Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and Waters roll, Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity, Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree Spake laws to them, and said that by the Soul Only the Nations shall be great and free.*
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart; Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea: Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGA. TION OF SWITZERLAND.
['wo Voices are there; one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice: In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice, They were thy chosen Music, Liberty! There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee
Thou fought'st against Him; but hast vainly striven: Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left; For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be That mountain Floods should thunder as before, And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!
GREAT Men have been among us; hands that penned And tongues that uttered wisdom, better none: The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington, Young Vane, and others who called Milton Friend. These Moralists could act and comprehend: They knew how genuine glory was put on; Taught us how rightfully a nation shone
In splendour: what strength was, that would not bend But in magnanimous meekness. France, 't is strange, Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then. Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change! No single Volume paramount, no code, No master spirit, no determined road; But equally a want of Books and Men!
WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802.
O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our Life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom! We must run glittering like a Brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: The wealthiest man among us is the best: No grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore: Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.†
It is not to be thought of that the Flood Of British freedom, which to the open Sea Of the world's praise from dark antiquity Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters unwithstood," Roused though it be full often to a mood Which spurns the check of salutary bands, That this most famous Stream in Bogs and Sands Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our Halls is hung Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held. In every thing we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men; And I by my affection was beguiled: What wonder if a Poet now and then, Among the many movements of his mind, Felt for thee as a Lover or a Child!
ONE might believe that natural miseries Had blasted France and made of it a land Unfit for men; and that in one great Band Her sons were bursting forth to dwell at ease. But 't is a chosen soil, where sun and breeze Shed gentle favours; rural works are there; And ordinary business without care!
Spot rich in all things that can soothe and please! How piteous then that there should be such dearth Of knowledge; that whole myriads should unite To work against themselves such fell despite: Should come in phrensy and in drunken mirth, Impatient to put out the only light
Of Liberty that yet remains on Earth!
ENGLAND! the time is come when thou should'st wean
Thy heart from its emasculating food;
The truth should now be better understood;
Old things have been unsettled; we have seen
Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been
But for thy trespasses; and, at this day,
If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa,
Aught good were destined, Thou would'st step between. England! all nations in this charge agree,
But worse, more ignorant in love and hate, Far, far more abject is thine Enemy: Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the freight Of thy offences be a heavy weight:
Oh grief, that Earth's best hopes rest all with thee!
THERE is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wall, Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall:
'Tis his who walks about in the open air, One of a Nation who, henceforth, must wear Their fetters in their Souls. For who could be, Who, even the best, in such condition, free From self-reproach, reproach which he must share With human nature? Never be it ours To see the sun how brightly it will shine, And know that noble Feelings, manly Powers, Instead of gathering strength, must droop and pine, And earth with all her pleasant fruits and flowers Fade, and participate in Man's decline.
WHEN, looking on the present state of things,
I see one Man, of Men the meanest too! Raised up to sway the world, to do, undo, With mighty Nations for his Underlings, The great events with which old story rings Seem vain and hollow; I find nothing great: Nothing is left which I can venerate; So that almost a doubt within me springs Of Providence, such emptiness at length Seems at the heart of all things. But, great God! I measure back the steps which I have trod; And tremble, seeing whence proceeds the strength Of such poor Instruments, with thoughts sublime I tremble at the sorrow of the time.
THESE times touch moneyed Worldlings with dismay: Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air With words of apprehension and despair: While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray, Men unto whom sufficient for the day And minds not stinted or untilled are given, Sound, healthy Children of the God of Heaven, Are cheerful as the rising Sun in May. What do we gather hence but firmer faith That every gift of noble origin
Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath; That virtue and the faculties within Are vital, and that riches are akin
To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death?
TO THE MEN OF KENT.- OCTOBER, 180 VANGUARD of Liberty, ye Men of Kent, Ye Children of a soil that doth advance Her haughty brow against the coast of France, Now is the time to prove your hardiment! To France be words of invitation sent! They from their Fields can see the countenance Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance, And hear you shouting forth your brave intent. Left single, in bold parley, Ye, of yore, Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath; Confirmed the charters that were yours before ;No parleying now! In Britain is one breath; We all are with you now from Shore to Shore: Ye Men of Kent, 't is Victory or Death!
