They have their triumph now, to him denied.

Proud day for them is this!

Prince of the mighty Isle !
Proud day for them and tliee,
When Britain round her

spear The olive garland iwines, by Victory won,

Enjoy thy triumph now,

Prince of the mighty Isle!
Enjoy the rich reward, so rightly due,
When rescued nations, with one heart and voice,

Thy counsels bless and thee.
Thou on thine own Firm-Island seest the while,

As if the tales of old Romance
Were but to typify these splendid days,

Princes and Potentates,
And Chiefs renown'd in arms,
From their great enterprise achieved,
In friendship and in joy collected here.





Rejoice, thou mighty Isle!

Queen of the Scas, rejoice!
For ne'er in clder nor in later times

Have such illustrious guests

Honour'd thy silver shores. No such assemblage shone in Edward's hall, Nor brighter triumphis graced his glorious reign.

Prince of the mighty Isle, Proud day for thee and for thy kingdoms this!

Rightly mayst thou rejoice,

When Britain round her spear
The olive garland twines, by Victory won.

T. CONQUEROR, Deliverer, Friend of human-kind, The free, the happy Island welcomes thee!

Thee from thy wasted realms,

So signally revenged;

From Prussia's rescued plains; From Dresden's field of slaughter, where the ball

Which struck Moreau's dear life,
Was turn'd from thy more precious head aside ;

From Leipsic's dreadful day,
From Elbe, and Rhine, and Seine,
In thy career of conquest overpast:

From the proud Capital

Of haughty France subducd,
Then to her rightful line of kings restored;
'Thee, Alexander! thec, the Great, the Good,
The Glorious, the Beneficent, the Just,

Thee to her honourd shores
The mighty Island welcomes in laer joy.

Yct in the pomp of these frstivities,
One mournful thought will rise within thy mind-

The thought of Him who sits
In mental as in visual darkness lost.

How had his heart been fillid
With deepest gratitude to Heaven,

Had he belield this day!
O King of kings, and Lord of lords,
Thou who hast visited thus heavily

The anointed head,
Oh! for one little interval,

One precious bour,
Remove the blindness from his soul,
That he


know it all, And bless thee ere he die!

Thou also shouldst have seen

This harvest of thy hopes,
Thou whom the guilty act

Of a great spirit overthrown,
Sent to thinc early grave in evil hour!
Forget not him, my country, in thy joy!

But let thy grateful Land
With laurel garlands hang

The tomb of Perceval.
Virtuous, and firm, and wise,
The Ark of Britain in her darkest day

He stcer'd through stormy scas;
And long shall Britain hold bis memory dear,

And faithful History give
His meed of lasting praise.

Six-scorc full


have past, Since to these friendly shores

Thy famous ancestor,

Mustrious PETER came.
Wise traveller, De, who over Europe webt,
Marking the


of men; That so to his dear country, which then rose Among the nations in uncultured strength, He might bear back the stores

Of elder polity,

Its sciences and arts. Little did then the industrious German think,

The soft Italian, lapt in luxury,Helvetia's mountain sons, of freedom proud,

The patient Hollander,

Prosperous and warlike then,Little thouglit they that in that farthest North, From Peter's race should the Deliverer spring,

Destined by Alcaven to save

Art, Learning, Industry,
Beneath the bestial hoof of Godless might

All trampled in the dust.

As lide did the French, Vaunting the


of their Great Monarch then, (His scheines of wide ambition yet uncheck d),

As liule did they think,
That from rude Moscovy the stone should come,
To smise their huge Colossus, which bestrode

The subject Continent;
And from its feet of clay,

X. That earthly meed shall his compeers enjoy,

Britain's true counsellors, Who see with just success their counsels crown'd.

Breaking the iron limbs and front of brass, Strew the rejoicing Nations with the wreck.

Rous'd as thou wert with insult and with wrong,
Who should have blamed thee if, in high-wrought

Of vengeance and the sense of injured power,

Thou from the llames which laid
The City of thy Fathers in the dust,
Hadst bid a spark be brought,

And borne it in thy tent,
Religiously by night and day preserved,

Till ou Montmartre's height
When open to thine arıns,
Her last defence o'erthrowo,

The guilty city lay,
Thou hadst call'd every Russian of thine host
To liglat bis flambeau at the sacred flame,

And sent them through her streets,
And wrapt hier roofs and towers,

Temples and palaces,
Her wealth and boasted spoils,

In one wide flood of fire,
Making the hated Nation feel herself

The miseries she had spread,

Witness that dread retreat,
When God and nature smote

The Tyrant in his pride,

No wider ruin overtook
Sennaclierib's impious host;
Nor when the frantic Persian led
llis veterans to the Lybian sands;

Nor when united Greece
O'er the barbaric power that victory won

Which Europe yet may bless, A fouler Tyrant cursed the groaping earth,

A fearfuller destruction was dispensed.
Victorious armies followed on his flight;

On every side he met
The Cossacks' dreadful spear;

On every side lie saw
The injured nation rise,

Invincible in arms.
What myriads, victims of one wicked will,
Spent their last breath in curses on his head,

There where the soldiers' blood
Froze in the festering wound;

And nightly the cold moon
Saw sinking thousands in the snow lie down,
Whom there the morning found

Stiff, as their icy bed.

