"BROOK! WHOSE SOCIETY THE POET SEEKS"

          BROOK! whose society the Poet seeks,
          Intent his wasted spirits to renew;
          And whom the curious Painter doth pursue
          Through rocky passes, among flowery creeks,
          And tracks thee dancing down thy water-breaks;
          If wish were mine some type of thee to view,
          Thee, and not thee thyself, I would not do
          Like Grecian Artists, give thee human cheeks,
          Channels for tears; no Naiad should'st thou be,--
          Have neither limbs, feet, feathers, joints nor hairs:       10
          It seems the Eternal Soul is clothed in thee
          With purer robes than those of flesh and blood,
          And hath bestowed on thee a safer good;
          Unwearied joy, and life without its cares.

"SURPRISED BY JOY--IMPATIENT AS THE WIND"

          SURPRISED by joy--impatient as the Wind
          I turned to share the transport--Oh! with whom
          But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
          That spot which no vicissitude can find?
          Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--
          But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
          Even for the least division of an hour,
          Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
          To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return
          Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,                   10
          Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
          Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
          That neither present time, nor years unborn
          Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

ODE
THE MORNING OF THE DAY APPOINTED FOR A GENERAL THANKSGIVING. JANUARY 18, 1816

                                   I

          HAIL, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night!
          Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude
          On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;
          Whether thy punctual visitations smite
          The haughty towers where monarchs dwell;
          Or thou, impartial Sun, with presence bright
          Cheer'st the low threshold of the peasant's cell!
          Not unrejoiced I see thee climb the sky
          In naked splendour, clear from mist or haze,
          Or cloud approaching to divert the rays,
          Which even in deepest winter testify
              Thy power and majesty,
          Dazzling the vision that presumes to gaze.
          --Well does thine aspect usher in this Day;
          As aptly suits therewith that modest pace
            Submitted to the chains
          That bind thee to the path which God ordains
              That thou shalt trace,
          Till, with the heavens and earth, thou pass away!
          Nor less, the stillness of these frosty plains,
          Their utter stillness, and the silent grace
          Of yon ethereal summits white with snow,
          (Whose tranquil pomp and spotless purity
              Report of storms gone by
              To us who tread below)
          Do with the service of this Day accord.
          --Divinest Object which the uplifted eye
          Of mortal man is suffered to behold;
          Thou, who upon those snow-clad Heights has poured
          Meek lustre, nor forget'st the humble Vale;
          Thou who dost warm Earth's universal mould,
          And for thy bounty wert not unadored
              By pious men of old;
          Once more, heart-cheering Sun, I bid thee hail!
          Bright be thy course to-day, let not this promise fail!

                                   II

            'Mid the deep quiet of this morning hour,
          All nature seems to hear me while I speak,
          By feelings urged that do not vainly seek
          Apt language, ready as the tuneful notes
          That stream in blithe succession from the throats
              Of birds, in leafy bower,
          Warbling a farewell to a vernal shower.
          --There is a radiant though a short-lived flame,
          That burns for Poets in the dawning east;
          And oft my soul hath kindled at the same,
          When the captivity of sleep had ceased;
          But He who fixed immoveably the frame
          Of the round world, and built, by laws as strong,
              A solid refuge for distress--
              The towers of righteousness;
          He knows that from a holier altar came
          The quickening spark of this day's sacrifice;
          Knows that the source is nobler whence doth rise
              The current of this matin song;
                That deeper far it lies
          Than aught dependent on the fickle skies.

                                III

            Have we not conquered?--by the vengeful sword?
          Ah no, by dint of Magnanimity;
          That curbed the baser passions, and left free
          A loyal band to follow their liege Lord
          Clear-sighted Honour, and his staid Compeers,
          Along a track of most unnatural years;
          In execution of heroic deeds
          Whose memory, spotless as the crystal beads
          Of morning dew upon the untrodden meads,
          Shall live enrolled above the starry spheres.
          He, who in concert with an earthly string
              Of Britain's acts would sing,
              He with enraptured voice will tell
          Of One whose spirit no reverse could quell;
          Of One that 'mid the failing never failed--
          Who paints how Britain struggled and prevailed
          Shall represent her labouring with an eye
              Of circumspect humanity;
          Shall show her clothed with strength and skill,
              All martial duties to fulfil;
          Firm as a rock in stationary fight;
          In motion rapid as the lightning's gleam;
          Fierce as a flood-gate bursting at midnight
          To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream--
          Woe, woe to all that face her in the field!
          Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield.