ANTICIPATION.-OCTOBER, 1803.
Snour, for a mighty Victory is won!
On British ground the Invaders are laid low;
The breath of Heaven has drifted them like snow,
And left them lying in the silent sun, Never to rise again!— the work is done! Come forth, ye Old Men, now in peaceful show And greet your Sons! drums beat and trumpets blow! Make merry, Wives! ye little Children, stun Your Grandames' ears with pleasure of your noise: Clap, Infants, clap your hands! Divine must be That triumph, when the very worst, the pain, And even the prospect of our Brethren slain, Hath something in it which the heart enjoys: - In glory will they sleep and endless sanctity.
ANOTHER year!-another deadly blow! Another mighty empire overthrown! And We are left, or shall be left, alone; The last that dare to struggle with the Foe. "Tis well! from this day forward we shall know That in ourselves our safety must be sought; That by our own right hand it must be wrought, That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low. O Dastard whom such foretaste doth not cheer! We shall exult, if They who rule the land Be Men who hold its many blessings dear, Wise, upright, valiant; not a servile Band, Who are to judge of danger which they fear, And honour which they do not understand.
WHO rises on the banks of Seine,
And binds her temples with the civic wreath? What joy to read the promise of her mien! How sweet to rest her wide-spread wings beneath! But they are ever playing, And twinkling in the light, And, if a breeze be straying, That breeze she will invite;
And stands on tiptoe, conscious she is fair, And calls a look of love into her face,
And spreads her arms as if the general air
Alone could satisfy her wide embrace.
But the live scales of a portentous nature; That, having wrought its way from birth to birth, Stalks round-abhorred by Heaven, a terror to the
I marked the breathings of her dragon crest; My Soul, a sorrowful Interpreter,
In many a midnight vision bowed Before the ominous aspect of her spear; Whether the mighty Beam in scorn upheld, Threatened her foes, or pompously at rest, Seemed to bisect her orbed shield,
As stretches a blue bar of solid cloud Across the setting Sun, and through the fiery West.
So did she daunt the Earth, and God defy! And, wheresoe'er she spread her sovereignty, Pollution tainted all that was most pure. -Have we not known and live we not to tell That Justice seemed to hear her final knell? Faith buried deeper in her own deep breast Her stores, and sighed to find them insecure! And Hope was maddened by the drops that fell From shades, her chosen place of short-lived rest: Shame followed shame and woc supplanted woe Is this the only change that time can show? How long shall vengeance sleep? Ye patient Heavens,
- Infirm ejaculation! from the tongue Of Nations wanting virtue to be strong Up to the measure of accorded might, And daring not to feel the majesty of right!
Weak Spirits are there - who would ask Upon the pressure of a painful thing, The Lion's sinews, or the Eagle's wing; Or let their wishes lose, in forest glade, Among the lurking powers
Of herbs and lowly flowers, Or seek, from Saints above, miraculous aid; That Man may be accomplished for a task Which his own Nature hath enjoined - and why? If, when that interference hath relieved him, He must sink down to languish
In worse than former helplessness - and lie Till the caves roar,—and, imbecility Again engendering anguish,
The same weak wish returns, that had before deceived him.
But Thou, Supreme Disposer! may'st not speed The course of things, and change the creed, Which hath been left aloft before Men's sight Since the first framing of societies,
A PROPHECY.-FEBRUARY, 1807. HIGH deeds, O Germans, are to come from you! Thus in your Books the record shall be found, "A watchword was pronounced, a potent sound, ARMINIUS! -all the people quaked like dew Stirred by the breeze they rose, a Nation, true, True to herself—the mighty Germany, She of the Danube and the Northern sea, She rose, and off at once the yoke she threw. All power was given her in the dreadful trance; Those new-born Kings she withered like a flame." -Woe to them all! but heaviest woe and shame To that Bavarian who did first advance His banner in accursed league with France, First open Traitor to a sacred name!
UPON THE SAME EVENT.
