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And 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?


ENGLAND! the time is come when thou shouldst


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 wouldst step be


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:

O grief, that Earth's best hopes rest all with thee!


OCTOBER, 1803.

WHEN, looking on the present face 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 a doubt almost 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
T tremble at the sorrow of the time.



OCTOBER, 1803.

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!


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 everything to discipline of swords?
Is man as good as man, none low, none high?
Nor discipline nor valor 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.





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

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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;

whate'er your creed,

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Come ye,
- 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 honored Land from every Lord
But British reason and the British sword.



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.



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- 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;

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