                                 IV

            And thus is 'missed' the sole true glory
            That can belong to human story!
            At which they only shall arrive
            Who through the abyss of weakness dive.
          The very humblest are too proud of heart;
          And one brief day is rightly set apart
          For Him who lifteth up and layeth low;
          For that Almighty God to whom we owe,
          Say not that we have vanquished--but that we survive.

                                 V

            How dreadful the dominion of the impure!
          Why should the Song be tardy to proclaim
          That less than power unbounded could not tame
          That soul of Evil--which, from hell let loose,
          Had filled the astonished world with such abuse
          As boundless patience only could endure?
          --Wide-wasted regions--cities wrapt in flame--
          Who sees, may lift a streaming eye
          To Heaven;--who never saw, may heave a sigh;
          But the foundation of our nature shakes,
          And with an infinite pain the spirit aches,
          When desolated countries, towns on fire,
              Are but the avowed attire
          Of warfare waged with desperate mind
          Against the life of virtue in mankind;
              Assaulting without ruth
              The citadels of truth;
          While the fair gardens of civility,
              By ignorance defaced,
              By violence laid waste,
          Perish without reprieve for flower or tree!

                                 VI

            A crouching purpose--a distracted will--
          Opposed to hopes that battened upon scorn,
          And to desires whose ever-waxing horn
          Not all the light of earthly power could fill;
          Opposed to dark, deep plots of patient skill,
          And to celerities of lawless force;
          Which, spurning God, had flung away remorse--
          What could they gain but shadows of redress?
          --So bad proceeded propagating worse;
          And discipline was passion's dire excess.
          Widens the fatal web, its lines extend,
          And deadlier poisons in the chalice blend.
          When will your trials teach you to be wise?
          --O prostrate Lands, consult your agonies!

                                VII

              No more--the guilt is banished,
            And, with the guilt, the shame is fled;
          And, with the guilt and shame, the Woe hath vanished,
          Shaking the dust and ashes from her head!
          --No more--these lingerings of distress
          Sully the limpid stream of thankfulness.
          What robe can Gratitude employ
          So seemly as the radiant vest of Joy?
          What steps so suitable as those that move
          In prompt obedience to spontaneous measures
          Of glory, and felicity, and love,
          Surrendering the whole heart to sacred pleasures?

                                VIII

            O Britain! dearer far than life is dear,
                If one there be
                Of all thy progeny
          Who can forget thy prowess, never more
          Be that ungrateful Son allowed to hear
          Thy green leaves rustle or thy torrents roar.
          As springs the lion from his den,
                 As from a forest-brake
                 Upstarts a glistering snake,
          The bold Arch-despot re-appeared;--again
          Wide Europe heaves, impatient to be cast,
              With all her armed Powers,
              On that offensive soil, like waves upon a thousand shores.
          The trumpet blew a universal blast!
          But Thou art foremost in the field:--there stand:
          Receive the triumph destined to thy hand!
          All States have glorified themselves;--their claims
          Are weighed by Providence, in balance even;
          And now, in preference to the mightiest names,
          To Thee the exterminating sword is given.
          Dread mark of approbation, justly gained!
          Exalted office, worthily sustained!

                                 IX

            Preserve, O Lord! within our hearts
            The memory of thy favour,
            That else insensibly departs,
            And loses its sweet savour!
          Lodge it within us!--as the power of light
          Lives inexhaustibly in precious gems,
          Fixed on the front of Eastern diadems,
          So shine our thankfulness for ever bright!
          What offering, what transcendent monument
          Shall our sincerity to Thee present?
          --Not work of hands; but trophies that may reach
          To highest Heaven--the labour of the Soul;
          That builds, as thy unerring precepts teach,
          Upon the internal conquests made by each,
          Her hope of lasting glory for the whole.
          Yet will not heaven disown nor earth gainsay
          The outward service of this day;
          Whether the worshippers entreat
          Forgiveness from God's mercy-seat;
          Or thanks and praises to His throne ascend
          That He has brought our warfare to an end,
          And that we need no second victory!--
          Ha! what a ghastly sight for man to see;
          And to the heavenly saints in peace who dwell,
              For a brief moment, terrible;
          But, to thy sovereign penetration, fair,
          Before whom all things are, that were,
          All judgments that have been, or e'er shall be;
          Links in the chain of thy tranquillity!
          Along the bosom of this favoured Nation,
          Breathe Thou, this day, a vital undulation!
              Let all who do this land inherit
              Be conscious of thy moving spirit!
          Oh, 'tis a goodly Ordinance,--the sight,
          Though sprung from bleeding war, is one of pure delight;
          Bless Thou the hour, or ere the hour arrive,
          When a whole people shall kneel down in prayer,
          And, at one moment, in one rapture, strive
          With lip and heart to tell their gratitude
              For thy protecting care,
          Their solemn joy--praising the Eternal Lord
              For tyranny subdued,
          And for the sway of equity renewed,
          For liberty confirmed, and peace restored!