WHEN, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn The tidings passed of servitude repealed, And of that joy which shook the Isthmian Field, The rough Ætolians smiled with bitter scorn.
CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid bars Through the gray west; and lo! these waters, steeled By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield
""T is known," cried they, “that he who would adorn A vivid repetition of the stars:
His envied temples with the Isthmian Crown,
Must either win, through effort of his own, The prize, or be content to see it worn By more deserving brows. Yet so ye prop, Sons of the Brave who fought at Marathon!
Your feeble Spirits. Greece her head hath bowed, As if the wreath of Liberty thereon Would fix itself as smoothly as a cloud, Which, at Jove's will, descends on Pelion's top."
Jove - Venus—and the ruddy crest of Mars, Amid his fellows beauteously revealed
At happy distance from earth's groaning field, Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars. Is it a mirror?—or the nether sphere Opening to view the abyss in which it feeds Its own calm fires? - But list! a voice is near; Great Pan himself low-whispering through the reeds “Be thankful, thou; for, if unholy deeds Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!"
ON THE FINAL PASSING OF THE BILL FOR THE ABOLI- Go back to antique Ages, if thine eyes
TION OF THE SLAVE TRADE, MARCH, 1807.
CLARKSON! it was an obstinate Hill to climb: How toilsome- nay, how dire it was, by Thee Is known, by none, perhaps, so feelingly; But Thou, who, starting in thy fervent prime, Didst first lead forth this pilgrimage sublime, Hast heard the constant Voice its charge repeat, Which, out of thy young heart's oracular seat, irst roused thee. - O true yoke-fellow of Time
The genuine mien and character would trace Of the rash Spirit that still holds her place, Prompting the World's audacious vanities! See, at her call, the Tower of Babel rise; The Pyramid extend its monstrous base, For some Aspirant of our short-lived race, Anxious an aery name to immortalize. There, too, ere wiles and politic dispute Gave specious colouring to aim and act,
COMPOSED WHILE THE AUTHOR WAS ENGAGED IN WRITING A TRACT, OCCASIONED BY THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA, 1809.
Nor 'mid the World's vain objects! that enslave The free-born Soul, that World whose vaunted skill In selfish interest perverts the will, Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave; Not there! but in dark wood and rocky cave, And hollow wave which foaming torrents fill With Omnipresent murmur as they rave Down their steep beds, that never shall be still: Here, mighty Nature! in this school sublime I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering Spain: For her consult the auguries of time, And through the human heart explore my way, And look, and listen gathering, whence I may, Triumph, and thoughts no bondage can restrain.
ADVANCE - come forth from thy Tyrolean ground. Dear Liberty! stern Nymph of soul untamed, Sweet Nymph, O rightly of the mountains named! Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound And o'er the eternal snows, like Echo, bound, - Like Echo, when the Hunter-train at dawn Have roused her from her sleep: and forest-lawn, Cliffs, woods, and caves, her viewless steps resound And babble of her pastime !-On, dread Power! With such invisible motion speed thy flight, Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to height, Through the green vales and through the Herdsman's bower,
That all the Alps may gladden in thy might, Here, there, and in all places at one hour.
FEELINGS OF THE TYROLESE. THE Land we from our Fathers had in trust, And to our Children will transmit, or die: This is our maxim, this our piety; And God and Nature say that it is just. That which we would perform in arms We read the dictate in the Infant's eye; In the Wife's smile; and in the placid sky; And, at our feet, amid the silent dust Of them that were before us, sing aloud Old songs, the precious music of the heart! Give, Herds and flocks, your voices to the wind! While we go forth, a self-devoted crowd, With weapons in the fearless hand, to assert Our virtue, and to vindicate mankind.
ALAS! what boots the long laborious quest Of moral prudence, sought through good and ill; Or pains abstruse to elevate the will,
And lead us on to that transcendent rest Where every passion shall the sway attest Of Reason, seated on her sovereign hill; What is it but a vain and curious skill, If sapient Germany must lie deprest, Beneath the brutal sword? Her haughty Schools Shall blush; and may not we with sorrow say, A few strong instincts and a few plain rules, Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought More for mankind at this unhappy day Than all the pride of intellect and thought?
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