The infuriate spirits of the Murder'd make Thus saying, from the answering Maid he passid, Glory to Thee, Father of Earth and Heaven' The Sun that rose on Freedom, rose in blood! All-conscious Presence of the Universe ! Nature's vast Ever-acting Energy! “ Maiden beloved, and Delegate of Heaven!” In Will, in Deed, Impulse of All to All! Whether thy love with unrefracted ray Beam on the Prophet's purged eye, or if Diseasing realms the enthusiast, wild of thought, Much hast thou seen, nor all canst understand Scatter new frenzies on the infected throng, Thou both inspiring and predooming both, Glory to Thee, Father of Earth and Heaven!” lacerations of cheeks, nor with funeral ululation--but with cucling dances and the joy of songs. Thou art terrible indeed, And first a landscape rose, yet thou dwellest with Liberty, stern Genius! Borne on thy More wild and waste and desolate than where dark pinions over the swelling of ocean, they return to their native country. There, by the side of Fountains beneath The white bear, drifting on a field of ice, Citron-groves, the lovers tell to their beloved what horrors, Howls to her sunder'd cubs with piteous rage being Mea, they had endured from Men. And savage agony. Sibylline Leaves. I POEMS OCCASIONED BY POLITICAL may appear to mortals. The second Strophe calls EVENTS OR FEELINGS CONNECTED on men to suspend their private joys and sorrows, and devote them for a while to the cause of human WITH THEM. 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 When I have borne in memory what has tamed subsidiary treaty with the Kings combined against Great nativos, bow eanobling thoughts depart France. The first and second Antistrophe describe When men change swords for legere, and desert The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed the Image of the Departing Year, etc. as in a vision I had, my country! Am I to be blamed ? The second Epode prophesies, in anguish of spirit, But, when I think of 'Thee, and what Thou art, the downsall of this country. 1. la thee a bulwark of the cause of men ; Spirit who sweepest the wild Harp of Time! And I by my affection was beguiled. It is most hard, with an untroubled ear Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear! Yet, mine eye fix'd on Heaven's unchanging clime, Wordsroorth. Long when I listen’d, free from mortal fear, With inward stillness, and submitted mind; ODE TO THE DEPARTING YEAR.* 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, Στροβεί, ταράσσων φροιμίοις εφημίοις. Ere yet the enter'd clond foreclosed my sight, I raised the impetuous song, and solemnized his Το μέλλον ήξει. Και συ μην πάχει παρών flight. II. From the prison's direr gloom, From Distemper's midnight anguish; Or where, his two bright torches blending, Love illuminez manhood's maze ; he events of time, however calamitous some of them Or where, o'er cradled infants bending, • This Ode was composed on the 24th, 25th, and 26th days Hope has fix'd her wishful gaze, of December, 1796; and was first published on the last day of Hither, in perplexed dance, that year. Ye Woes ! ye young-eyed Joys! advance' 6 By Time's wild harp, and by the hand “ Thou in stormy blackness throning Love and uncreated Light, By the Earth's unsolaced groaning, Seize thy terrors, Arm of might! By Peace with profler'd insult sacred, Masked late and envying Scorn! By Years of Havoc yet unborn! And Hunger's bosom to the frost-winds barel! O'er Nature struggling in portentous birth But chief by Afric's wrongs, Strange, horrible, and foul ! By what deep guilt belongs Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of Hell : To the deaf Synod, · full of gifts and lies" And now advance in saintly Jubilee By Wealth's insensate laugh! by Torture's howl! Justice and Truth! They too have heard thy spell, Avenger, rise ! They too obey thy name, Divinest Liberty ! For ever shall the thankless Island scowl, Her quiver full, and with unbroken bow? Speak! from thy storm-black Heaven, O speak aloud III. And on the darkling foe I mark'd Ambition in his war-array! Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud! I heard the mailed Monarch's troublous cry- O dart the flash! O rise and deal the blow! “ Ah! wherefore does the Northern Conqueress stay! The past to thee, to thee the future cries! Groans not her chariot on its onward way?" Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans low! Fly, mailed Monarch, fly! Rise, God of Nature! rise." No more on Murder's lurid face VI. The voice had ceased, the vision fled ; Yet still I gasp'd and reel'd with dread. When human ruin choked the streams, And ever, when the dream of night Fell in conquest's glutted hour, Renews the phantom to my sight, 'Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams! Cold sweat-drops gather on my limbs ; Spirits of the uncoflin'd slain, My ears throb hot; my eye-balls start; Sudden blasts of triumph swelling, My brain with horrid tumult swires ; Oft, at night, in misty train, Wild is the tempest of my heart ; Rush around her narrow dwelling! And my thick and struggling breath The exterminating fiend is fled Imitates the toil of Death ! (Foul her life, and dark her doom) No stronger agony consounds Mighty armies of the dead The Soldier on the war-field spread, Dance like death-fires round her tomb! When all foredone with toil and wounds, Then with prophetic song relate, Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead Each some tyrani-murderer's fate! (The strise is o'er, the day-light fed, And the night-wind clamors hoarse ! See! the starting wretch's head Lies pillow'd on a brother's corse !) My soul beheld thy vision! Where alone, VII. O Albion! O my mother Isle ! Thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers, Deep silence o'er the ethereal multitude, Glitter green with sunny showers; Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with Thy grassy uplands' gentle swells glories shone. Echo to the bleat of flocks Then, his eye wild ardors glancing, (Those grassy hills, those glittering dells From the choired Gods advancing, Proudly ramparted with rocks); The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet, And Ocean, 'mid his uproar wild And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy seat. Speaks safety to his ISLAND-CHILD! Hence, for many a fearless age Has