"ADVANCE--COME FORTH FROM THY TYROLEAN GROUND"

          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,                10
          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.
                                                              1809.

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!                 10
          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.
                                                              1809.

"ALAS! WHAT BOOTS THE LONG LABORIOUS QUEST"

          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--               10
          A few strong instincts and a few plain rules,
          Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought
          More for mankind at this unhappy day
          Then all the pride of intellect and thought?
                                                              1809.

"AND IS IT AMONG RUDE UNTUTORED DALES"

          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,                       10
          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.
                                                              1809.

"O'ER THE WIDE EARTH, ON MOUNTAIN AND ON PLAIN"

          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                10
          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?
                                                              1809.

ON THE FINAL SUBMISSION OF THE TYROLESE

          IT 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                  10
          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.
                                                              1809.

"HAIL, ZARAGOZA! IF WITH UNWET EYE"

          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                   10
          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.
                                                              1809.

"SAY, WHAT IS HONOUR?--'TIS THE FINEST SENSE"

          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;                10
          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.
                                                              1809.

"THE MARTIAL COURAGE OF A DAY IS VAIN"

          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!                 10
          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!
                                                              1809.

"BRAVE SCHILL! BY DEATH DELIVERED"

          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               10
          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.
                                                              1809.