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 honor which they do not understand.

XXVIII.

ODE.

I.

Wno 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!

II.

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,

Seemed to bisect her orbèd shield,

As stretches a blue bar of solid cloud

Across the setting sun and all the fiery west.

III.

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?

Heavens, how long?

Ye patient

-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!

IV.

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, -
That Man may be accomplished for a task
Which his own nature hath enjoined ; and why?
If, when that interference hath relieved him,
He must sink down to languish

In worse than former helplessness, and lie Till the caves roar, - and, imbecility Again engendering anguish,

1

The same weak wish returns, that had before de

ceived him.

V.

But Thou, supreme Disposer! mayst not speed The course of things, and change the creed Which hath been held aloft before men's sight Since the first framing of societies,

Whether, as bards have told in ancient song,
Built up by soft seducing harmonies;

Or prest together by the appetite,

And by the power, of wrong.

PART II.

I.

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.

II.

UPON THE SAME EVENT.

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.
""T is 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."

III.

TO THOMAS CLARKSON, ON THE FINAL PASSING OF THR BILL FOR THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE-TRADE.

MARCH, 1807.

CLARKSON! it was an obstinate hill to climb:

Is known; by none, perhaps, so feelingly:

But thou, who, starting in thy fervent prime,