social Quiet loved thy shore ! Nor ever proud Invader's rage Or sack'd thy towers, or stain'd thy fields with goro Till wheeling round the throne the Lampads seven (The mystic Words of Heaven), VIII. Permissive signal make : The servent Spirit bow'd, then spread his wings and Abandond of Heaven! mad Avarice thy guide, spake! At cowardly distance yet kindling with pride 'Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure thou hast The Monarchs march'd in evil day, stood, And Britain joined the dire array ; And join'd the wild yelling of Famine and Blood ! Though dear her shores and circling ocean, The nations curse thee! They with eager wondering Though many friendships, many youthful loves Shall hear Destruction, like a Vulture, scream! Had swoln the patriot emotion, Strange-eyed Destruction! who with many a dream And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves; Of central fires through nether seas upthundering Yet still my voice, unalter'd, sang defeat Soothes her fierce solitude; yet, as she lies To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance, By livid fount, or red volcanic stream, And shame too long delay'd and vain retreat! If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes, For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim O Albion! thy predestin'd ruins rise, I dimm'd thy light or damp'd thy holy flame; The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap, But bless'd the pæans of deliver'd France, Muttering distemper'd triumph in her charmed sleep. And hung my head and wept at Britain's name. a AN ODE. IX. III. “ And what," I said, “though Blasphemy's loud screaro In vain, in vain, the Birds of warning sing- With that sweet music of deliverance strove! And hark! I hear the famish'd brood of prey Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind! A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream! Away, my soul, away! Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, I, unpartaking of the evil thing, The Sun was rising, though he hid his light! And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled, Have wail'd my country with a loud lament. The dissonance ceased, and all seem'd calm and Now I recentre my immortal mind bright; In the deep sabbath of meek self-content; When France her front deep-scarr'd and gory Cleans'd from the vaporous passions that bedim Conceald with clustering wreaths of glory; God's Image, sister of the Seraphim. When, insupportably advancing, While timid looks of fury glancing, Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore; Then I reproach'd my fears that would not flee; " And soon," I said, "shall Wisdom teach her lore In the low huts of them that toil and groan! And, conquering by her happiness alone, Shall France compel the nations to be free, Till Love and Joy look round, and call the Earth their own." Whose pathless march no mortal may control! Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll, Yield homage only to eternal laws! IV. Ye Woods! that listen to the night-birds' singing, Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams! Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined, I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament, Save when your own imperious branches swinging, From bleak Helvetia's icy caverns sentHave made a solemn music of the wind ! I hear thy groans upon her blood-stain'd streams! Where, like a man beloved of God, Heroes, that for your peaceful country perish'd Through glooms, which never woodman trod, And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows How oft, pursuing fancies holy, With bleeding wounds; forgive me that I cherishd My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound, One thought that ever bless'd your cruel foes ! Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, To scatter rage, and traitorous guilt, A patriot race to disinherit And with inexpiable spirit O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind, With what deep worship I have still ador'd And patriot only in pernicious toils ! The spirit of divinest Liberty. Are these thy boasts, Champion of human-kind ? To mix with Kings in the low lust of sway, II. Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey; When France in wrath her giant-limbs uprear'd, To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils And with that oath, which smote air, earth and sea, From Freemen torn; to tempt and to betray ? Stamp'd her strong foot and said she would be free, V. The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain, Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game And when to whelm the disenchanted nation, They burst their manacles and wear the name Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand, Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain ! O Liberty! with profitless endeavor And all the crash of onset; fear and rage, Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour; And undetermined conflict-even now, But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever Even now, perchance, and in his native isle ; Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. Carnage and groans beneath this blessed Sun! Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee We have offended, Oh! my countrymen! (Not prayer nor boastful name delays thee), We have offended very grievously, Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions, And been most tyrannous. From east to west And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves, A groan of accusation pierces Heaven! Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The wretched plead against us; multitudes The guide of homeless winds, and playmates of the Countless and vehement, the Sons of God, waves ! Our Brethren! Like a cloud that travels on, And there I felt thee!