When Britain round her spear 8. Yet in the pomp of these festivities In mental as in visual darkness lost. O King of kings, and Lord of lords, Oh for one little interval, Remove the blindness from his soul, That he may know it all, And bless thee ere he die. 9. Thou also should'st have seen Of a proud spirit overthrown, With laurel garlands hang Virtuous, and firm, and wise, The Ark of Britain in her darkest day He steer'd through stormy seas; And long shall Britain hold his memory dear, And faithful History give His meed of lasting praise. 10. That earthly meed shall his compeers enjoy, Who see with just success their counsels crown'd. When Britain round her spear The olive-garland twines, by Victory won. ODE TO HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, ALEXANDER THE FIRST, EMPEROR OF ALL THE RUSSIAS. 1. CONQUEROR, Deliverer, Friend of human-kind! From Prussia's rescued plains; From Dresden's field of slaughter, where the ball, Of haughty France subdued, Then to her rightful line of Kings restored; The mighty Island welcomes in her joy. Thy famous ancestor, Wise traveller he, who over Europe went, That so to his dear country, which then rose 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 thought they that in that farthest North, From PETER's race should the Deliverer spring, Destined by Heaven to save Art, Learning, Industry, Beneath the bestial hoof of godless Might Vaunting the All trampled in the dust. As little did the French, power of their Great Monarch then, (His schemes of wide ambition yet uncheck'd,) As little did they think, That from rude Moscovy the stone should come, To smite their huge Colossus, which bestrode The subject Continent; And from its feet of clay, Breaking the iron limbs and front of brass, 3. Roused 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, Thou from the flames which laid The City of thy Fathers in the dust, Religiously by night and day preserved, Her last defence o'erthrown, Thou hadst call'd every Russian of thine host Her wealth and boasted spoils, 4. Who should have blamed the Conqueror for that deed? Have risen from Elbe to Nile, |