ANOTHER year! another deadly blow Another mighty empire overthrown! And we are left, or shall be left, alone; The last that dares 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 hands it must be wrought, That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low. O dastard, whom such foretaste does not cheer! We shall exult, if they who rule the land Be men who hold its many blessings dear, Wise, upright, valiant; not a venal band, Who are to judge of danger which they fear, And honour, which they do not understand.
Sonnets dedicated to Liberty.
ON A CELEBRATED EVENT IN HISTORY.
A ROMAN master stands on Grecian ground, And to the concourse of the Isthmian games He, by his herald's voice, aloud proclaims "The liberty of Greece:"-the words rebound Until all voices in one voice are drowned; Glad acclamation by which air was rent! And birds, high flying in the element, Dropped to the earth, astonished at the sound! A melancholy echo of that noise
Doth sometimes hang on musing Fancy's ear; Ah! that a conqueror's words should be so dear; Ah! that a boon could shed such rapturous joys! A gift of that which is not to be given
By all the blended powers of earth and heaven.
WHEN, far and wide, swift as the beams of inorn The tidings passed of servitude repealed,
And of that joy which shook the Isthmian field, The rough Etolians smiled with bitter scorn. "Tis known," cried they, "that he who would adorn 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!"
TO THOMAS CLARKSON, ON THE FINAL PASSING OF THE BILL FOR THE ABOLITION 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, First roused thee, O true yoke-fellow of time. With unabating effort, see, the palm
Is won, and by all nations shall be worn! The bloody writing is for ever torn,
And thou henceforth shalt have a good man's calm, A great man's happiness; thy zeal shall find Repose at length, firm friend of human kind!
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 itself-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!
COMPOSED WHILE THE AUTHOR WAS ENGAGED IN WRITING & TRACT, OCCASIONED BY THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA, 1808.
Nor 'mid the world's vain objects which 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 vale, 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, where I may, Triumph, and thoughts no bondage can restrain.
COMPOSED AT THE SAME TIME AND ON THE SAME OCCASION.
I DROPPED my pen, and listened to the wind
That sang of trees uptorn and vessels tossed:
A midnight harmony, and wholly lost
To the general sense of men by chains confined
Of business, care, or pleasure, or resigned
To timely sleep. Thought I, th' impassioned strain, Which, without aid of numbers, I sustain, Like acceptation from the world will find." Yet some with apprehensive ear shall drink A dirge devoutly breathed o'er sorrows past, And to the attendant promise will give heed, The prophecy, like that of this wild blast,
Which, while it makes the heart with sadness shrink, Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed.
Of mortal parents is the hero born
By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led?
Or is it Tell's great spirit, from the dead
Returned, to animate an age forlorn?
He comes like Phoebus through the gates of morn, When dreary darkness is discomfited:
Yet mark his modest state !-upon his head, That simple crest—a heron's plume—is worn. O Liberty! they stagger at the shock; The murd'rers are aghast; they strive to flee, And half their host is buried :-rock on rock Descends :-beneath this godlike warrior, see! Hills, torrents, woods, embodied to bemock The tyrant, and confound his cruelty.
ADVANCE! come forth from thy Tyrolean ground, Dear Liberty!-stern nymph of soul untamed, Sweet nymph, oh ! rightly of the mountains named ! Through the long chain of Alps, from mound to mound, And o'er th' 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 must! 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 depressed 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.
AND is it among rude untutored dales, There, and there only, that the heart is true? And, rising to repel or to subdue,
Is it by rocks and woods that man prevails? Ah, no! though Nature's dread protection fails, There is a bulwark in the soul. This knew
Iberian burghers when the sword they drew In Zaragoza, naked to the gales Of fiercely-breathing war.
The truth was felt By Palafox, and many a brave compeer, Like him, of noble birth and noble mind; By ladies, meek-eyed women without fear; And wanderers of the street, to whom is dealt The bread which, without industry, they find.
O'ER the wide earth, on mountain and on plain, Dwells in the affections and the soul of man
A godhead, like the universal Pan,
But more exalted, with a brighter train. And shall his bounty be dispensed in vain, Showered equally on city and on field, And neither hope nor steadfast promise yield In these usurping times of fear and pain? Such doom awaits us. Nay, forbid it, Heaven! We know the arduous strife, the eternal laws To which the triumph of all good is given, High sacrifice, and labour without pause, Even to the death: else wherefore should the eye Of man converse with immortality?
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