-on that sea-cliff's verge, Steam'd up from Cairo's swamps of pestilence, Whose pines, scarce travell’d by the breeze above, Even so, my countrymen! have we gone forth Had made one murmur with the distant surge! And borne to distant tribes slavery and pangs, Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare, And, deadlier far, our vices, whose deep taint And shot my being through earth, sea, and air, With slow perdition murders the whole man, Possessing all things with intensest love, His body and his soul! Meanwhile, at home, O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there. All individual dignity and power Ingulf'd in Courts, Committees, Institutions, Associations and Societies, Pollutions from the brimming cup of wealth ; Contemptuous of all honorable rule, Yet bartering freedom and the poor man's life WRITTEN IN APRIL, 1798, DURING THE ALARM OF For gold, as at a market! The sweet words Of Christian promise, words that even yet Might stem destruction were they wisely preachd, A GREEN and silent spot, amid the hills, Are mutter'd o'er by men, whose tones proclaim A small and silent dell! O'er stiller place How flat and wearisome they feel their trade: No sinking sky-lark ever poised himself. Rank scoffers some, but most too indolent The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope, To deem them falsehoods or to know their truth. Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on, Oh! blasphemous! the book of life is made All golden with the never-bloomless furze, A superstitious instrument, on which Which now blooms most profusely; but the dell, We gabble o'er the oaths we mean to break; Bathed by the mist, is fresh and delicate For all must swear-all and in every place, As vernal corn-field, or the unripe flax, College and wharf, council and justice-court; When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve, All, all must swear, the briber and the bribed, The level Sunshine glimmers with green light Merchant and lawyer, senator and priest, Oh! 'tis a quiet spirit-healing nook! The rich, the poor, the old man and the young ; Which all, meihinks, would love; but chiefly he, All, all make up one scheme of perjury, The humble man, who, in his youthful years, That faith doth reel ; the very name of God Knew just so much of folly, as had made Sounds like a juggler's charm; and, bold with joy His early manhood more securely wise ! Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, Here he might lie on fern or wither'd heath, (Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism, While from the singing-lark (that sings unseen Sailing on obscene wings athwart ihe noon, The minstrelsy that solitude loves best), Drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them close, And from the Sun, and from the breezy Air, And hooting at the glorious Sun in Heaven, Cries out, - Where is it?” Thankless too for peace Religious meanings in the forms of nature ! (Peace long preserved by fleets and perilous seas) And so, his senses gradually wrapt Secure from actual warfare, we have loved Its ghastlier workings (famine or blue plague, We, this whole people, have been clamorous For war and bloodshed ; animating sports, Anticipative of a wrong unfelt, (Stuffd out with big preamble, holy names. And adjurations of the God in Heaven), On which our vice and wretchedness were tagg’d We send our mandates for the certain death Like fancy points and fringes, with the robe Of thousands and ten thousands ! Boys and girls, Pullid off at pleasure. Fondly these attach And women, that would groan to see a child A radical causation to a few Pull off an insect's leg, all read of war, Poor drudges of chastising Providence, The best amusement for our morning-meal! Who borrow all their hues and qualities The poor wretch, who has learnt his only prayers From our own folly and rank wickedness, From curses, who knows scarcely words enough Which gave them birth and nursed them. Others, To ask a blessing from bis Heavenly Father, meanwhile, Becomes a fluent phraseman, absolute Dote with a mad idolatry; and all And technical in victories and defeats, Who will not fall before their images, And yield them worship, they are enemies Such have I been deem'dAs if the fibres of this godlike frame But, О dear Britain! O my Mother Isle ! Were gored without a pang; as if the wretch, Needs must thou prove a name most dear and holy Who fell in baule, doing bloody deeds, To me, a son, a brother, and a friend, Pass'd off to Heaven, translated and not kill'd : A husband, and a father! who revere All bonds of natural love, and find them all Within the limits of thy rocky shores. O native Britain! O my Mother Isle ! And what if all-avenging Providence, How shouldst thou prove aught else but dear and Strong and retributive, should make us know holy The meaning of our words, force us to feel To me, who from thy lakes and mountain-hills, The desolation and the agony Thy clouds, thy quiet dales, thy rocks and seas, Of our fiercé doings! Have drunk in all my intellectual life, All adoration of the God in nature, All lovely and all honorable things, Whatever makes this mortal spirit feel Oh! let not English women drag their flight The joy and greatness of its future being? Fainting beneath the burthen of their babes, There lives nor form nor feeling in my soul of the sweet infants, that but yesterday Unborrow'd from my country. O divine Laugh'd at the breast! Sons, brothers, husbands, all And beauteous island! thou hast been my sole Who ever gazed with fondness on the forms And most magnificent temple, in the which Loving the God that made me! May my fears, My filial fears, be vain! and may the vaunts Pass like the gust, that roar'd and died away In the distant tree: which heard, and only heard Poison life's amities, and cheat the heart In this low dell, bow'd not the delicate grass. But now the gentle dew-fall sends abroad The fruit-like perfume of the golden furze : On the green sheep-track, up the heathy hill, From bodings that have well-nigh wearied me, I find myself upon the brow, and pause O Britons! O my brethren! I have told Startled! And after lonely sojourning Most bitler truth, but without bitterness. In such a quiet and surrounding nook, Nor deem my zeal or factious or mistimed; This burst of prospect, here the shadowy main, For never can true courage dwell with them, Dim-tinted, there the mighty majesty Who, playing tricks with conscience, dare not look Of that huge amphitheatre of rich At their own vices. We have been too long And elmy fields, seems like societyDupes of a deep delusion! Some, belike, Conversing with the mind, and giving it A livelier impulse and a dance of thought! Thy church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elma 35 |
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