COMPOSED BY The sea-side, sNEAR CALAIS,
AUGUST, 1802.
FAIR Star of evening, Splendour of the west,
Star of my Country !—on the horizon's brink
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
On England's bosom ; yet well pleased to resį.
Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest
Conspicuous to the Nations.
Shouldst be my Country's emblem ; and shouldst wink.
Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drést
In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot
Beneath thee, that is England; there she lies,
Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,
One life, one glory! – I with many a fear
For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,
Among men who do not love her, linger here,
Is it a reed that's shaken by the wind,
Or what is it that ye go forth to see?,
Lords, lawyers, statesmen, squires of low degree,
Men known, and men unknown, sick, lame, and blind,
Post forward all, like creatures of one kind,
With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee
In France, before the new-born Majesty.
'Tis ever thus. Ye men of prostrate mind,
A seemly reverence may be paid to power ; ·
But that's a loyal virtue, never sown
In haste, nor springing with a transient shower :
When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown,
What hardship had it been to wait an hour?
Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!
COMPOSED SEAR CALAIS, ON THE ROAD LEADING 10 ARDRES.
AUGUST 7, 1802.
JONES! as from Calais southward you and I
Went paring side by side, this public Way
Streamed with the pomp of a too-credulous, day *.
When faith was pledged to new-born Liberty :
A homeless sound of joy was in the sky ;
The antiquated Earth, hopeful and gay,
Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, play,
Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh!
And now, sole register that these things were,
Two solitary greetings have I heard,
* Good morrow, Citizen !' a hollow word,
As if a dead man spake it! Yet despair
Touches me not, though pensive as a bird
Whose vernal coverts winter hath laid bare.
I grieved for Buonaparté, with a vain
And an unthinking grief! The tenderest mood
Of that Man's mind—what can it be? what food
Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could he gain?—
'Tis not in battles that from youth we train
The Governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain
Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood,
Wisdour doth live with children round her knees :
Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk
Man holds with week-day ran in the hourly walk
Of the mind's business; these are the degrees
By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk
True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these.
FESTIVALS have I seen that were not names:
This is young Buonaparté's natal day,
And his is henceforth an established sway-
Consul for life. With worship France proclaims
Her approbation, and with pomps and games.
Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay!
Calais is not and I have bent my way
To the sea-coast, noting that each man frames
His business as he likes. Far other show
My youth here witnessed, in a prouder time ;
The senselessness of joy was then sublime!
Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,
Consul, or King, can sound himself to know
The destiny of Man, and live in hope.
|