COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS, AUGUST 1802

          Fair Star of evening, Splendour of the west,
          Star of my Country!--on the horizon's brink
          Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
          On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest,
          Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest
          Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,
          Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink,
          Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest
          In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot
          Beneath thee, that is England; there she lies.
          Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,                10
          One life, one glory!--I, with many a fear
          For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,
          Among men who do not love her, linger here.

CALAIS, AUGUST 1802

          Is it a reed that's shaken by the wind,
          Or what is it that ye go forth to see?
          Lords, lawyers, statesmen, squires of low degree,
          Men known, and men unknown, sick, lame, and blind,
          Post forward all, like creatures of one kind,
          With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee
          In France, before the new-born Majesty.
          'Tis ever thus. Ye men of prostrate mind,
          A seemly reverence may be paid to power;
          But that's a loyal virtue, never sown                       10
          In haste, nor springing with a transient shower:
          When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown,
          What hardship had it been to wait an hour?
          Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!

COMPOSED NEAR CALAIS, ON THE ROAD LEADING TO ARDRES, AUGUST 7, 1802

          Jones! as from Calais southward you and I
          Went pacing side by side, this public Way
          Streamed with the pomp of a too-credulous day,
          When faith was pledged to new-born Liberty:
          A homeless sound of joy was in the sky:
          From hour to hour the antiquated Earth
          Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, mirth,
          Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh!
          And now, sole register that these things were,
          Two solitary greetings have I heard,                        10
          "Good-morrow, Citizen!" a hollow word,
          As if a dead man spake it! Yet despair
          Touches me not, though pensive as a bird
          Whose vernal coverts winter hath laid bare.

CALAIS, AUGUST 15, 1802

          Festivals have I seen that were not names:
          This is young Buonaparte's natal day,
          And his is henceforth an established sway--
          Consul for life. With worship France proclaims
          Her approbation, and with pomps and games.
          Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay!
          Calais is not: and I have bent my way
          To the sea-coast, noting that each man frames
          His business as he likes. Far other show
          My youth here witnessed, in a prouder time;                 10
          The senselessness of joy was then sublime!
          Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,
          Consul, or King, can sound himself to know
          The destiny of Man, and live in hope.

"IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING, CALM AND FREE"

          It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
          The holy time is quiet as a Nun
          Breathless with adoration; the broad sun
          Is sinking down in its tranquillity;
          The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea:
          Listen! the mighty Being is awake,
          And doth with his eternal motion make
          A sound like thunder--everlastingly.
          Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,
          If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
          Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
          Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
          And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
          God being with thee when we know it not.

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC

          Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee;
          And was the safeguard of the west: the worth
          Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
          Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.
          She was a maiden City, bright and free;
          No guile seduced, no force could violate;
          And, when she took unto herself a Mate,
          She must espouse the everlasting Sea.
          And what if she had seen those glories fade,
          Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;               10
          Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
          When her long life hath reached its final day:
          Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
          Of that which once was great, is passed away.

THE KING OF SWEDEN

          The Voice of song from distant lands shall call
          To that great King; shall hail the crowned Youth
          Who, taking counsel of unbending Truth,
          By one example hath set forth to all
          How they with dignity may stand; or fall,
          If fall they must. Now, whither doth it tend?
          And what to him and his shall be the end?
          That thought is one which neither can appal
          Nor cheer him; for the illustrious Swede hath done
          The thing which ought to be; is raised 'above'
          All consequences: work he hath begun                        10
          Of fortitude, and piety, and love,
          Which all his glorious ancestors approve:
          The heroes bless him, him their rightful son.

TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE

          Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men!
          Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough
          Within thy hearing, or thy head be now
          Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den;--
          O miserable Chieftain! where and when
          Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou
          Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:
          Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,
          Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
          Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies;      10
          There's not a breathing of the common wind
          That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;
          Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
          And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

COMPOSED IN THE VALLEY NEAR DOVER, ON THE DAY OF LANDING

          Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more.
          The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound
          Of bells; those boys who in yon meadow-ground
          In white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar
          Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;--
          All, all are English. Oft have I looked round
          With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found
          Myself so satisfied in heart before.
          Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,
          Thought for another moment. Thou art free,                  10
          My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride
          For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass
          Of England once again, and hear and see,
          With such a dear Companion at my side.

SEPTEMBER 1, 1802

          We had a female Passenger who came
          From Calais with us, spotless in array,--
          A white-robed Negro, like a lady gay,
          Yet downcast as a woman fearing blame;
          Meek, destitute, as seemed, of hope or aim
          She sate, from notice turning not away,
          But on all proffered intercourse did lay
          A weight of languid speech, or to the same
          No sign of answer made by word or face:
          Yet still her eyes retained their tropic fire,              10
          That, burning independent of the mind,
          Joined with the lustre of her rich attire
          To mock the Outcast.--O ye Heavens, be kind!
          And feel, thou Earth, for this afflicted Race!