IV. Who should have blamed the Conqueror for that deed ?

Yea, rather would not one exulting cry

Have risen from Elbe to Nile,
How is the Oppressor fallen!

Moscow's re-rising walls
llad rung with glad acclaim;
Thanksgiving lıymns had filla

Tyrol's rejoicing vales;

How is the Oppressor fallen!
The Germans in their grass-grown marts had met

To celebrate the deed;
Holland's still waters had been starr'd
With festive lights, retlected there

From every house and hut,

From every town and tower;
The Iberian and the Lusian's injured realms,

From all their mountain-holds,

From all their ravaged fields,
From cities sack'd, from violated fanes,
And from the sanctuary of every heart,

Had pour'd that pious strain,
How is the Oppressor fallen!

Righteous art thou, O Lord!

Thou Zaragoza, from thy sepulchres
Hadst join'd the hymn; and from thine ashes thou,

Manresa, faithful still!
The blood that calls for vengeance in thy streets

Madrid, and Porto thine,
And that which from the beach
Of Tarragona sent its cry to Heaven,

Had rested then appcased.

Orphans had clapt their hands,
And widows would have wept exulting tears,
And childless parents with a bitter joy

Have blest the avenging deed.

Rear high the monument !
In Moscow and in proud Petropolis,

The brazen trophy build;

Cannon on cannon piled,
Till the huge column overtop your towers!

From France the Tyrant brought
These instruments of death
To work your overthrow!

He left them in his flight
To form the eternal record of liis owu.
Raise, Russia, with thy spoils,

A nobler monument

Than e'er imperial Rome
Built in her plenitude of pride and power!
Still Alexander on the banks of Seine,

Thy noblest monument
For future ages stands-

VII. Conqueror, Deliverer, Friend of human-kind,

The free, the happy Island welcomes thee!
Thee, Alexander ! thee, the Great, the Good,
The Glorious, the Beneficent, the Just!

Thee to lier honour'd shores
The mighty Island welcomes in her joy.





Y. But thou badst seen enough Of horrors,-amply badst avenged mankind.

1. Welcome to England, to the happy Isle, Brave Prince of gallant people! Welcome Thou,

In adverse as in prosperous fortunes tried!


Frederick, the well-beloved ! Greatest and best of that illustrious name,

Welcome to these free shores!

In glory art thou come, Thy victory perfect, thy revenge complete.

When for the public need

their marriage rings,
And mothers, when their sons

The Band of Vengeance join'd, Bade them return victorious from the field,

Or with their country fall.

Enough of sorrow hast thou known,
Enough of ev

hath thy realm endured,
Oppress'd but not debased,

When thine indignant soul,
Long suffering, bore its weight of heaviest woe.

But still, through that dark day
Unsullied Honour was thy counsellor;
And lope, that had its trust in Heaven,

And in the heart of man
Its strength, forsook thee not.
Thou hadst thy faithful people's love,
The sympathy of noble minds;

And wistfully, as one
Who through the weary night has long d for day

Looks eastward for the dawn,

So Germany to thee
Turn'd in her bondage her imploring eyes.

VI. Twice o'er the field of death The trembling scales of Fate hung equipoised : For France, obsequious to her Tyrant still,

Mighty for evil, put forth all her power; And still beneath his hateful banners driven,

Against their father-land Unwilling Germans bore unnatural arms. What though the Boaster made his temples ring With vain thanksgivings for each doubtful day,What though with false prelence of peace

His old insidious arts he tried, --
The spell was broken! Austria threw her sword

Into the inclining scale,
And Leipsic saw the wrongs

Of Germany avenged.

Oh, grief of griefs, that Germany,

The wise, the virtuous land,

The land of mighty minds, Should bend beneath the frothy Frenchman's yoke!

Oh, grief of griefs, to think

That she should groan in boods,
She who had blest all nations with her gifts !

There had the light of Reformation sen, The light of Knowledge there was burning clear.

Oh, grief, that her unhappy sons
Should toil and bleed and die,

To quench that sacred light,
The wretched agents of a tyrant's will!

How often hath their blood

In his accursed cause
Reek'd on the Spaniard's blade!

Their mangled bodies fed
The wolves and eagles of the Pyrenees;
Or stiffening in the snows of Moscovy,

Amid the ashes of the watch-fire lay,
Where dragging painfully their frozen limbs,
With life's last effort in the flames they fell.

VII. Ne'er till that awful time had Europe seen

Such multitudes in arms; Nor ever had the rising Sun beheld Such mighty interests of mankind at stake;

Nor o'er so wide a scene Of slaughter e'er had Night her curtain closed.