                                 X

            But hark--the summons!--down the placid lake
          Floats the soft cadence of the church-tower bells;
          Bright shines the Sun, as if his beams would wake
          The tender insects sleeping in their cells;
          Bright shines the Sun--and not a breeze to shake
          The drops that tip the melting icicles.
              'O, enter now his temple gate!'
          Inviting words--perchance already flung
          (As the crowd press devoutly down the aisle
          Of some old Minster's venerable pile)
          From voices into zealous passion stung,
          While the tubed engine feels the inspiring blast,
          And has begun--its clouds of sound to cast
              Forth towards empyreal Heaven,
              As if the fretted roof were riven.
          'Us', humbler ceremonies now await;
          But in the bosom, with devout respect
          The banner of our joy we will erect,
          And strength of love our souls shall elevate:
          For to a few collected in his name,
          Their heavenly Father will incline an ear
          Gracious to service hallowed by its aim;--
          Awake! the majesty of God revere!
              Go--and with foreheads meekly bowed
          Present your prayers--go--and rejoice aloud--
                  The Holy One will hear!
          And what, 'mid silence deep, with faith sincere,
          Ye, in your low and undisturbed estate,
          Shall simply feel and purely meditate--
          Of warnings--from the unprecedented might,
          Which, in our time, the impious have disclosed;
          And of more arduous duties thence imposed
          Upon the future advocates of right;
                Of mysteries revealed,
                And judgments unrepealed,
                Of earthly revolution,
                And final retribution,--
              To his omniscience will appear
          An offering not unworthy to find place,
          On this high DAY of THANKS, before the
                Throne of Grace!

ODE

                                 I

          IMAGINATION--ne'er before content,
          But aye ascending, restless in her pride
          From all that martial feats could yield
          To her desires, or to her hopes present--
          Stooped to the Victory, on that Belgic field,
          Achieved, this closing deed magnificent,
              And with the embrace was satisfied.
                  --Fly, ministers of Fame,
          With every help that ye from earth and heaven may claim!
          Bear through the world these tidings of delight!
          --Hours, Days, and Months, 'have' borne them in the sight
          Of mortals, hurrying like a sudden shower
              That landward stretches from the sea,
              The morning's splendours to devour;
          But this swift travel scorns the company
          Of irksome change, or threats from saddening power.
              --'The shock is given--the Adversaries bleed'--
              'Lo, Justice triumphs! Earth is freed!'
          Joyful annunciation!--it went forth--
          It pierced the caverns of the sluggish North--
                  It found no barrier on the ridge
          Of Andes--frozen gulphs became its bridge--
          The vast Pacific gladdens with the freight--
          Upon the Lakes of Asia 'tis bestowed--
          The Arabian desert shapes a willing road
                  Across her burning breast,
          For this refreshing incense from the West!--
          --Where snakes and lions breed,
          Where towns and cities thick as stars appear,
          Wherever fruits are gathered, and where'er
          The upturned soil receives the hopeful seed--
          While the Sun rules, and cross the shades of night--
          The unwearied arrow hath pursued its flight!
          The eyes of good men thankfully give heed,
                And in its sparkling progress read
          Of virtue crowned with glory's deathless meed:
          Tyrants exult to hear of kingdoms won,
          And slaves are pleased to learn that mighty feats are done;
          Even the proud Realm, from whose distracted borders
          This messenger of good was launched in air,
          France, humbled France, amid her wild disorders,
          Feels, and hereafter shall the truth declare,
          That she too lacks not reason to rejoice,
          And utter England's name with sadly-plausive voice.

                                 II

          O genuine glory, pure renown!
          And well might it beseem that mighty Town
          Into whose bosom earth's best treasures flow,
          To whom all persecuted men retreat;
          If a new Temple lift her votive brow
          High on the shore of silver Thames--to greet
          The peaceful guest advancing from afar.
          Bright be the Fabric, as a star
          Fresh risen, and beautiful within!--there meet
          Dependence infinite, proportion just;
          A Pile that Grace approves, and Time can trust
          With his most sacred wealth, heroic dust.

