminate the infant's bier; And guilt and shame, from which is no defence, Descend on all that issues from our blood.
Methinks that we shall hail thee, Champion brave, Than that which in Dodona did enshrine Redeemed to baffle that imperial Slave, And through all Europe cheer desponding men With new-born hope. Unbounded is the might Of martyrdom, and fortitude, and right. Hark, how thy Country triumphs!—Smilingly The Eternal looks upon her sword that gleams, Like his own lightning, over mountains high, On rampart, and the banks of all her streams.
(So faith too fondly deemed) a voice divine Heard from the depths of its aërial bower— How canst thou flourish at this blighting hour? What hope, what joy can sunshine bring to thee, Or the soft breezes from the Atlantic sea, The dews of morn, or April's tender shower? Stroke merciful and welcome would that be Which should extend thy branches on the ground,
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