Yet in the pomp of these festivities, One mournful thought will rise within thy mind-- In mental as in visual darkness lost. O King of kings, and Lord of lords, Oh! for one little interval, One precious hour, Remove the blindness from his soul, That he may know it all, IX. Thou also shouldst have seen But let thy grateful hand And long shall Britain hold his memory dear, X. That earthly meed shall his compeers enjoy, Britain's true counsellors, Who see with just success their counsels crown'd. They have their triumph now, to him denied. The olive garland twines, by Victory won. ODE TO HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY ALEXANDER THE FIRST, EMPEROR OF ALL THE RUSSIAS. I. 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 Was turn'd from thy more precious head aside; Of haughty France subdued, Then to her rightful line of Kings restored; Breaking the iron limbs and front of brass, Strew the rejoicing Nations with the wreck. III. Rous'd as thou wert with insult and with wrong, Who should have blamed thee if, in high-wrought mood Of vengeance and the sense of injured power, The City of thy Fathers in the dust, And borne it in thy tent, Religiously by night and day preserved, Thou hadst call'd every Russian of thine host And sent them through her streets, Her wealth and boasted spoils, Making the hated Nation feel herself IV. Who should have blamed the Conqueror for that deed? Have risen from Elbe to Nile, The Germans in their grass-grown marts had met Holland's still waters had been starr'd From every town and tower; The Iberian and the Lusian's injured realms, From cities sack'd, from violated fanes, Hadst join'd the hymn; and from thine ashes thou, The blood that calls for vengeance in thy streets And that which from the beach Of Tarragona sent its cry to Heaven, And widows would have wept exulting tears, Witness that dread retreat, Nor when the frantic Persian led O'er the barbaric power that victory won A fouler Tyrant cursed the groaning earth,A fearfuller destruction was dispensed. Victorious armies followed on his flight; On every side he met The Cossacks' dreadful spear; On every side he saw What myriads, victims of one wicked will, And nightly the cold moon Saw sinking thousands in the snow lie down, 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. II. Enough of sorrow hast thou known, Long suffering, bore its weight of heaviest woe. Who through the weary night has long'd for day Turn'd in her bondage her imploring eyes. III. 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 bonds, She who had blest all nations with her gifts! The wretched agents of a tyrant's will! In his accursed cause The wolves and eagles of the Pyrenees; IV. 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. V. 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, When for the public need Wives gave 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. 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 pretence 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. 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 thine, O Lord! O Lord! thy hand was here!»> 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 VIII. But thou hadst yet more toils, More duties and more triumphs yet in store. Nor on the banks of Rhine Drove her invaders with such rout and wreck IX. Long had insulting France At length the hour of retribution comes! TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE WITH PROFOUND RESPECT BY, HER ROYAL HIGHNESS'S MOST DUTIFUL ROBERT SOUTHEY. PROEM. THERE was a time when all my youthful thought Alone enduring, when the Monarch's name II. How best to build the imperishable lay Was then my daily care, my dream by night; And early in adventurous essay My spirit imped her wings for stronger flight; Fair regions Fancy opened to my view, III. « For what hast thou to do with wealth or power, Thou whom rich Nature at thy happy birth Blest in her bounty with the largest dower That Heaven indulges to a child of Earth,— Then when the sacred Sisters for their own Baptized thee in the springs of Helicon! IV. <«< They promised for thee that thou shouldst eschew << 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 high-way let others crowd, And nurse for better worlds thine own immortal part!>> VI. Praise to that Power who from my earliest days, Thus taught me what to seek and what to shun; In solitude, with studious leisure blest, VII. For therefore have my days been days of joy, Doth never know an ebb of cheerfulness; Time, which matures the intellectual part, XIII. And when, as if the tales of old Romance XIV. And when that last and most momentous hour, To the Red Cross and England's arm of power, XV. Such strains beseemed me well. But how shall 1 Hath tinged my hairs with grey, but left untouched my To the sweet dulcimer and courtly lute? |