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When breaking from the witch's cell,
He bound her in her own strong spell.
And of the bowers of Ormandine
Where thrall'd by art, St. David lay
Sleeping inglorious years away,
Till our St. George, with happier arm
Released him, and dissolved the charm.,
But most the minstrels loved to tell
Of that portentous day,

When Sabra at the stake was bound,
Her brow with sweetest garlands crown'd
The Egyptian Dragon's prey;
And how for her the English Knight,
Invincible at such a sight,

Engaged that fiendish beast in fight,
And o'er the monster, triple-scaled,
The good sword Askalon prevail'd.

4.

Such legends monks and minstrels feign'd,
And easily the wondrous tales obtain❜d,
In those dark days, belief;

Shrines to the Saint were rear'd, and temples rose.
And states and kingdoms for their patron chose
The Cappadocian Chief.

Full soon his sainted name hath won
In fields of war a wide renown;
Spain saw the Moors confounded fly,
Before the well known slaughter cry,
St. George for Aragon!

And when the Catalans pursued
Their vengeful way with fire and blood,

The Turk and treacherous Greek were dearly taught

That all-appalling shout,

For them with rage and ruin fraught
In many a dolorous rout.

'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.
5.

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,
France had ears only for the Conqueror's cry,
St. George, St. George for England! St. George
and Victory!

Bear witness Poictiers! where again the foe
From that same hand received his overthrow.'
In vain essay'd, Mont Joye St. Denis rang
From many a boastful tongue,

And many a hopeful heart in onset brave;
Their courage in the shock of battle quail'd
His dread response, when sable Edward gave,
And England and St. George again prevail'd.

Bear witness Agincourt, where once again
The bannered lilies on the ensanguin'd plain
Were trampled by the fierce pursuers' feet;

And France, doom'd ever to defeat
Against that foe, beheld her myriads fly
Before the withering cry,

St. George, St. George for England! St. George and Victory!

6.

That cry in many a field of Fame
Through glorious ages held its high renown;
Nor less hath Britain proved the sacred name
Auspicious to her crown.

Troubled too oft her course of fortune ran,
Till when the Georges came

Her happiest age began.
Beneath their just and liberal sway,
Old feuds and factions died away;
One feeling through her realms was known,
One interest of the Nation and the Throne.
Ring, then, ye bells upon St. George's Day,
From every tower in glad accordance ring ;
And let all instruments full, strong, or sweet,

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
Shall innocent blood

Arraign the inefficient arm of Power?
How long shall Murder there,

Leading his banded ruffians through the land,
Range unrepress'd?

How long shall Night

Bring to thy harmless dwellers, in the stead
Of natural rest, the feverish sleep of fear,
Midnight alarms,

Horrible dreams, and worse realities?
How long shall darkness cover, and the eye
Of Morning open upon deeds of death?

2.

In vain art thou by liberal Nature's dower
Exuberantly blest;

The Seasons in their course

Shed o'er thy hills and vales

The bounties of a genial clime, in vain;
Heaven hath in vain bestowed

Well-tempered liberty,

(Its last and largest boon to social man,)
If the brute Multitude from age to age,

Wild as their savage ancestors,
Go irreclaim'd the while,
From sire to son transmitting still
In undisturb'd descent,

(A sad inheritance!)
Their errors, and their crimes.

3.

Green Island of the West!
Thy Sister Kingdom fear'd not this
When thine exultant shores

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!
In loud huzzahs prolong'd,
Surge after surge the tide
Of popular welcome rose;
And in the intervals alone

Of that tumultuous sound of glad acclaim,
Could the deep cannon's voice
Of duteous gratulation, though it spake
In thunder, reach the ear.

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.

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