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A melancholy echo of that noise
Doth sometimes hang on musing Fancy's ear:
Ah! that a conqueror's word should be so dear;
Ah! that a boon could shed such rapturous joys?
A gift of that which is not to be given
By all the blended powers of earth and heaven.
When, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn The tidings passed of servitude repealed, And that of joy which shook the Isthmian field. The rough ^Etolians smiled with bitter scorn. "'Tis known," cried they, "that he who would adorn His envied temples with the Isthmian crown, Must either win, through effort of his own. The prize, or be content to see it worn By more deserving brows. Yet so ye prop, Sons of the brave who fought at Marathon! Your feeble spirits. Greece her head hath bowed, As if the wreath of Liberty thereon Would fix itself as smoothly as a cloud, Which, at Jove's will, descends on Pelion's top."
TO CLARKSON, ON THE ABOLITION OP
Clarkson! it was an obstinate hill to climb:
The bloody writing is for ever torn,
A PROPHECY. FEBRUARY, 1807.
High deeds, O Germans, are to come from you!
Clouds, lingering yet, extend in solid bars
Through the gray west; and lo! these waters, steeled
By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield
A vivid repetition of the stars;
Jove—Venus—and the ruddy crest of Mars,
Amid his fellows beauteously revealed
At happy distance from earth's groaning field,
Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars.
Is it a mirror? or the nether sphere
Opening to view the abyss in which it feeds
Its own calm fires? But list! a voice is near;
Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes
THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA, i8o3.
Not mid the world's vain objects 1 that enslave
The free-born soul—that world whose vaunted skilL
In selfish interest perverts the will,
Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave;
Not there! but in dark wood and rocky cave,
And hollow vale which foaming torrents fill
With omnipresent murmur as they rave
Down their steep beds, that never shall be still:
Here, mighty Nature 1 in this school sublime
I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering Spain:
For her consult the auguries of time,
I dropped my pen: and listened to the wind
Of mortal parents is the hero bor n
By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led?
Or is it Tell's great spirit, from the dead
Returned to animate an age forlorn?
He comes like Phcebus through the gates of morn
When dreary darkness is discomfited:
Vet mark his modest state! upon his head,
That simple crest, a heron's plume is worn.
O Liberty! they stagger at the shock;
The murderers are aghast; they strive to flee,
And half their host is buried: rock on rock
Descends: heneath this godlike warrior, see!
Hills, torrents, woods, embodied to bemock
The tyrant, and confound his cruelty.
Advance—come forth from thy Tyrolean ground,
FEELINGS OF THE TYROLESE.
The land we from our fathers had in trust,
And to our children will transmit, or die:
This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and Nature say that it is just.
That which we would perform in arms—we must!
We read the dictate in the infant's eye;
In the wife's smile; and in the placid sky;
And, at our feet, amid the silent dust
Of them that were before us. Sing aloud
Old songs, the precious music of the heart!
Give, herds and flocks, your voices to the wind!
While we go forth a self-devoted crowd,
With weapons in the fearless hand, to assert
Our virtue and to vindicate mankind.