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Witness that dread retreat, When God and nature smote The Tyrant in his pride!

No wider ruin overtook
Sennacherib's impious host;
Nor when the frantic Persian led
His veterans to the Lybian sands;

Nor when united Greece

O'er the barbaric power that victory won Which Europe yet may bless.

A fouler Tyrant cursed the groaning earth,
A fearfuler destruction was dispensed.
Victorious armies followed on his flight;
On every side he met

The Cossack's dreadful spear;
On every side he saw

The injured nation rise,
Invincible in arms.

What myriads, victims of one wicked will,
Spent their last breath in curses on his head!
There, where the soldiers' blood
Froze in the festering wound;
And nightly the cold moon

Saw sinking thousands in the snow lie down,
Whom there the morning found
Stiff as their icy bed.

6.

Rear high the monument !

In Moscow and in proud Petropolis,

The brazen trophy build;
Cannon on cannon piled,

Till the huge column overtop your towers!
From France the Tyrant brought

These instruments of death

To work your overthrow;

He left them in his flight

To form the eternal record of his own.

Raise, Russia, with thy spoils,

A nobler monument

Than e'er imperial Rome

Built in her plenitude of pride and power!
Still, Alexander! on the banks of Seine,

Thy noblest monument
For future ages stands -
PARIS SUBDUED AND SPARED.

7.

Conqueror, Deliverer, Friend of human-kind, The free, the happy Island welcomes thee! Thee, Alexander! thee, the Great, the Good, The Glorious, the Beneficent, the Just! Thee to her honor'd shores

The mighty Island welcomes in her joy.

ODE

TO HIS MAJESTY, FREDERICK WILLIAM THE FOURTH, KING OF PRUSSIA.

1.

WELCOME to England, to the happy Isle, Brave Prince of gallant people! Welcome Thou,

In adverse as in prosperous fortunes tried, 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

2.

Enough of sorrow hast thou known,
Enough of evil hath thy realm endured,
Oppress'd, but not debased,
When thine indignant soul,
Long suffering, bore its weight of heaviest woe.
But still, through that dark day,
Unsullied honor was thy counsellor;
And Hope, that had its trust in Heaven,
And in the heart of man

Its strength, forsook thee not.
Thou hadst thy faithful people's love,
The sympathy of noble minds;
And wistfully, as one

Who through the weary night has long'd for day,
Looks eastward for the dawn,

So Germany to thee

Turn'd in her bondage her imploring eyes.

3.

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! There had the light of Reformation risen, The light of Knowledge there was burning clear, Oh, grief, that her unhappy sons Should toil, and bleed, and die,

To quench that sacred light,

The wretched agents of a tyrant's will!
How often hath their blood
In his accursed cause
Reek'd on the Spaniard's blade!

Their mangled bodies fed

The wolves and eagles of the Pyrenees; Or stiffening in the snows of Moscovy, Amid the ashes of the watch-fire lay, Where dragging painfully their frozen limbs, With life's last effort, in the flames they fell.

4.

Long, Frederick, did'st 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.

5.

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.

6.

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.

7.

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!' What Conquerors e'er deserved

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 After that high-wrought hour.

8.

But thou hadst yet more toils,

More duties and more triumphs yet in store.
Elbe must not bound thine arms,

Nor on the banks of Rhine
Thine eagles check their flight;
When o'er that barrier stream
Awakened Germany

Drove her invaders with such rout and wreck
As overtook the impious Gaul of old,
Laden with plunder, and from Delphi driven.

9.

Long had insulting France Boasted her arms invincible, Her soil inviolate;

-

At length the hour of retribution comes!
Avenging nations on all sides move on;
In Gascony the flag of England flies,
Triumphant, as of yore,

When sable Edward led his peerless host.
Behold the Spaniard and the Portugal,
For cities burnt, for violated fanes,
For murders, massacres,

All monstrous, all unutterable crimes, Demanding vengeance with victorious cries, Pour from the Pyrenees.

The Russian comes, his eye on Paris fix'd, The flames of Moscow present to his heart; The Austrian to efface

Ulm, Austerlitz, and Wagram's later shame; Rejoicing Germany,

With all her nations, swells the avenging train, And in the field and in the triumph first, Thy banner, Frederick, floats.