                                III

                But if the valiant of this land
          In reverential modesty demand,
          That all observance, due to them, be paid
          Where their serene progenitors are laid;
          Kings, warriors, high-souled poets, saint-like sages,
          England's illustrious sons of long, long ages;
          Be it not unordained that solemn rites,
          Within the circuit of those Gothic walls,
          Shall be performed at pregnant intervals;
          Commemoration holy that unites
          The living generations with the dead;
                By the deep soul-moving sense
                Of religious eloquence,--
                By visual pomp, and by the tie
                Of sweet and threatening harmony;
                Soft notes, awful as the omen
                Of destructive tempests coming,
                And escaping from that sadness
                Into elevated gladness;
                While the white-robed choir attendant,
                Under mouldering banners pendant,
          Provoke all potent symphonies to raise
                Songs of victory and praise,
          For them who bravely stood unhurt, or bled
          With medicable wounds, or found their graves
          Upon the battle field, or under ocean's waves;
          Or were conducted home in single state,
          And long procession--there to lie,
          Where their sons' sons, and all posterity,
          Unheard by them, their deeds shall celebrate!

                                 IV

                Nor will the God of peace and love
                Such martial service disapprove.
                He guides the Pestilence--the cloud
                Of locusts travels on his breath;
                The region that in hope was ploughed
          His drought consumes, his mildew taints with death;
                He springs the hushed Volcano's mine,
          He puts the Earthquake on her still design,
          Darkens the sun, hath bade the forest sink,
          And, drinking towns and cities, still can drink
          Cities and towns--'tis Thou--the work is Thine!--
          The fierce Tornado sleeps within thy courts--
                He hears the word--he flies--
                And navies perish in their ports;
          For Thou art angry with thine enemies!
                For these, and mourning for our errors,
                And sins, that point their terrors,
          We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud
          And magnify thy name, Almighty God!
                But Man is thy most awful instrument,
                In working out a pure intent;
          Thou cloth'st the wicked in their dazzling mail,
          And for thy righteous purpose they prevail;
                Thine arm from peril guards the coasts
                Of them who in thy laws delight:
          Thy presence turns the scale of doubtful fight,
          Tremendous God of battles, Lord of Hosts!

                                 V

                Forbear:--to Thee--
          Father and Judge of all, with fervent tongue
                But in a gentler strain
          Of contemplation, by no sense of wrong,
          (Too quick and keen) incited to disdain
          Of pity pleading from the heart in vain--
                TO THEE--TO THEE--
          Just God of christianised Humanity
          Shall praises be poured forth, and thanks ascend,
          That thou hast brought our warfare to an end,
          And that we need no second victory!
          Blest, above measure blest,
          If on thy love our Land her hopes shall rest,
          And all the Nations labour to fulfil
          Thy law, and live henceforth in peace, in pure good will.
                                                              1816.

INVOCATION TO THE EARTH
FEBRUARY 1816

                                 I

                  "REST, rest, perturbed Earth!
              O rest, thou doleful Mother of Mankind!"
          A Spirit sang in tones more plaintive than the wind:
          "From regions where no evil thing has birth
          I come--thy stains to wash away,
          Thy cherished fetters to unbind,
          And open thy sad eyes upon a milder day.
          The Heavens are thronged with martyrs that have risen
                  From out thy noisome prison;
                  The penal caverns groan
          With tens of thousands rent from off the tree
          Of hopeful life,--by battle's whirlwind blown
          Into the deserts of Eternity.
          Unpitied havoc! Victims unlamented!
          But not on high, where madness is resented,
          And murder causes some sad tears to flow,
          Though, from the widely-sweeping blow,
          The choirs of Angels spread, triumphantly augmented.

                                 II

                  "False Parent of Mankind!
                  Obdurate, proud, and blind,
          I sprinkle thee with soft celestial dews,
          Thy lost, maternal heart to re-infuse!
          Scattering this far-fetched moisture from my wings,
          Upon the act a blessing I implore,
          Of which the rivers in their secret springs,
          The rivers stained so oft with human gore,
          Are conscious;--may the like return no more!
          May Discord--for a Seraph's care
          Shall be attended with a bolder prayer--
          May she, who once disturbed the seats of bliss
                  These mortal spheres above,
          Be chained for ever to the black abyss.
          And thou, O rescued Earth, by peace and love,
          And merciful desires, thy sanctity approve!"
              The Spirit ended his mysterious rite,
          And the pure vision closed in darkness infinite.

