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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 rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest Conspicuous to the nations. Thou, I think, Shouldst be my country's emblem ; and shouldst wink, Bright star! with laughter on her banners, dressed In thy fresh beauty. There ! that dusky spot Beneath thee, it is England; there it 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!


AUGUST 7, 1802. Jones! while from Calais southward you and I Urged our accordant steps, 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, as one might say, 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 Bonaparte, with a vain
And an unthinking grief! for, who aspires
To genuine greatness but from just desires.
And knowledge such as he could never 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.
Wisdom doth live with children round her knees :
Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk
Man holds with week-day man 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 Bonaparte'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.

Look now on that adventurer who hath paid His vows to Fortune; who, in cruel slight Of virtuous hope, of liberty, and right, Hath followed wheresoe'er a way was made By the blind goddess; ruthless, undismayed ; And so hath gained at length a prosperous height Round which the elements of worldly might Beneath his haughty feet, like clouds, are laid ! Oh, joyless power that stands by lawless force! Curses are his dire portion, scorn and hate,

• Written at Calais, August 15th, 1802.

1x** var ness and unquiet breath;
in taigments keep their sacred course,

as height shall Heaven precipitate
vintet and ignominious death.


Lanvi de hold the gorgeous East in fee;

w ws the safeguard of the West : the worth
Avslive did not fall below her birth,
ne the eldest child of Liberty.

sa maiden city, bright and free;

ile seduced, no force could violate ; was when she took unto herself a mate,

must espouse the everlasting sea! Two what if she had seen those glories fade,

w sales vanish, and that strength decay ;

Wall some tribute of regret be paid Whoa her long life hath reached its final day: Det are we, and must grieve when even the shade

hat which once was great is passed away.


The voice of song from distant lands shall call
To chat great king; shall hail the crowned youth
Why, taking counsel of unbending truth,
By oue example hath set forth to all

with dignity may stand; or fall;

ust. Now, whither doth it tend?
im and his shall be the end?
s one which neither can appall
: for the illustrious Swede hath done
sh ought to be : he stands above

All consequences; work he hath begun
Of fortitude, and piety, and love,
Which all his glorious ancestors approve:
The heroes bless him, him their rightful son.

Call not the royal Swede unfortunate,
Who never did to fortune bend the knee;
Who slighted fear, rejected steadfastly
Temptation; and whose kingly name and state
Have “perished by his choice, and not his fate!"
Hence lives he, to his inner self endeared ;
And hence, wherever virtue is revered,
He sits a more exalted potentate,
Throned in the hearts of men. Should Heaven ordain
That this great servant of a righteous cause
Must still have sad or vexing thoughts to endure,
Yet may a sympathising spirit pause,
Admonished by these truths, and quench all pain
In thankful joy and gratulation pure.

TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy man of men! Whether the whistling rustic tend his plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den; O miserable chieftain! where and when Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not! do thou Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow: Though fallen thyself, never to rise again, Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind Powers that will work for thee, air, earth, and skies : There's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies ; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

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