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How must he sinile, on looking down, to sec With clashing hosts, who strew'd the barren sind, The little that he was and sought to be!

To re-manure the uncultivated land! What though his name a wider empire found

Spain ! which, a moment mindless of the Cid, Than his ambition, though with scarce a bound; Beheld his banner flouting thy Madrid ! Though first in glory, deepest in reverse,

Austria! which saw thy twice-ta'en capital He tasted empire's blessings and its curse;

Twice spared to be the traitress of his fall! Though kings, rejoicing in their late escape

Ye race of Frederic ! Frederics but in name From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's ape; And falsehood-heirs to all except his fame: How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave, Who, crush d at Jena, crouchel at Berlin, fell The proudest sea-mark that o'ertops the wave! First, and but rose to follow! Ye who dwell What though his gaoler, duteous to the last,

Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet Scarce deemd the coffin's lead could kecp him fast, The unpaid amount of Catherine's bloody debt! Refusing one poor line along the lid,

Poland ! o'er which the avenging angel pass'd, To date the birth and death of all it hid;

But left thee as he found thee, still a waste, That name shall hallow the ignoble shore,

Forgetting all thy still enduring claim, A talisman to all save him who bore :

Thy lotted people and extinguish'd name, The fleets that sweep before the eastern blast Thy sigh for freedom, thy long-flowing tear, Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast; That sound that crashes in the tyrant's earWhen Victory's Gallic column shall but rise,

Kosciusko! On-on-on-the thirst of war Like Pompey's pillar, in a desert's skies,

Gasps for the gore of serfs and of their czar, The rocky isle that holds or held his dust,

The half barbaric Moscow's minarets Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust,

Gleam in the sun, but 'tis a sun that sets! And Inighty nature o'er his obsequies

Moscow ! thou limit of his long career, Do more than niggard envy still denies.

For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear But what are these to him? Can glory's lust To see in vain--he saw thee-how ? with spire Touch the freed spirit or the fetter'd dust?

And palace fuel to one common fire.
Small care hath he of what his tomb consists; To this the soldier lent his kindling match,
Nought if he sleeps--nor more if he exists:

To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch,
Alike the better-seeing shade will smile

To this the merchant flung his hoarded store, On the rude cavern of the rocky isle,

The prince his hall-and Moscow was no more! As if his ashes found their latest home

Sublimest of volcanos! Etna's flame In Rome's Pantheon or Gaul's mimic dome

Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla's tame; He wants not this; but France shall feel the want Vesuvius shows his blaze, an usual sight Of this last consolation, though so scant :

For gaping tourists, from his hackney'd height: Her honour, fame, and faith demand his bones,

Thou stand'st alone unrivallid, till the fire
To rear above a pyramid of thrones;

To come, in which all empires shall expire.
Or carried onward in the battle's van,
To form, like Guesclin's* dust, her talisman.

Thou other element ! as strong aud stern,
But be it as it is—the time may come

To teach a lesson conquerors will not learn !
Ilis name shall beat the alarm, like Ziska's drum.

Whose icy wing flapped o'er the faltering foe,
Till fell a hero with each flake of snow;
How did thy numbing beak and silent fang

Pierce, till hosts perish'd with a single pang ! Oh heaven ! of which he was in power a feature ; In vain shall Seine look up along his banks Oh earth! of which he was a noble creature;

For the gay thousands of his dashing ranks! Thou isle ! to be remember'd long and well,

In vain shall France recall beneath her vines That saw'st the unfledged eaglet chip his shell !

Her youth--their blood flows faster than her wines; Ye Alps, which view'd him in his dawning flights

Or stagnant in their human ice remains Hover, the victor of a hundred fights !

In frozen mummies on the Polar plains. Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Cæsar's deeds outdone! In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken Alas! why pass'd he too the Rubicou

Her offspring chill'd; its beams are now forsaken. The Rubicon of man's awaken'd rights,

Of all the trophies gather'd from the war, To herd with vulgar kings and parasites ?

What shall returu? the conqueror's broken car! Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose The conqueror's yet unbroken heart! Again Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose,

The horn of Roland sounds, and not in vain. And shook within their pyramids to hear

Lutzen, where sell the Swede of victory, A new Cambyses thundering in their ear;

Beholds him conquer, but, alas! not die : While the dark shades of forty ages stood

Dresden surveys three despots fly once more Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood; Before their sovereign,-sovereign as before ; Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle

But there exhausted Fortune quits the field, Beheld the desert peopled, as from hell,

And Leipsic's treason bids the unvanquish'd yield.

The Saxon jackal leaves the lion's side • Guesclin died during the siege of a city: it sur.

