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Answered Pity from her cave ;

Death grew pale within the grave,
And Desolation howled to the destroyer, Save !
When like heaven's sun girt by the exhalation

Of its own glorious light, thou didst arise,
Chasing thy foes from nation unto nation

Like shadows : as if day had cloven the skies
At dreaming midnight o'er the western wave,

Men started, staggering with a glad surprise,
Under the lightnings of thine unfamiliar eyes.

XII.

Thou heaven of earth ! what spells could pall thee then,

In ominous eclipse? a thousand years
Bred from the slime of deep oppression's den,

Dyed all thy liquid light with blood and tears,
Till thy sweet stars could weep the stain away ;

How like Bacchanals of blood

Round France, the ghastly vintage, stood Destruction's sceptred slaves, and Folly's mitred brood ! When one, like them, but mightier far than they,

The Anarch of thine own bewildered powers Rose : armies mingled in obscure array, Like clouds with clouds, darkening the sacred

bowers Of serene heaven. He, by the past pursued,

Rests with those dead, but unforgotten hours, Whose ghosts scare victor kings in their ancestral

towers.

XIII.

England yet sleeps : was she not called of old ?

Spain calls her now, as with its thrilling thunder Vesuvius wakens Ætna, and the cold

Snow-crags by its reply are cloven in sunder: O'er the lit waves every Æolian isle

From Pithecusa to Pelorus

Howls, and leaps, and glares in chorus : They cry, Be dim; ye lamps of heaven suspended o'er

us.

Her chains are threads of gold, she need but smile

And they dissolve ; but Spain's were links of steel, Till bit to dust by virtue's keenest file.

Twins of a single destiny ! appeal
To the eternal years enthroned before us,

In the dim West; impress us from a seal,
All ye have thought and done ! Time cannot dare

conceal.

XIV.

Tomb of Arminius ! render up thy dead,
Till, like a standard from a watch-tower's staff,

His soul may stream over the tyrant's head;

Thy victory shall be his epitaph,
Wild Bacchanal of truth's mysterious wine,

King-deluded Germany,

His dead spirit lives in thee.
Why do we fear or hope? thou art already free!
And thou, lost Paradise of this divine

And glorious world! thou flowery wilderness !
Thou island of eternity! thou shrine

Where desolation clothed with loveliness,
Worships the thing thou wert! O Italy,

Gather thy blood into thy heart; repress
The beasts who make their dens thy sacred palaces.

XV.

O, that the free would stamp the impious name

Of KING into the dust! or write it there, So that this blot upon the page of fame

Were as a serpent's path, which the light air Erases, and the flat sands close behind !

Ye the oracle have heard :

Lift the victory-flashing sword,
And cut the snaky knots of this foul gordian word,
Which weak itself as stubble, yet can bind

Into a mass, irrefragably firm,
The axes and the rods which awe mankind;
The sound has poison in it, 'tis the sperm

Of what makes life foul, cankerous, and abhorred;

Disdain not thou, at thine appointed term,
To set thine armèd heel on this reluctant worm.

XVI.

O, that the wise from their bright minds would kindle

Such lamps within the dome of this dim world, That the pale name of PRIEST might shrink and dwindle

Into the hell from which it first was hurled, A scoff of impious pride from fiends impure;

Till human thoughts might kneel alone

Each before the judgment-throne Of its own aweless soul, or of the power unknown ! O, that the words which make the thoughts obscure From which they spring, as clouds of glimmering

dew From a white lake blot heaven's blue portraiture,

Were stript of their thin masks and various hue And frowns and smiles and splendours not their own,

Till in the nakedness of false and true
They stand before their Lord, each to receive its due.

XVII.

He who taught man to vanquish whatsoever

Can be between the cradle and the grave Crowned him the King of Life. O vain endeavour ! If on his own high will a willing slave,

Ee 12 annet tre sopresion mi se oppressor.

Ta i zi can dictie ad feed

Aimţies milions a seir need. ind a crate a veze ruin the seed? 0, wa ia tiet terrassor,

Levng co iery vngs to Samure's brone, Ciecisze motie stooping to caress her,

tad cries: Give me, hy child, dominion Over al zeigte and depa? i Life can breed

Servais, and vezitá íom those who to and groan Read oé tãy gits and ters a thousand fold for one.

Come Tson, but lead out of the inmost cave

Of man's deep spirit, as the morning-star Beckons the Sun from the Eoan wave,

Wisdom. I hear the pennons of her car Self-moving, like cloud charioted by flame;

Comes she not, and come ye not,

Rulers of eternal thought, To judge, with solemn truth, life's ill-apportioned lot? Blind Love, and equal Justice, and the Fame

Of what has been, the Hope of what will be? 0, Liberty ! if such could be thy name

Wert thou disjoined from these, or they from thee : If thine or theirs were treasures to be bought

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