Imatges de pÓgina


Hear ye the march as of the Earth-born Forms
Arrayed against the ever-living Gods?
The crash and darkness of a thousand storms
Bursting their inaccessible abodes

Of crags and thunder clouds?

See ye the banners blazoned to the day,
Inwrought with emblems of barbaric pride?
Dissonant threats kill Silence far away,

The serene Heaven which wraps our Eden wide
With iron light is dyed,

The Anarchs of the North lead forth their legions
Like Chaos o'er creation, uncreating ;

An hundred tribes nourished on strange religions
And lawless slaveries,—down the aërial regions
Of the white Alps, desolating,

Famished wolves that bide no waiting,
Blotting the glowing footsteps of old glory,
Trampling our columned cities into dust,
Their dull and savage lust

On Beauty's corse to sickness satiating— They come ! The fields they tread look black and hoary

With fire-from their red feet the streams run gory!


Great Spirit, deepest Love!
Which rulest and dost move

All things which live and are, within the Italian shore;
Who spreadest heaven around it,

Whose woods, rocks, waves, surround it;

Who sittest in thy star, o'er Ocean's western floor,
Spirit of beauty! at whose soft command

The sunbeams and the showers distil its foison
From the Earth's bosom chill;

O bid those beams be each a blinding brand
Of lightning! bid those showers be dews of poison !
Bid the Earth's plenty kill!

Bid thy bright Heaven above,
Whilst light and darkness bound it,
Be their tomb who planned

To make it ours and thine!

Or, with thine harmonizing ardours fill
And raise thy sons, as o'er the prone horizon
Thy lamp feeds every twilight wave with fire--
Be man's high hope and unextinct desire,
The instrument to work thy will divine!
Then clouds from sunbeams, antelopes from

And frowns and fears from Thee,

Would not more swiftly flee

Than Celtic wolves from the Ausonian shepherds.— Whatever, Spirit, from thy starry shrine

Thou yieldest or withholdest, Oh let be

This city of thy worship ever free!

August 25, 1820.


LET there be light! said Liberty,
And like sunrise from the sea,
Athens arose !-Around her born,
Shone like mountains in the morn
Glorious states ;-and are they now

Ashes, wrecks, oblivion?


Where Thermæ and Asopus swallowed
Persia, as the sand does foam.
Deluge upon deluge followed,
Discord, Macedon, and Rome:

And lastly thou! Temples and towers,
Citadels and marts, and they

Who live and die there, have been ours,
And may be thine, and must decay;
But Greece and her foundations are
Built below the tide of war,
Based on the crystalline sea
Of thought and its eternity;
Her citizens, imperial spirits,
Rule the present from the past,
On all this world of men inherits
Their seal is set.



In the great morning of the world,
The spirit of God with might unfurled
The flag of Freedom over Chaos,
And all its banded anarchs fled,
Like vultures frighted from Imaus,
Before an earthquake's tread.—
So from Time's tempestuous dawn
Freedom's splendour burst and shone :-
Thermopyla and Marathon

Caught, like mountains beacon-lighted, The springing Fire. The winged glory On Philippi half alighted,

Like an eagle on a promontory.

Its unwearied wings could fan
The quenchless ashes of Milan.

From age to age, from man to man,
It lived; and lit from land to land,
Florence, Albion, Switzerland.
Then night fell; and, as from night,
Re-assuming fiery flight,

From the West swift Freedom came,

Against the course of heaven and doom,

A second sun arrayed in flame,

To burn, to kindle, to illume.
From far Atlantis its young beams
Chased the shadows and the dreams.
France, with all her sanguine steams,

Hid, but quenched it not; again
Through clouds its shafts of glory rain
From utmost Germany to Spain.
As an eagle fed with morning

Scorns the embattled tempest's warning,
When she seeks her aërie hanging
In the mountain-cedar's hair,
And her brood expect the clanging
Of her wings through the wild air,
Sick with famine :-Freedom, so
To what of Greece remaineth now
Returns; her hoary ruins glow
Like orient mountains lost in day;
Beneath the safety of her wings
Her renovated nurslings prey,
And in the naked lightnings

Of truth they purge their dazzled eyes.
Let Freedom leave-where'er she flies,
A Desart, or a Paradise:

Let the beautiful and the brave
Share her glory, or a grave.



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