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, 'tis victory or death!
WHAT if our numbers barely could defy The arithmetic of babes, must foreign hordes, Slaves, vile as ever were befooled by words, Striking through English breasts the anarchy Of Terror, bear us to the ground, and tie Our hands behind our backs with felon cords? Yields every thing to discipline of swords? Is man as good as man, none low, none high ?— Nor discipline nor valour can withstand The shock, nor quell the inevitable rout, When in some great extremity breaks out A people, on their own beloved Land Risen, like one man, to combat in the sight Of a just God for liberty and right.
LINES ON THE EXPECTED INVASION.
COME ye-who, if (which Heaven avert!) the Land Were with herself at strife, would take your stand, Like gallant Falkland, by the Monarch's side, And, like Montrose, make Loyalty your pride- Come ye-who, not less zealous, might display Banners at enmity with regal sway,
And, like the Pyms and Miltons of that day, Think that a State would live in sounder health If Kingship bowed its head to Commonwealth- Ye too-whom no discreditable fear
Would keep, perhaps with many a fruitless tear, Uncertain what to choose and how to steer— And ye-who might mistake for sober sense And wise reserve the plea of indolence
Come ye-whate'er your creed-O waken all, Whate'er your temper, at your Country's call; Resolving (this a free-born Nation can) To have one Soul, and perish to a man, Or save this honoured Land from every Lord But British reason and the British sword.
ANTICIPATION. OCTOBER, 1803. SHOUT, 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 grandame's 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.
NOVEMBER, 1806. 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 hands 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. -Melt, Principalities, before her melt! Her love ye hailed-her wrath have felt!
But she through many a change of form hath gone, And stands amidst you now an armèd creature, Whose panoply is not a thing put on,
But the live scales of a portentous nature; That, having forced its way from birth to birth, Stalks round-abhorred by Heaven, a terror to the Earth!
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 orbèd shield,
As stretches a blue bar of solid cloud Across the setting sun and all 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 woe supplanted woe— Is this the only change that time can show? How long shall vengeance sleep? Ye patient Heavens, how long?
-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 loose, in forest-glade, Among the lurking powers
Of herbs and lowly flowers,
Or seek, from saints above, miraculous aid—
ON A CELEBRATED EVENT IN ANCIENT HISTORY.
A ROMAN Master stands on Grecian ground, And to the people at the Isthmian Games Assembled, He, by a herald's voice, 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! Yet were the thoughtful grieved; and still that voice Haunts, with sad echoes, 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 morn The tidings passed of servitude repealed, And of that joy which shook the Isthmian Field, The rough Ætolians 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 that enterprise 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, Duty's intrepid liegeman, see, the palm Is won, and by all Nations shall be worn! The blood-stained Writing is for ever torn; And thou henceforth wilt have a good man's calm, A great man's happiness; thy zeal shall find Repose at length, firm friend of human kind!
Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes The genuine mien and character would trace Of the rash Spirit that still holds her place, Prompting the world's audacious vanities! Go back, and see 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, See the first mighty Hunter leave the brute- To chase mankind, with men in armies packed For his field-pastime high and absolute, While, to dislodge his game, cities are sacked!
COMPOSED WHILE THE AUTHOR WAS ENGAGED IN WRITING A TRACT, OCCASIONED BY THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA.
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 could first advance His banner in accursed league with France, First open traitor to the German name!
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 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, whence I may, Triumph, and thoughts no bondage can restrain.
COMPOSED BY THE SIDE OF GRASMERE LAKE.
CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid bars Through the grey west; and lo! these waters, steeled By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield A vivid repetition of the stars; 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 she feeds Her own calm fires?-But list! a voice is near; Great Pan himself low-whispering through the "Be thankful, thou; for, if unholy deeds [reeds, Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!"
COMPOSED AT THE SAME TIME AND ON THE SAME OCCASION.
I DROPPED my pen; and listened to the Wind That sang of trees up-torn and vessels tost- 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, the 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 From van to rear-and with one mind would flee, But 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.
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?
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,
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
Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to By Palafox, and many a brave compeer,
Through the green vales and through the herds
That all the Alps may gladden in thy might, Here, there, and in all places at one hour.
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.
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 grasped in fearless hands, to assert Our virtue, and to vindicate mankind.
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?
ON THE FINAL SUBMISSION OF THE TYROLESE.
Ir was a moral end for which they fought; Else how, when mighty Thrones were put to shame, Could they, poor Shepherds, have preserved an aim, A resolution, or enlivening thought?
Nor hath that moral good been vainly sought; For in their magnanimity and fame
Powers have they left, an impulse, and a claim Which neither can be overturned nor bought. Sleep, Warriors, sleep! among your hills repose ! We know that ye, beneath the stern control Of awful prudence, keep the unvanquished soul: And when, impatient of her guilt and woes, Europe breaks forth; then, Shepherds! shall ye rise
For perfect triumph o'er your Enemies.
THE martial courage of a day is vain, An empty noise of death the battle's roar, If vital hope be wanting to restore, Or fortitude be wanting to sustain, Armies or kingdoms. We have heard a strain Of triumph, how the labouring Danube bore A weight of hostile corses: drenched with gore Were the wide fields, the hamlets heaped with slain. Yet see (the mighty tumult overpast) Austria a Daughter of her Throne hath sold! And her Tyrolean Champion we behold Murdered, like one ashore by shipwreck cast, Murdered without relief. Oh! blind as bold, To think that such assurance can stand fast!
HAIL, Zaragoza! If with unwet eye We can approach, thy sorrow to behold, Yet is the heart not pitiless nor cold; Such spectacle demands not tear or sigh. These desolate remains are trophies high Of more than martial courage in the breast Of peaceful civic virtue: they attest Thy matchless worth to all posterity. Blood flowed before thy sight without remorse; Disease consumed thy vitals; War upheaved The ground beneath thee with volcanic force: Dread trials! yet encountered and sustained Till not a wreck of help or hope remained, And law was from necessity received.
BRAVE Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight From Prussia's timid region. Go, and rest With heroes, 'mid the islands of the Blest, Or in the fields of empyrean light.
A meteor wert thou crossing a dark night: Yet shall thy name, conspicuous and sublime, Stand in the spacious firmament of time, Fixed as a star: such glory is thy right. Alas! it may not be for earthly fame Is Fortune's frail dependant; yet there lives A Judge, who, as man claims by merit, gives; To whose all-pondering mind a noble aim, Faithfully kept, is as a noble deed;
In whose pure sight all virtue doth succeed.
SAY, what is Honour ?-'Tis the finest sense Of justice which the human mind can frame, Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim, And guard the way of life from all offence Suffered or done. When lawless violence Invades a Realm, so pressed that in the scale Of perilous war her weightiest armies fail, Honour is hopeful elevation,-whence Glory, and triumph. Yet with politic skill Endangered States may yield to terms unjust; Stoop their proud heads, but not unto the dust- A Foe's most favourite purpose to fulfil: Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill.
CALL not the royal Swede unfortunate, Who never did to Fortune bend the knee; Who slighted fear; rejected steadfastly Temptation; and whose kingly name and state Have 'perished by his choice, and not his fate!" Hence lives He, to his inner self endeared; And hence, wherever virtue is revered, He sits a more exalted Potentate,
Throned in the hearts of men. Should Heaven ordain
That this great Servant of a righteous cause Must still have sad or vexing thoughts to endure, Yet may a sympathising spirit pause, Admonished by these truths, and quench all pain In thankful joy and gratulation pure*.
*See Note to Sonnet VII. page 237.
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