10.

Six weeks in daily strife

The veteran Blucher bore the brunt of war.
Glorious old man,

The last and greatest of his master's school,
Long may he live to hear
The people bless his name!
Late be it ere the wreath
That crowns his silver hair
Adorn his monument!
Glorious old man,

How oft hath he discomfited
The boasted chiefs of France,

And foil'd her vaunting Tyrant's desperate rage!
Glorious old man,

Who, from Silesia's fields,
O'er Elbe, and Rhine, and Seine,
From victory to victory marching on,
Made his heroic way; till at the gates
Of Paris, open'd by his arms, he saw
His King triumphant stand.

11.

Bear back the sword of Frederick now! The sword which France amid her spoils display'd, Proud trophy of a day ignobly won. With laurels wreath the sword;

Bear it in triumph back,

Thus gloriously regain'd;

And when thou lay'st it in its honor'd place,
O Frederick, well-beloved,

Greatest and best of that illustrious name,
Lay by its side thine own,
A holier relic there!

12.

Frederick, the well-beloved!
Welcome to these free shores;

To England welcome, to the happy Isle!
In glory art thou come,

Thy victory perfect, thy revenge complete.

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8.

No cause for sorrow then, but thankfulness;
Life's business well performed,
When weary age full willingly
Resigns itself to sleep,

In sure and certain hope!

9.

Oh, end to be desired, whene'er, as now,
Good works have gone before,
The seasonable fruit of Faith;
And good Report and good
Example have survived.

10.

Her left hand knew not of the ample alms
Which her right hand had done;
And, therefore, in the awful hour,
The promises were hers
To secret bounty made.

11.

With more than royal honors to the tomb Her bier is borne; with more

Than Pomp can claim, or Power bestow; With blessings and with prayers From many a grateful heart.

12.

Long, long then shall Queen Charlotte's name be

dear;

And future Queens to her As to their best exemplar look;

Who imitates her best May best deserve our love.

Keswick, 1818.

ODE

FOR ST. GEORGE'S DAY.

1.

WILD were the tales which fabling monks of old
Devised to swell their hero's holy fame,
When in the noble army they enroll'd
St. George's doubtful name.
Of arrows and of spears they told,
Which fell rebated from his mortal mould;
And how the burning, fiery furnace blast
To him came tempered like a summer breeze,
When at the hour of evening it hath past
O'er gurgling tanks, and groves of lemon-trees:
And how the reverential flame,
Condensing like a garb of honor, play'd
In gorgeous folds around his glorious frame;
And how the Heathen, in their frantic strife,
With water then alike in vain essay'd
His inextinguishable life.

2.

What marvel if the Christian Knight Thus for his dear Redeemer's sake Defied the purpled Pagan's might?

Such boldness well might he partake,

For he, beside the Libyan lake
Silene, with the Infernal King

Had coped in actual fight.
The old Dragon on terrific wing
Assail'd him there with Stygian string,
And arrowy tongue, and potent breath,
Exhaling pestilence and death.
Dauntless in faith the Champion stood,
Opposed against the rage of Hell
The Red-Cross shield, and wielding well
His sword, the strife pursued:
First with a wide and rending wound
Brought the maim'd monster to the ground,
Then, pressing with victorious heel
Upon his scaly neck subdued,
Plunged and replunged the searching steel;
Till from the shameful overthrow,
Howling, the incarnate Demon fled,

And left that form untenanted,
And hid in Hell his humbled head,
Still trembling in the realm below,
At thought of that tremendous foe.

3.

Such tales monastic fablers taught; Their kindred strain the minstrels caught. A web of finer texture they Wrought in the rich, romantic lay; Of magic caves and woods they sung, Where Kalyb nursed the boy divine, And how those woods and caverns rung With cries from many a demon tongue, 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 volleying 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 reponse 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 huzzas 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 round,
Peal hurrying upon peal,

Till with the still reverberating din The walls and solid pavement seem'd to shake, And every bosom with the tremulous air Inhaled a dizzy joy.

5.

Age, that came forth to gaze,

That memorable day

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