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One man in this most awful point of time Draws on thy danger, as he caused thy crime. Wait not too long the event, For now whole Europe comes against thee bent! His wiles and their own strength the nations know : Wise from past wrongs, on future peace intent, The people and the princes with one mind From all parts move against the general foe: One act of justice, one atoning blow, One execrable head laid low, Even yet, O France! averts thy punishment. Open thine eyes! too long hast thou been blind! Take vengeance for thysclf, and for mankind!
Oh if thou lovest thine ancient fame, Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame! By the bones which bleach on Jaffa's beach; ity the blood which on Domingo's shore Hath clog;d the carrion-birds with gore; By the flesh which gorged the wolves of Spain, Or stiffend on the snowy plain Of frozen Moscovy; By the bodies which lie all open to the sky, Tracking from Elbe to Rhine the Tyrant's flight; By the widow's and the orphan's cry; By the childless parent's misery; By the lives which he hath siled; By the ruin he hath spread; By the prayers which rise for curses on his head; Redeem, O France' thine ancient fame! Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame! Open thine eyes!—too long hast thou been blind! Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind?
By those horrors which the night Witness d when the torches light To the assembled murderers show d Where the blood of Condé slow'd; By thy murder'd Pichegru's fame; By murder'd Wright, -an English name; By murder'd Palm's atrocious doom; By murder'd Hofer's martyrdom; Oh by the virtuous blood thus vilely spilt, The Villain's own peculiar private guilt, Open thine eyes! too long hast thou been blind! Take vengeance for thysclf and for mankind! Pluck from the Upstart's head thy sullied crown! Down with the Tyrant, with the Murderer down!
ODE whitten IN DEcEMBER, 1814.
When shall the Island Queen of Ocean lay
Not long may this unnatural strife chdure Beyond the Atlantic deep; Not long may men, with vain ambition drunk And insolent in wrong, Afflict with their misrule the indignant land Where Washington hath left Ilis awful memory
A light for after times! Wile instruments of fallen Tyranny In their own annals by their countrymen For lasting shame shall they be written down! Soon may the better Genius there prevail! Then will the Island Queen of Ocean lay The thunderbolt aside, And, twining olives with her laurel crown, Rest in the Bower of Peace.
But not in ignominious ease Within the Bower of Peace supine The Ocean Queen shall rest! !cr other toils await, A holier warfare, nobler victories; And amarantline wreaths, Which, when the laurel crown grows sere, Will live for ever green.
Hear me, O England' rightly may I claim
Nobly hast thou stood up Against the fouiest Tyranny that ere In elder or in later times, Hath outraged humankind! O glorious England, thou has borne thyself Religiously and bravely in that strife! And happier victory hath blest thine arms Than in the days of yore, Thine own Plantagenets achieved, Or Marlborough, wise in council as in field, Or Wolfe, heroic name! Now gird thyself for other war! Look round thee, and behold what ills Remediable and yet unremedied Aftlict man's wretched race! Put on the panoply of faith ! Bestir thyself against thine inward foes, Ignorance and Want, with all their brood Of miscries aud of crimes.
Powerful thou art: imperial Rome, When in the Augustan age she closed The temple of the two-faced God, Could boast no power like thine. Less opulent was Spain When Mexico her sumless riches sent To that proud monarchy; And Hayti's ransack'd caverns gave their gold; And from Potosi's recent veins The unabating stream of treasure flow d. And blest art thou, above all nations blest,
For thou art Freedom's own beloved Isle! The light of Science shines Conspicuous like a beacon on thy shores: Thy martyrs purchased at the stake Faith uncorrupt for thine inheritance; And by thine hearths Domestic Purity, Safe from the infection of a tainted age, Hath kept her sanctuaries. Yet, O dear England! powerful as thou art, And rich and wise and blest, Yet would I see thee, O my Mother-land, Mightier and wealthier, wiser, happier still!
For still doth Ignorance Maintain large empire here, Dark and unblest amid surrounding lights; Even as within this favour’d spot, Earth's wonder and her pride, The traveller on his way Beholds with weary eye Bleak moorland, noxious fen, and lonely heath, In drear extension spread. Oh grief, that spirits of celestial seed, Whom ever-teeming Nature hath brought forth, With all the human faculties divine Of sense and soul endued,— Disherited of knowledge and of bliss, The creatures of brute life, Should grope in darkness lost!
Must this reproach endure? Honour and praise to him The universal friend, The general benefactor of mankind; He who from Coromandel's shores His perfected discovery brought; He by whose generous toils This foul reproach ere long shall be effaced, This root of evil be eradicate! Yea, generations yet unborn Shall owe their weal to him, And future nations bless The honour'd name of Bell.
Now may that blessed edifice Of public good be rear'd which holy Edward trac'd, The spotless Tudor, he whom Death Too early summond to his heavenly throne! For Brunswick's line was this great work reserved, For Brunswick's fated line; They who from papal darkness, and the thrall Of that worst bondage which doth hold The immortal spirit chain'd, Saved us in happy hour. Fitly for them was this great work reserved; So, Britain, shall thine aged monarch's wish Receive its due accomplishment, That wish which with the good, (Had he no other praise,) Through all succeeding times would rank his name, That all within his realms Might learn the Book, which all Who rightly learn, shall live!
