XIV. Tomb of Arminius! render up thy dead, Till, like a standard from a watch-tower's staff, Wild Bacchanal of truth's mysterious wine, His dead spirit lives in thee. Why do we fear or hope? thou art already free! 200 And glorious world! thou flowery wilderness! 205 Thou island of eternity! thou shrine Where desolation clothed with loveliness, Worships the thing thou wert! O Italy, Gather thy blood into thy heart; repress The beasts who make their dens thy sacred palaces. 210 XV. O, that the free would stamp the impious name Of KING into the dust! or write it there, So that this blot upon the page of fame Were as a serpent's path, which the light air Erases, and the flat sands close behind! Ye the oracle have heard: Lift the victory-flashing sword, And cut the snaky knots of this foul gordian word, Into a mass, irrefragably firm, The axes and the rods which awe mankind ; Of what makes life foul, cankerous, and abhorred; To set thine armèd heel on this reluctant worm. 215 220 225 XVI. O, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle A scoff of impious pride from fiends impure; Till human thoughts might kneel alone Of its own aweless soul, or of the power unknown! 230 O, that the words which make the thoughts obscure Were stripped of their thin masks and various hue They stand before their Lord, each to receive its due. 240 XVII. He who taught man to vanquish whatsoever Can be between the cradle and the grave Crowned him the King of Life. O vain endeavour! He has enthroned the oppression and the oppressor. 245 What if earth can clothe and feed Amplest millions at their need, And power in thought be as the tree within the seed? Driving on fiery wings to Nature's throne, 250 Checks the great mother stooping to caress her, And cries: Give me, thy child, dominion Over all height and depth? if Life can breed New wants, and wealth from those who toil and groan 255 XVIII. Come Thou, but lead out of the inmost cave Wisdom. I hear the pennons of her car To judge, with solemn truth, life's ill-apportioned lot? Of what has been, the Hope of what will be? Wert thou disjoined from these, or they from thee: If thine or theirs were treasures to be bought By blood or tears, have not the wise and free Wept tears, and blood like tears? The solemn harmony 270 XIX. Paused, and the spirit of that mighty singing On the heavy sounding plain, When the bolt has pierced its brain; As summer clouds dissolve, unburthened of their rain; As a brief insect dies with dying day, My song, its pinions disarrayed of might, 275 280 Of the great voice which did its flight sustain, |