ODE

                ------------- Carmina possumus
                Donare, et pretium dicere muneri.
                Non incisa notis marmora publicis,
                Per quae spiritus et vita redit bonis
                Post mortem ducibus
                --------------- clarius indicant
                Laudes, quam ----------- Pierides; neque,
                Si chartae sileant quod bene feceris,
                Mercedem tuleris.----HOR. Car. 8, Lib. 4.

                                 I

          WHEN the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch
          On the tired household of corporeal sense,
          And Fancy, keeping unreluctant watch,
          Was free her choicest favours to dispense;
          I saw, in wondrous perspective displayed,
          A landscape more august than happiest skill
          Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade;
          An intermingled pomp of vale and hill,
          City, and naval stream, suburban grove,
          And stately forest where the wild deer rove;
          Nor wanted lurking hamlet, dusky towns,
          And scattered rural farms of aspect bright;
          And, here and there, between the pastoral downs,
          The azure sea upswelled upon the sight.
          Fair prospect, such as Britain only shows!
          But not a living creature could be seen
          Through its wide circuit, that, in deep repose,
          And, even to sadness, lonely and serene,
          Lay hushed; till--through a portal in the sky
          Brighter than brightest loop-hole, in a storm,
          Opening before the sun's triumphant eye--
          Issued, to sudden view, a glorious Form!
          Earthward it glided with a swift descent:
          Saint George himself this Visitant must be;
          And, ere a thought could ask on what intent
          He sought the regions of Humanity,
          A thrilling voice was heard, that vivified
          City and field and flood;--aloud it cried--

              "Though from my celestial home,
              "Like a Champion, armed I come;
              "On my helm the dragon crest,
              "And the red cross on my breast;
              "I, the Guardian of this Land,
              "Speak not now of toilsome duty;
              "Well obeyed was that command--
              "Whence bright days of festive beauty;
          "Haste, Virgins, haste!--the flowers which summer gave
              "Have perished in the field;
          "But the green thickets plenteously shall yield
              "Fit garlands for the brave,
          "That will be welcome, if by you entwined;
          "Haste, Virgins, haste; and you, ye Matrons grave,
          "Go forth with rival youthfulness of mind,
              "And gather what ye find
          "Of hardy laurel and wild holly boughs--
          "To deck your stern Defenders' modest brows!
              "Such simple gifts prepare,
          "Though they have gained a worthier meed;
              "And in due time shall share
          "Those palms and amaranthine wreaths
          "Unto their martyred Countrymen decreed,
          "In realms where everlasting freshness breathes!"

                                 II

            And lo! with crimson banners proudly streaming,
          And upright weapons innocently gleaming,
          Along the surface of a spacious plain
          Advance in order the redoubted Bands,
          And there receive green chaplets from the hands
              Of a fair female train--
              Maids and Matrons, dight
              In robes of dazzling white;
          While from the crowd bursts forth a rapturous noise
              By the cloud-capt hills retorted;
              And a throng of rosy boys
              In loose fashion tell their joys;
          And grey-haired sires, on staffs supported,
          Look round, and by their smiling seem to say,
          Thus strives a grateful Country to display
          The mighty debt which nothing can repay!

                                III

            Anon before my sight a palace rose
          Built of all precious substances,--so pure
          And exquisite, that sleep alone bestows
          Ability like splendour to endure:
          Entered, with streaming thousands, through the gate,
          I saw the banquet spread beneath a Dome of state,
          A lofty Dome, that dared to emulate
          The heaven of sable night
          With starry lustre; yet had power to throw
          Solemn effulgence, clear as solar light,
          Upon a princely company below,
          While the vault rang with choral harmony,
          Like some Nymph-haunted grot beneath the roaring sea.
          --No sooner ceased that peal, than on the verge
          Of exultation hung a dirge
          Breathed from a soft and lonely instrument,
              That kindled recollections
              Of agonised affections;
          And, though some tears the strain attended,
              The mournful passion ended
          In peace of spirit, and sublime content!

                                 IV

            But garlands wither; festal shows depart,
          Like dreams themselves; and sweetest sound--
              (Albeit of effect profound)
              It was--and it is gone!
          Victorious England! bid the silent Art
          Reflect, in glowing hues that shall not fade,
          Those high achievements; even as she arrayed
          With second life the deed of Marathon
              Upon Athenian walls;
          So may she labour for thy civic halls:
              And be the guardian spaces
              Of consecrated places,
          As nobly graced by Sculpture's patient toil;
          And let imperishable Columns rise
          Fixed in the depths of this courageous soil;
          Expressive signals of a glorious strife,
          And competent to shed a spark divine
          Into the torpid breast of daily life;--
          Records on which, for pleasure of all eyes,
              The morning sun may shine
          With gratulation thoroughly benign!