To turn the bear's, and wolf's, and fox's guide ; rendered, and the keys were brought and laid upon fuis bier, so that the place might appear rendered to And backward to the den of his despair big ashes.

The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair

anore.

Oh ye! and each and all! Oh France! who found Such as repulsed the Persian from the shore
Thy long tair fields plough'd up as hostile ground, Where Greece was-No! she still is Greece once
Disputed foot by foot, till treacon, still
His only victor, from Montmartre's hill

One common cause makes myriads of one breast,
Look'd down o er trampled Paris! and thou Isle, Slaves of the East, or helots of the West :
Which seest Etruria from thy ramparts smile, On Andes' and on Athos' peaks unfurli,
Thou momentary shelter of his pride,

The self-same standard streams o'er either wor!!: Till woo'd by danger, his yet weeping bride!

The Athenian wears again Harmodius' sword; Oh, France ! retaken by a single march,

The Chili chief abjures his foreign lord ; whose path was through one long triumphal arch! The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek, Oh, bloody and most bootless Waterloo !

Young Freedom plumes the crest of each cacique; Which proves liow fools may have their fortune too, Debating despots, liemmid on either shore, Won kalf by blunder, half by treachery :

Shrink vainly from the roused Atlantic's roar; Oh, dull Saint Helen? with thy gaoler nigh- Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides advance, Hear! hear Prometheus from his rock appeal Sweep slightly by the half-tamed land of France, To earth, air, ocean, all that felt or feel

Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would fain His power and glory, all who yet shall hear

Unite Ausonia to the mighty main: A name eternal as the rolling year;

But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye, He teaches them the lesson taught so long,

Break o'er th' Ægean, mindful of the day So oft, so vainly-learn to do no wrong!

Of Salamis !-there, there the waves arise,
A single step into the right had made

Not to be lull'd by tyrant victories.
This man the Washington of worlds betray'd: Lone, lost, abandon'd in their utmost need
A single step into the wrong has given

By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed, His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven;

The desolated lands, the ravaged isle, The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod,

The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile, Of Fame the Moloch or the demigod;

The aid evaded, and the cold delay, His country's Cæsar, Europe's Hannibal,

Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey ;Without their decent dignity of fall. ;

These, these stall tell the tale, and Greece can shus Yet Vanity herself had better taught

The false friend worse than the infuriate foe. A surer path even to the fame he souglit,

But this is well: Greeks only should free Greece, By pointing out on history's fruitless page

Not the barbarian, with his mask of peace. Ten thousand conquerors for a single suge.

How should the autocrat of bondage be While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven, The king of serfs, and set the nations free? Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven,

Better still serve the haughty Mussulman, Or drawing froin the no less kindled earth

Than swell the Cossa que's prowling caravan; Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth ;

Better still toil for masters, than a wait, While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er

The slave of slaves, before a Russian gatc,Shall sink while there's an echo left to air :

Number'd by hordes, & human capital, While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war A live estate, existing but for thrall, Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar !

Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward Alas! why must the same Atlantic wave

For the first courtier in the Czar's regard ; Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave While their immediate owner never tastes The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave,

His sleep, sans dreaming of Siberia's wastes: Who burst the chains of millions to renew

Better succumb even to their own despair,
The very fetters which his arm broke through,

And drive the camel than purvey the bear
And crush'd the rights of Europe and his own,
To fit between a dungeon and a throne ?

VIT.

But not alone within the hoariest clime
VI.

Where Freedom dates her birth with that of But 'twill not be the spark's awaken'd-lo!

Time, The swarthy Spaniard feels his former glow; And not alone where, plunged in night, a crow.! The same high spirit which beat back the Moor Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud, Through eight long ages of alternate gore

The dawn revives: renown'd, romantic Spain Revives and where? in that avenging clime

Holds back the invader from her soil again. Where Spain was once synonymous with crime, Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde Where Cortes and Pizarro's banner flew,

Demand her fields as lists to prove the sword; The infant world redeems her name of New.'

Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth "Tis the old aspiration breathed afresh,

Pollute the plains, alike abhorring both ;
To kindle souls within degraded fleshi,

Nor old Pelayo on his mountain rears
The warlike fathers of a thousand years.

That seed is sown and reap'd oft the Moor I refer the reader to the first address of Prome. Sighs to remember on his dusky shore. theus in Aschylus, when he was left alone by his attendants, and before the arrival of the chorus of Long in the peasant's song or poet's page Sea-nymphs.