From public fountains the perennial stream Of public weal must flow.
O England, wheresoe'er thy churches stand, There on that sacred ground Where the rich harvest of mortality Is laid, as in a garner, treasured up, There plant the Tree of Knowledge! Water it With thy perpetual bounty! It shall spread Its branches o'er the venerable pile, Shield it against the storm, And bring forth fruits of life.
Train up thy children, England in the ways Of righteousness, and feed them with the bread Of wholesome doctrine. Where hast thou thy mines But in their industry? Thy bulwarks where but in their breasts? Thy might but in their arms? Shall not their numbers therefore be thy wealth, Thy strength, thy power, thy safety, and thy pride? Oh grief then, grief and shame, If in this flourishing land There should be dwellings where the new-born babe Doth bring unto its parent's soul no joy! Where squalid Poverty Receives it at its birth, And on her wither'd knees Gives it the scanty food of discontent!
Queen of the Seas, enlarge thyself! Redundant as thou art of life and power, Be thou the hive of nations, And send thy swarms abroad! Send them like Greece of old, With arts and science to enrich The uncultivated earth; But with more precious gifts than Greece or Tyre, Or elder Egypt, to the world bequeathed; Just laws, find rightful polity, And, crowning all, the dearest boon of Heaven, Its word and will reveal’d.
Queen of the Seas enlarge thyself, Send thou thy swarms abroad For in the years to come, Though centuries or milleniums intervene, Where'er thy progeny, Thy language and thy spirit shall be found,If on Ontario's shores, Or late explored Missouri's pastures wide, Or in that Austral world long sought, The many-isled Pacific,+yea where waves, Now breaking over coral reefs, affright The venturous mariner, When islands shall have grown, and cities risen In cocoa groves embower'd;— Where'er thy language lives, by whatsoever name the land be calld, That land is English still. Thrones fall, and Dynasties are chang'd; Empires decay and sink Beneath their own unwieldy weight; Dominion passeth like a cloud away: The imperishable mind Survives all meaner things.
Train up thy children, England, in the ways Of righteousness, and feed them with the bread
[The following comprise the MINok Poews which were expunged by the author in the last edition, with some which have subsequently appeared in the Annuals, and other miscellaneous collections; and also a few which have never before been published.]
Swclls not the soul with ardour at the view?
Ye, noble Martyrs, then she feels for you,
And shall Oppression vainly think by Fear
And glorying in your fall, exult it here,
Thinks the proud tyrant, by the pliant law,
For like that general Orb's eternal flame
Though clouded by Misfortune, still the same,
Not till eternal Chaos shall that light
Not till the Sun himself be quenched in night,
Go then—secure in steady Virtue—go,
Nor heed the felon's name—the felon's woe,
Though cankering cares corrode the sinking frame,
Though Death himself should quench the vital flame,
So shall your great examples fire each soul,
Till MAN shall rise above the unjust control,
Ages unborn shall glory in your shame,
And teach their lisping infants to exclaim—
The sirth day of the first decade of the fourth month of the third year of the French Hepublic, oxx and is divisinle.
Ix days of yore, when Superstition's sway
MUSINGS ON THE WIG OF A SCARE-CRow.
AlAs for this world's changes and the lot
I stood beneath the castle wall,
That, fragrant in its autumn bloom,
The plant insinuates its roots
And yet with close and treacherous arms
I mus’d upon its ancient strength, Its hastening dissolution,
And thought upon the ivy friends Who prop our Constitution.
TO THE RAINBOW.
Loveliest of the meteor-train,
Like Cheerfulness, thou art wont to gaze
SEARCHER of Wisdom' in the earth's dark womb
That gooseberry-bush attracts my wandering eyes,
What though no sculptured monument proclaim
Hard by the road, where on that little mound
SONNET. to Artiste.
ArisTel soon to sojourn with the crowd,
BE his to court the Muse, whose humble breast The glow of genius never could inspire;
Who only names to praise, who only speaks to please.
Who never, by the future song possest,
LET ancient stories sound the painter's art,
I praise thee not, Aniste, that thine eye
SONNET. DUNNINGto.N CASTLE.
Thou ruin’d relique of the ancient pile, Reard by that hoary bard, whose tuneful lyre First breath'd the voice of inusic on our isle; Where, warn'd in life's calm evening to retire, Old Chaucer slowly sunk at last to night; Still shall his forceful line, his varied strain, A firmer, nobler monument remain, When the high grass waves o'er thy lonely site. And yet the cankering tooth of envious age Has sapp'd the fabric of his lofty rhyme; Though genius still shall ponder o'er the page, And piercing through the shadowy mist of time, The festive Bard of Edward's court recall, As fancy paints the pomp that once adorn'd thy wall.