                                 V

            And ye, Pierian Sisters, sprung from Jove
          And sage Mnemosyne,--full long debarred
          From your first mansions, exiled all too long
          From many a hallowed stream and grove,
          Dear native regions where ye wont to rove,
          Chanting for patriot heroes the reward
              Of never-dying song!
          Now (for, though Truth descending from above
          The Olympian summit hath destroyed for aye
          Your kindred Deities, 'Ye' live and move,
          Spared for obeisance from perpetual love
          For privilege redeemed of godlike sway)
          Now, on the margin of some spotless fountain,
          Or top serene of unmolested mountain,
          Strike audibly the noblest of your lyres,
          And for a moment meet the soul's desires!
          That I, or some more favoured Bard, may hear
          What ye, celestial Maids! have often sung
          Of Britain's acts,--may catch it with rapt ear,
          And give the treasure to our British tongue!
          So shall the characters of that proud page
          Support their mighty theme from age to age;
          And, in the desert places of the earth,
          When they to future empires have given birth,
          So shall the people gather and believe
          The bold report, transferred to every clime;
          And the whole world, not envious but admiring,
              And to the like aspiring,
          Own--that the progeny of this fair Isle
          Had power as lofty actions to achieve
          As were performed in man's heroic prime;
          Nor wanted, when their fortitude had held
          Its even tenor, and the foe was quelled,
          A corresponding virtue to beguile
          The hostile purpose of wide-wasting Time--
          That not in vain they laboured to secure,
          For their great deeds, perpetual memory,
          And fame as largely spread as land and sea,
          By Works of spirit high and passion pure!
                                                              1816.

ODE

                                 I

            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 armed 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,--or, pompously at rest,
          Seemed to bisect her orbed 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? 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!

                                 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,
          The same weak wish returns, that had before deceived him.

                                 V

            But Thou, supreme Disposer! may'st 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.
                                                              1816.

THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA
1812-13

          HUMANITY, delighting to behold
          A fond reflection of her own decay,
          Hath painted Winter like a traveller old,
          Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day,
          In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain,
          As though his weakness were disturbed by pain:
          Or, if a juster fancy should allow
          An undisputed symbol of command,
          The chosen sceptre is a withered bough,
          Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand.                     10
          These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn;
          But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.

          For he it was--dread Winter! who beset,
          Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net,
          That host, when from the regions of the Pole
          They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal--
          That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied
          Their God, and placed their trust in human pride!
          As fathers persecute rebellious sons,
          He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;               20
          He called on Frost's inexorable tooth
          Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold;
          Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs;
          For why--unless for liberty enrolled
          And sacred home--ah! why should hoary Age be bold?

            Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,
          But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind,
          Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed,
          And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind,
          And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride,               30
                  And to the battle ride.
          No pitying voice commands a halt,
          No courage can repel the dire assault;
          Distracted spiritless, benumbed, and blind,
          Whole legions sink--and, in one instant, find
          Burial and death: look for them--and descry,
          When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,
          A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!
                                                              1816.

ON THE SAME OCCASION

          YE Storms, resound the praises of your King!
          And ye mild Seasons--in a sunny clime,
          Midway on some high hill, while father Time
          Looks on delighted--meet in festal ring,
          And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing!
          Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and flowers,
          Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers,
          And the dire flapping of his hoary wing!
          Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass;
          With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain;      10
          Whisper it to the billows of the main,
          And to the aerial zephyrs as they pass,
          That old decrepit Winter--'He' hath slain
          That Host, which rendered all your bounties vain!
                                                              1816.

"BY MOSCOW SELF-DEVOTED TO A BLAZE"

          BY Moscow self-devoted to a blaze
          Of dreadful sacrifice, by Russian blood
          Lavished in fight with desperate hardihood;
          The unfeeling Elements no claim shall raise
          To rob our Human-nature of just praise
          For what she did and suffered. Pledges sure
          Of a deliverance absolute and pure
          She gave, if Faith might tread the beaten ways
          Of Providence. But now did the Most High
          Exalt his still small voice;--to quell that Host            10
          Gathered his power, a manifest ally;
          He, whose heaped waves confounded the proud boast
          Of Pharaoh, said to Famine, Snow, and Frost,
          Finish the strife by deadliest victory!"
                                                              1816.