There, on the battle-field,
With one accord the grateful monarchs knelt,

And raised their voice to Heaven;
« The cause was thinc, O Lord!

O Lord! thy hand was here!»
What Conquerors e'er deserved

So proud, so pure a joy!
It was a moment when the exalted soul
Might almost wish to burst its mortal bounds,

Lest all of life to come
Vapid and void should seem
After that high-wrought hour.

Long, Frederick, didst thou bear
Her sorrows and thine own;

Seven miserable years
In patience didst thou feed thy heart with hope;

Till, when the arm of God Smote the blaspheming Tyrant in his pride,

And Alexander with the voice of power Raised the glad cry,

Deliverance for Mankind, First of the Germans, Prussia broke her chains.

VIII. But thou hadst yet more toils, More duties and more triumplas yet in store.

Elbe must not bound thine arms!

Nor on the banks of Rhine
Thine eagles check their flight;
When o'er that barrier stream,

Awakened Germany
Drove her invaders with such rout and wreck

As overtook the impious Gaul of old, Laden with plunder, and from Delphi driven.

Joy, joy for Germany,
For Europe, for the World,
When Prussia rose in arms!

Oh, what a spectacle
For present and for future times was there,

Long had insulting France
Boasted her arms invincible,

Her soil inviolate:
At length the hour of retribution comes !
Avenging nations on all sides move on;
In Gascony the flag of England flies,

Triumphant, as of yore, When sable Edward led his peerless host. Behold the Spaniard and the Portugal,

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The following Poem is Dedicated





« For what hast thou to do with wealth or power, THERE was a time when all my youthful thought Thou whom rich Nature at thy happy birth Was of the Muse; and of the Poet's fame,

Blest in her bounty with the largest dower How fair it flourisheth and fadeth not,

That Heaven indulges to a child of Earth, Alone enduring, when the Monarch's name

Then when the sacred Sisters for their own Is but an empty sound, the Conqueror's bust

Baptized thee in the springs of Helicon!
Moulders and is forgotten in the dust.

How best to build the imperishable lay

« They promised for thee that thou shouldst eschew Was then my daily care, my dream by night;

All low desires, all empty vanities; And early in adventurous essay

That thou shouldst, still to Truth and Freedom true, My spirit imped her wings for stronger flight;

The applause or censure of the herd despise; Fair regions Fancy opened to my view,

And in obedience to their impulse given, « There lies thy path, she said ; do thou that path pursue! | Walk in the light of Nature and of Heaven.

V. « Along the World's bigh-way let others crowd,

Jostling and moiling on through dust and heat;
Far from the vain, the vicious, and the proud,

Take thou content in solitude thy seat;
To noble ends devote thy sacred art,
And nurse for better worlds thine own immortal part!»

And when, as if the tales of old Romance

Were but to typify his splendid reign,
Princes and Potentates from conquered France,

And chiefs in arms approved, a peerless train,
Assembled at his Court,--my duteous lays
Preferred a welcome of enduring praise.

Praise to that Power who from my earliest days,

Thus taught me what to seek and what to shun;
Who turned my footsteps from the crowded ways,

Appointing me my belier course to run
In solitude, with studious leisure blest,
The mind unfettered, and the heart at rest.

And when that last and most momentous hour,

Beheld the re-risen cause of evil yield
To the Red Cross and England's arm of power,

I sung of Waterloo's unequalled field,
Paying the tribute of a soul embued
With deepest joy devout and awful gratitude.


XV. For therefore have my days been days of joy,

Such strains beseemed me well. But how shall 1 And all my paths are paths of pleasantness :

To hymeneal numbers lune the string, And still my heart, as when I was a boy,

Who to the trumpet's martial symphony, Doth never know an ebb of cheerfulness;

And to the mountain gales am wont to sing? Time, which matures the intellectual part,

How may these unaccustomed accents suit
Hath tinged my hairs with grey, but left untouched my To the sweet dulcimer and courtly lute?

Sometimes I soar where Fancy guides the rein, Fitter for me the lofty strain severe,
Beyond this visible diurnal sphere;

That calls for vengeance for mankind opprest; But most with long and self-approving pain,

Filter the songs that youth may love to hear, Patient pursue the historian's task severe;

Which warm and elevate the throbbing breast; Thus in the ages which are past I live,

Filter for me with meed of solemn verse, And those which are lo come my sure reward will give. In reverence to adorn the hero's hearse.


XVII. Yea in this now, while Malice frets ber hour,

But then my Master dear arose to mind, Is forctaste given me of that meed divine;

He on whose


yet I was a boy, Here undisturbed in this sequestered bower,

My spirit fed, attracted to its kind, The friendship of the good and wise is mine;

And still insatiate of the growing joy;-And that green wreath which decks the Bard when dead, He on whose tomb these eyes were wont to dwell, That laureate garland crowns my living head.

With inward yearnings which I may not tell;

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