Has dwelt the memory of Abencerrage;

The Zegri, and the captive victors, flung

And stoic Franklin's cnergetic shade, Back to the barbarous realm from whence they sprung. Robed in the lightnings which his hand allay'd; But these are gone--their faith, their swords, their And Washington, the tyrant-tamer, wake, sway,

To bid us blush for these old chains, or break. Yet left more anti-christian foes than they:

But who compose this senate of the few The bigot monarch, and the butcher priest,

That should redeem the many? W'ho renew The Inquisition, with her burning feast,

This consecrated name, till now assign'd The faith's red 'auto,' fed with hunian fuel,

To councils held to benefit mankind ? While sate the catholic Moloch, calmly cruel, Who now assemble at the holy call ? Enjoying, with inexorable eye,

The blest Alliance, which says three are all! That fiery festival of agony !

An earthly trinity, which wears the shape
The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both

Of heaven's, as man is mimick'd by the ape.
By turns; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth; A pious unity ! in purpose one-
The long degenerate noble; the debased

To melt three fools to a Napoleon,
Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced,

Why, Egypt's gods were rational to these ; But more degraded; the unpeopled realm; Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees The once proud navy which forgot the helm ; And, quiet in their kennel or their shed, The once impervious phalanx disarray'd;

Cared little, so that they were duly fedi The idle forge that form'd Toledo's blade ;

But these, inore hungry, must have something The foreign wealth that flow'd on ev'ry shore,

moreSave hers who earn'd it with the natives' gore; The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore. The very language which might vie with Rome's, Ah, how much happier were good Æsop's frogs And once was known to nations like their homes, Than we! for ours are animated logs, Neglected or forgotten :-such was Spain;

With ponderous malice swaying to and fro,
But such she is not, nor shall be again.

And crushing nations with a stupid blow;
These worst, these home invaders, felt and feel All duly anxious to leave little work
The new Numantine soul of old Castile.

Unto the revolutionary stork.
Up! up again! undaunted Tauridor !
The bull of Phalaris renews his roar;

IX.
Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo ! not in vain

Thrice blest Verona ! since the holy three Revive the cry! Iago 1 and close Spain I'*

With their imperial presence shine on thee! Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round,

Honour'd by them, thy treacherous site forgets And form the barrier which Napoleon found,-

The vaunted tomb of all the Capulets ;' The exterminating war, the desert plain,

Thy Scaligers-for what was 'Dog the Great,' The streets without a tenant, save the slain ;

*Can Grande,' (which I venture to translate,) The wild sierra, with its wilder troop

To these sublimer pugs? Thy poet too, of vulture-plumed guerrillas, on the stoop

Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new; For their incessant prey; the desperate wall

Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate; Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall;

And Dante's exile shelter'd by thy gate; The man nerved to a spirit, and the maid

Thy good old man,* whose world was all within Waving her more than Amazonian blade;

Thy wall, nor knew the country held him in ; · The knife of Arragon,t Toledo's steel;

Would that the royal guests it girds about The famous lance of chivalrous Castilę :

Were so far like, as never to get out! The unerring rifle of the Catalan;

Ay, shout! inscribe! rear monuments of shame, The Andalusian courser in the van;

To tell Oppression that the world is tame!

Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage,
The torch to make a Moscow of Madrid;
And in each heart the spirit of the Cid;

The comedy is not upon the stage;
Such have been, such shall be, such are. Advance,

The show is rich in ribandry and stars,
And win-10t Spain! but thine own freedom, Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars;
France !

Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy,
VIII.

For thus much still thy fetter'd hands are free But lo! a Congress! What I that hallow'd name

X.
Which freed the Atlantic ! May we hope the same Resplendent sight! Behold the coxcomb Czar,
For outworn Europe? With the sound arise,

The autocrat of waltzes and of war!
Like Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic eyes, As eager for a plaudit as a realı,
The prophets of young Freedom, summon'd far And just as fit for flirting as the helm ;
From climes of Washington and Bolivar ;

A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit,
Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes,

And generous spirit, when 'tis not frost-bit: Whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas;

Now half dissolving to a liberal thaw,

But harden'd back whene'er the morning's raw; • St. Iago ! and close Spain !' the old Spanish With no objection to true liberty, war-cry

t The Arragonians are peculiarly dexterous in the Except that it would make the nations free.
use of this weapon, and displayed it particularly in
former French wars.

• The famous old man afl'croin.

How well the imperial dandy prates of peace!

Xit.
How fain, if Greeks would be his slaves, free But where's the monarch? hath he dined? or yet
Greece!

Groans beneath indigestion's heavy debt ?
How nobly gave he back the Poles their Diet, Have revolutionary patés risen,
Then told pugnacious Poland to be quict !

