They heard, and, starting up, the Brood of Night Clapped hands, and shook with glee their matted locks;
All Powers and Places that abhor the light
Joined in the transport, echoed back their shout, Hurrah for hugging his Ballot-box!
BLEST Statesman he, whose Mind's unselfish will Leaves him at ease among grand thoughts: whose
Sees that, apart from magnanimity,
Wisdom exists not; nor the humbler skill Of Prudence, disentangling good and ill With patient care. What though assaults run high, They daunt not him who holds his ministry, Resolute, at all hazards, to fulfil
Its duties ; prompt to move but firm to wait, Knowing, things rashly sought are rarely found; That, for the functions of an ancient State, Strong by her charters, free because imbound, Servant of Providence, not slave of Fate, - Perilous is sweeping change, all chance unsound.
IN ALLUSION TO VARIOUS RECENT HISTORIES AND NOTICES OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
PORTENTOUS change, when History can appear As the cool advocate of foul device;
Reckless audacity extol, and jeer
At consciences perplexed with scruples nice! They who bewail not, must abhor, the sneer Born of Conceit, Power's blind Idolater; Or haply sprung from vaunting Cowardice Betrayed by mockery of holy fear.
Hath it not long been said the wrath of Man Works not the righteousness of God? O bend, Bend, ye Perverse! to judgments from on High, Laws that lay under Heaven's perpetual ban All principles of action that transcend The sacred limits of humanity.
WHO ponders National events shall find An awful balancing of loss and gain, Joy based on sorrow, good with all combined, And proud deliverence issuing out of pain And direful throes; as if the All-ruling Mind, With whose perfection it consists to ordain Volcanic burst, earthquake, and hurricane, Dealt in like sort with feeble human kind By laws immutable. But woe for him Who, thus deceived, shall lend an eager hand To social havoc. Is not Conscience ours, And Truth, whose eye guilt only can make dim; And Will, whose office, by Divine command, Is to control and check disordered Powers?
LONG-FAVORED England! be not thou misled By monstrous theories of alien growth, Lest alien frenzy seize thee, waxing wroth, Self-smitten till thy garments reek dyed red With thy own blood, which tears in torrents shed Fail to wash out, tears flowing ere thy troth Be plighted, not to ease, but sullen sloth,
Or wan despair, the ghost of false hope fled
Into a shameful grave. Among thy youth, My Country! if such warning be held dear, Then shall a veteran's heart be thrilled with joy, One who would gather from eternal truth,
For time and season, rules that work to cheer, Not scourge,
- to save the People, not destroy.
MEN of the Western World! in Fate's dark book Whence these opprobrious leaves of dire portent? Think ye your British Ancestors forsook Their native Land, for outrage provident ; From unsubmissive necks the bridle shook, To give, in their Descendants, freer vent And wider range to passions turbulent, To mutual tyranny a deadlier look?
Nay, said a voice, soft as the south-wind's breath, Dive through the stormy surface of the flood
To the great current flowing underneath; Explore the countless springs of silent good; So shall the truth be better understood, And thy grieved Spirit brighten strong in faith.
DAYS undefiled by luxury or sloth, Firm self-denial, manners grave and staid, Rights equal, laws with cheerfulness obeyed, Words that require no sanction from an oath, And simple honesty a common growth, This high repute, with bounteous Nature's aid, Won confidence, now ruthlessly betrayed At will, your power the measure of your troth! All who revere the memory of Penn
Grieve for the land on whose wild woods his name Was fondly grafted with a virtuous aim, Renounced, abandoned, by degenerate Men, For state-dishonor black as ever came To upper air from Mammon's loathsome den.
AT BOLOGNA, IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE LATE INSURREC
Ан, why deceive ourselves! by no mere fit
Of sudden passion roused shall men attain
True freedom where for ages they have lain Bound in a dark, abominable pit,
With life's best sinews more and more unknit. Here, there, a banded few who loathe the chain May rise to break it: effort worse than vain For thee, O great Italian nation, split Into those jarring fractions. Let thy scope Be one fixed mind for all; thy rights approve To thy own conscience gradually renewed; Learn to make Time the father of wise Hope; Then trust thy cause to the arm of Fortitude, The light of Knowledge, and the warmth of Love.
HARD task! exclaim the undisciplined, to lean On Patience, coupled with such slow endeavor, That long-lived servitude must last for ever. Perish the grovelling few, who, pressed between Wrongs and the terror of redress, would wean Millions from glorious aims. Our chains to sever, Let us break forth in tempests now or never! What, is there then no space for golden mean And gradual progress? - Twilight leads to day, And, even within the burning zones of earth, The hastiest sunrise yields a temperate ray ; The softest breeze to fairest flowers gives birth:
« AnteriorContinuar » |