When breaking from the witch's cell, When Sabra at the stake was bound, Engaged that fiendish beast in fight, 4. Such legends monks and minstrels feign'd, Shrines to the Saint were rear'd, and temples rose. Full soon his sainted name hath won And when the Catalans pursued The Turk and treacherous Greek were dearly taught That all-appalling shout, For them with rage and ruin fraught 'Twas in this heavenly Guardian's trusted strength, That Malta's old heroic knights defied The Ottoman in all his power and pride. Repulsed from her immortal walls at length The baffled Misbeliever turn'd with shame; And when in after years in dreams he heard That all-too-well remembered battle-word, Woke starting at St. George's dreadful name, And felt cold sweats of fear suffuse his trembling frame. But thou, O England! to that sainted name Hast given its proudest praise, its loftiest fame. Witness the field of Cressy, on that day, When vollying thunders roll'd unheard on high, For in that memorable fray, Broken, confused, and scatter'd in dismay, Bear witness Poictiers! where again the foe And many a hopeful heart in onset brave; Bear witness Agincourt, where once again And France, doom'd ever to defeat St. George, St. George for England! St. George and Victory! 6. That cry in many a field of Fame Troubled too oft her course of fortune ran, Her happiest age began. With touch of modulated string, And soft or swelling breath, and sonorous beat, The happy name repeat, While heart and voice their joyous tribute bring And speak the People's love for George their King. Keswick, 1820. ODE WRITTEN AFTER THE KING'S VISIT TO IRELAND. 1. How long, O Ireland, from thy guilty ground Arraign the inefficient arm of Power? Leading his banded ruffians through the land, How long shall Night Bring to thy harmless dwellers, in the stead Horrible dreams, and worse realities? 2. In vain art thou by liberal Nature's dower The Seasons in their course Shed o'er thy hills and vales The bounties of a genial clime, in vain; Well-tempered liberty, (Its last and largest boon to social man,) Wild as their savage ancestors, (A sad inheritance!) 3. Green Island of the West! Rung far and wide of late, And grateful Dublin first beheld her King, First of thy Sovereigns he Who visited thy shores in peace and joy. 4. Oh what a joy was there! Of that tumultuous sound of glad acclaim, From every tower the merry bells rung Peal hurrying upon peal, Till with the still reverberating din round, The walls and solid pavement seem'd to shake, And every bosom with the tremulous air Inhaled a dizzy joy. |