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With what a joy my lofty gratulation

Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band :
And when to whelm the disenchanted nation,
Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand,

The Monarchs marched in evil day,

And Britain joined the dire array; Though dear her shores and circling ocean, Though many friendships, many youthful loves

Had swoll'n the patriot emotion And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and

groves ;
Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang

To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance,
And shame too long delayed and vain retreat!
For ne'er, O Liberty ! with partial aim
I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame;

But blessed the pæans of delivered France,
And hung my head and wept at Britain's name.


“ And what,” I said, “ though Blasphemy's loud

scream With that sweet music of deliverance strove !

Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream! Ye storms, that round the dawning east assem

bled, The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light! And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and

trembled, The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and

bright; When France her front deep-scarred and gory Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory;

Whether thy Love with unrefracted ray
Beam on the Prophet's purged eye, or if
Diseasing realms the enthusiast, wild of thought,
Scatter new frenzies on the infected throng,
Thou both inspiring, and predooming both,
Fit instruments and best, of perfect end:
Glory to Thee, Father of Earth and Heaven !"

And first a landscape rose More wild and waste and desolate than where The white bear, drifting on a field of ice, Howls to her sundered cubs with piteous rage And savage agony.

Sibylline Leaves.



When I have borne in memory what has tamed
Great nations, how ennubling thoughts depart
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed
I had, my country! Am I to be blamed ?
But, when I think of Thee, and what thou art,
Verily in the bottom of my heart,
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.
But dearly must we prize thee; we who find
In thee a bulwark of the cause of men ;
Aud I by my affection was beguiled.
What wonder if a poet, now and then,
Among the many movements of his mind,
Felt for thee as a Lover or a Child.


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Το μέλλον ήξει. Και συ μ' εν τάχει παρών
"Αγαν γ' αληθομαντιν οικτείρας έρείς.

Æschyl. Agam. 1225.

ARGUMENT. The Ode commences with an address to the Divine Providence, that regulates into one vast harmony all the

This Ode was composed on the 24th, 25th, and 26th of December, 1796, and was first published on the last day of that year

events of time, however calamitous some of them may appear to mortals. The second Strophe calls on men to suspend their private joys and sorrows, and devote them for a while to the cause of human nature in general. The first Epode speaks of the Empress of Russia, who died of an apoplexy on the 17th of November, 1796 ; having just concluded a subsidiary treaty with the Kings combined against France. The first and second Antistrophe describe the image of the Departing Year, &c., as in a vision. The second Epode prophesies, in anguish of spirit, the downfall of this country.


SPIRIT who sweepest the wild harp of Time!

It is most hard, with an untroubled ear Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear ! Yet, mine eye fixed on Heaven's unchanging clime, Long had I listened, free from mortal fear,

With inward stillness, and a bowed mind;

When lo! its folds far waving on the wind, I saw the train of the departing Year!

Starting from my silent sadness

Then with no unholy madness, Ere yet the entered cloud foreclosed my sight, I raised the impetuous song, and solemnized his



Hither, from the recent tomb,

From the prison's direr gloom, From distemper's midnight anguish; And thence, where poverty doth waste and lan

Or where, his two bright torches blending,

Love illumines manhood's maze ;
Or where, o'er cradled infants bending,
Hope has fixed her wishful gaze;

Hither, in perplexed dance,
Ye Woes ! ye young-eyed Joys! advance!

By Time's wild harp, and by the hand
Whose indefatigable sweep

Raises its fateful strings from sleep,
I bid you haste, a mixed tumultuous band !
From every private bower,

And each domestic hearth,
Haste for one solemn hour;

And with a loud and yet a louder voice,
O'er Nature struggling in portentous birth,

Weep and rejoice!
Still echoes the dread name that o'er the earth
Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of Hell:

And now advance in saintly jubilee.
Justice and Truth! They too have heard thy spell,

They too obey thy name, divinest Liberty!


I marked Ambition in his war-array !

I heard the mailed Monarch's troublous cry“Ah! wherefore does the Northern Conqueress

Groans not her chariot on its onward

way? ?"
Fly, mailed Monarch, fly!
Stunned by Death's twice mortal mace,

No more on Murder's lurid face
The imperial hag shall gloat with drunken eye!

Manes of the unnumbered slain !

Ye that gasped on Warsaw's plain!
Ye that erst at Ismail's tower,
When human ruin choked the streams,

Fell in conquest's glutted hour,
Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams !

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