And are they dreams, these bodings, such as shed Their lonely comfort o'er the hermit's bed? And are they dreams? or can the Eternal Mind Care for a sparrow, yet neglect mankind? Why, if the dubious battle own His power, And the red sabre, where He bids, devour, Why then can one the curse of worlds deride, And millions weep a tyrant's single pride?
Thus sadly musing, far my footsteps stray'd, Rapt in the visions of the Aonian maid. It was not she, whose lonely voice I hear Fall in soft whispers on my love-lorn ear; My daily guest, who wont my steps to guide Through the green walks of scented even-tide, Or stretch'd with me in noonday ease along, To list the reaper's chant, or throstle's song:But she of loftier port; whose grave controul Rules the fierce workings of the patriot's soul; She, whose high presence, o'er the midnight oil, With fame's bright promise cheers the student's toil; That same was she, whose ancient law refined
The sober hardihood of Sydney's mind.
Borne on her wing, no more I seem'd to rove
By Dresden's glittering spires, and linden grove;
No more the giant Elbe, all silver bright,
Spread his broad bosom to the fair moonlight,
While the still margent of his ample flood
Bore the dark image of the Saxon wood-
(Woods happy once, that heard the carols free,
Of rustic love, and cheerful industry;
Now dull and joyless lie their alleys green,
And silence marks the track where France has been.)
Far other scenes than these my fancy view'd :
Rocks robed in ice, a mountain solitude;
Where on Helvetian hills, in godlike state,
Alone and awful, Europe's Angel sate:
Silent and stern he sate; then, bending low,
Listen'd th' ascending plaints of human woe.
And waving as in grief his towery head,
"Not yet, not yet, the day of rest," he said;
"It may not be. Destruction's gory wing
Soars o'er the banners of the younger king,
Too rashly brave, who seeks with single sway
To stem the lava on its destined way.
Poor glittering warriors, only wont to know
The bloodless pageant of a martial show
Nurslings of peace, for fiercer fights prepare,
And dread the step-dame sway of unaccustom'd war!
They fight, they bleed!-Oh! had that blood been shed
When Charles and valour Austria's armies led;
Had these stood forth the righteous cause to shield,
When victory waver'd on Moravia's field;
Then France had mourn'd her conquests made in vain,
Her backward-beaten ranks, and countless slain ;—
Then had the strength of Europe's freedom stood,
And still the Rhine had roll'd a German flood!
"Oh! nursed in many a wile, and practised long
To spoil the poor, and cringe before the strong;
To swell the victor's state, and hovering near,
Like some base vulture in the battle's rear,
To watch the carnage of the field, and share
Each loathsome alms the prouder eagles spare:
A curse is on thee, Brandenburgh! the sound
Of Poland's wailing drags thee to the ground;
And, drunk with guilt, thy harlot lips shall know
The bitter dregs of Austria's cup of woe.
"Enough of vengeance! O'er th' ensanguined plain
I gaze, and seek their numerous hosts in vain ;
Gone like the locust band, when whirlwinds bear
Their flimsy legions through the waste of air.
Enough of vengeance!-By the glorious dead,
Who bravely fell where youthful Lewis led ;
By Blücher's sword in fiercest danger tried,
And the true heart that burst when Brunswick died;
By her whose charms the coldest zeal might warm,
The manliest firmness in the fairest form-
Save, Europe, save the remnant!-Yet remains
One glorious path to free the world from chains.
Why, when yon northern band in Eylau's wood
Retreating struck, and track'd their course with blood,
While one firm rock the floods of ruin stay'd,
Why, generous Austria, were thy wheels delay'd?
And Albion!"-Darker sorrow veil'd his brow-
"Friend of the friendless-Albion, where art thou?
Child of the Sea, whose wing-like sails are spread,
The covering cherub of the ocean's bed!
The storm and tempest render peace to thee,
And the wild-roaring waves a stern security.
But hope not thou in Heaven's own strength to ride,
Freedom's loved ark, o'er broad oppression's tide;
If virtue leave thee, if thy careless eye
Glance in contempt on Europe's agony.
Alas! where now the bands who wont to pour
Their strong deliverance on th' Egyptian shore?
Wing, wing your course, a prostrate world to save,
Triumphant squadrons of Trafalgar's wave.
"And thou, blest star of Europe's darkest hour,
Whose words were wisdom and whose counsels power,
Whom Earth applauded through her peopled shores!
(Alas! whom Earth too early lost deplores :-)
Young without follies, without rashness bold,
And greatly poor amidst a nation's gold!
In every veering gale of faction true,
Untarnish'd Chatham's genuine child, adieu!
Unlike our common suns, whose gradual ray
Expands from twilight to intenser day,
Thy blaze broke forth at once in full meridian sway.
O, proved in danger! not the fiercest flame
Of discord's rage thy constant soul could tame;
Not when, far striding o'er thy palsied land,
Gigantic treason took his bolder stand
Not when wild zeal, by murderous faction led,
On Wicklow's hills her grass-green banner spread ;
Or those stern conquerors of the restless wave
Defied the native soil they wont to save.
Undaunted patriot! in that dreadful hour,
When pride and genius own a sterner power;
When the dimm'd eyeball, and the struggling breath,
And pain, and terror, mark advancing death ;-
Still in that breast thy country held her throne.
Thy toil, thy fear, thy prayer, were hers alone,
Thy last faint effort hers, and hers thy parting groan.
Yes, from those lips while fainting nations drew Hope ever strong, and courage ever new ;
Yet, yet, I deem'd by that supporting hand
Propp'd in her fall might Freedom's ruin stand;
And purged by fire, and stronger from the storm,
Degraded justice rear her reverend form.
Now, hope, adieu !—adieu the generous care
To shield the weak, and tame the proud in war!
The golden chain of realms, when equal awe
Poised the strong balance of impartial law;
When rival states as federate sisters shone,
Alike, yet various, and though many, one;
And, bright and numerous as the spangled sky,
Beam'd each fair star of Europe's galaxy-
All, all are gone, and after-time shall trace
One boundless rule, one undistinguished race;
Twilight of worth, where nought remains to move
The patriot's ardour, or the subject's love.
Behold, e'en now, while every manly lore
And every muse forsakes my yielding shore;
Faint, vapid fruits of slavery's sickly clime,
Each tinsel art succeeds, and harlot rhyme!
To gild the vase, to bid the purple spread
In sightly foldings o'er the Grecian bed,
Their mimic guard where sculptured gryphons keep,
And Memphian idols watch o'er beauty's sleep;
To rouse the slumbering sparks of faint desire
With the base tinkling of the Teian lyre;
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