And turn'd the royal entrails to a prison ?
How kindly would he send the mild Ukraine,

Have discontented movements stirr'd the troops ? With all her pleasant pulks, to lecture Spain ! Or have no movements followed traitorous soups ? How royally show off in proud Madrid

Have Carbonaro cooks not carbonadoed His goodly person, from the South long hid !

Each course enough! or doctors dire dissuaded A blessing cheaply purchased, the world knows,

Repletion? Ah! in thy dejected looks By having Muscovites for friends or foes.

I read all France's treason in her cooks! Proceed, thou namesake of great Philip's son: Good classic Louis! is it, canst thou say, La Harpe, thine Aristotle, beckons on;

Desirable to be the 'Desiré?' And that which Scythia was to himn of yore

Why wouldst thou leave calm Hartwell's green abode, Find with thy Scythians on Iberia's shore.

Apician table, and Horatian ode, Yet think upon, thou somewhat aged youth,

To rule a people who will not be ruled, Thy predecessor on the banks of Pruth;

And love much rather to be scourged than schoold ? Thou hast to aid thec, should his lot be thine,

Ah! thine was not the temper or the taste Many an old woman, but no Catherine.*

For thrones; the table sees thee better placed : Spain, too, hath rocks, and rivers, and defiles

A mild Epicurean, formu, at best, The bear may rush into the lion's toils.

To be a kind host and as good a guest, Fatal to Goths are Xeres' sunny fields;

To talk of letters, and to know by heart Think'st thou to thee Napoleon's victor yields ? One half the poet's, all the gourinand's art : Better reclaim thy deserts, turn thy swords

A scholar always, now and then a wit,
Toploughshares, shavc and wash thy Baslıkir hordes, Aud gentle when digestion inay permit ;-
Redeem thy realms from slavery and the knout, But not to govern lands enslaved or free;
Than follow headlong ia the fatal route,

The gout was martyrdom enough for thee.
To infest the clime whose skies and laws are pure
With thy foul legions. Spain wants no manure :

XIII.
Her soil is fertile, but she feeds no foe:

Shall noble Albion pass without a phrase Her vultures, too, were gorged not long ago;

From a bold Briton in her wonted praise ! And wouldst thou furnish them with fresher prey ?

* Arts-arms-and George-and glory, and the islesAlas ! thou wilt not conquer, but purvey.

And happy Britain-weaith, and Freedom's smilesI am Diogenes, thou Russ and Hun

White cliffs, that held invasion far aloof, Stand between mine and many a myriad's sun ;

Contented subjects, all alike tax-proof But were I not Diogenes, I'd wander

Proud Wellington, with eagle beak so curld, Rather a worm than suuch an Alexander !

That nose, the hook where he suspends the world :* Be slaves who will, the cynic shall be free;

And Waterloo-and trade-and-(hush not yet His tub hath tougher walls than Sinopé :

A syllable of imposts or of debt, Still will he hold his lantern up to scan,

And nc'er (enough) lamented Castlereagh, The face of monarchs for an honest man.'

Whose penknife slit a goose-quill t'other day

And pilots who have weather'd every storm,"XI.

(But, no, not even for rhymne's sake, name reform).' And what doth Gaul, the all-prolific land

These are the themes thus sung so oft before, Of ne plus ultru ultras and their band

Methinks we need not sing them any more ; Of mercenaries? and hier noisy chambers

Found in so many volumes far and near, And tribune, which each orator first clambers There's no occasion you should find them here. Before he finds a voice, and when 'tis found,

Yet something may remain perchance to chime Hears the lie echo for his answer round?

With reason, and, what's stranger still, with rhyme. Our British Commons sometimes deign to hear! Even this thy genius, Canning ! may permit, A Gallic senate hath more tongue than ear;

Who, bred a statesman, still was born a wit, Even Constant, their sole master of debate,

And never, even in that dull House, couldst tame Must fight next day his speech to vindicate. To unleaven'd prose thine own poetic filame; But this costs little to true Franks, who'd rather Our last, our best, our only orator, Combat than listen, were it to their father.

Even I can praise thee-Tories do no more: What is the simple standing of a shot,

Nay, not so much;--they hate thee, man, because To listening long, and interrupting not!

Thy spirit less uplolds them than it awes. Though this was not the method of old Rome, The hounds will gather to their huntsman's hollo, When Tully fulmined o'er each vocal dome,

And where hc leads the duteous pack will follow; Demosthenes has sanction'd the transaction,

But not for love mistake their yelling cry; In saying eloquence meant' Action, action!' Their yelp for game is not an culogy;

• The dexterity of Catherine extricated Peter (called • .Naso suspendit adunco. - IIORACE. the Great by courtesy), when surrounded by the Mus. The Roman applies it to one who increly was imperi sulmans on the banks of the river Pruth.

ous to his acquaintance.

Less faithful far than the four-footed pack, Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions-why! for rent ! A dubious scent would lure the bipeds back, They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they swore they Thy saddle-girths are not yet quite secure,

meant Nor royal stallion's feet extremely sure;

To die for England-why then live !—for rent ! The unwieldy old white horse is apt at last

The peace has made one general malcontent To stumble, kick, and now and then stick fast of these high-market patriots; war was rent! With his great self and rider in the mud;

Their love of country, millions all misspent, But what of that? the animal shows blood.

How reconcile? by reconciling rent!

And will they not repay the treasures lent?
XIV.

No; down with everything, and up with rent !
Alas, the country! how shall tongue or pen

Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, or discontent,

Being, end, aim, religion-rent, rent, rent !
Bewail her now uncountry gentlemen ?

Thou sold'st thy birthright, Esau, for a mess ;
The last to bid the cry of warfare cease,
The first to make a malady of peace.

Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten less; For what were all these country patriots born ?

Now thou hast swill'd thy pottage, thy demands To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn!

Are idle ; Israel says the bargain stands. But corn, like every mortal-thing, must fall,

Such, landlords I was your appetite for war,

And gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar! Kings, conquerors, and markets most of all. And must ye fall with every ear of grain !

What I would they spread their earthquake even o'er

cash? Why wouid you trouble Buonaparte's reign!

And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash ? He was your great Triptolemus; his vices Destroy'd but realms, and still maintain d your

So rent may rise, bid bank and nation fall, prices;

And found on "Change a Fundling hospital ! He amplified to every lord's content

Lo, Mother Church, while all religion writhes, The grand agrarian alchymy, hight rent.

Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring, Tithes ; Why did the tyrant stumble on the Tartars,

The prelates go to-where the saints have gone, And lower wheat to such desponding quarters ?

And proud pluralitics subside to one; Why did you chain him on yon isle so lone ?

Church, state, and faction wrestle in the dark, The man was worth much more upon his throne.

Toss'd by the deluge in their cominon ark. True, blood and treasure boundlessly were spilt,

Shorn of her bishops, banks, and dividends, But what of that? the Gaul may bear the guilt ;

Another Babel soars--but Britain ends. But bread was high, the fariner paid his way,

And why? to pamper the self-seeking wants, And acres told upon the appointed day.

And prop the hill of these agrarian ants. But where is now the goodly audit ale ?

'Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be wise;' The purse-proud tenant, never known to fail ?

Admire their patience through each sacrifice, The farm which never yet was left on hand ?

Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride, The marsh reclaim'd to most improving land ?

The price of taxes and of homicide; The impatient hope of the expiring lease?

Admire their justice, which would fain deny The doubling rental? What an evil's peace!

The debt of nations :-pray, who made it high ? In vain the prize excites the ploughman's skill, In vain the Commons pass their patriot bill;

X1. The landed interest--you may understand

Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks, The phrase much better leaving out the land)- The new Symplegades-the crushing Stocks, The land self-interest groans from shore to shore, Where Midas might again his wish behold For fear that plenty should attain the poor.

In real paper or imagined gold. Up, up again, ye rents ! exalt your notes,

That magic palace of Alcina shows Or else the ministry will lose their votes,

More wealth than Britain ever had to lose, And patriotism, so clelicately nice,

Were all her atoms of unleaven'd ore, Her loaves will lower to the market price;

And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore. For ah ! 'the loaves and fishes,' once so high, There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the Are gone-their oven ciosed, their ocean dry,

stake, And nought remains of all the millions spent,

And the world trembles to bid brokers break. Excepting to grow moderate and content.

How rich is Britain ! not indeed in mines, They who are not so, had their turn--and turn Or peace, or plenty, corn or oil, or wines; About still flows from Fortune's equal urn;

No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey,
Now let their virtue be its own reward.

Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money :
And share the blessings which themselves prepared. But let us not to own the truth refuse,
See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm,

Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews?
Farmers of war, dictators of the farm;

Those parted with their teeth to good King John, Their ploughshare was the sword in hireling hands, And now, ye kings! they kindly draw your own; Their fields manured by gore of other lands;} All states, all things, all sovereigns they control, Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent

And waft a loan from Indus to the pole.' Their brethren out to battle-why ? for rent ! The banker-broker-baron-brethren, speed Year after year they voted cent. per cent.,

To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need

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