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Thou fought'st against him; but hast vainly

striven : Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art

driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft: 9 Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left; For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be That Mountain floods should thunder as before, And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!

1806.

XIII. WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802. O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest, To think that now our life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman,

cook, Or groom !—We must run glittering like a

brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest: The wealthiest man among us is the best: No grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore : Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.

ΙΟ

XIV.

LONDON, 1802. MILTON! thou should'st be living at this hour:

England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower 5
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the
sea : .

10
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

XV.

Great men have been among us; hands that

penned And tongues that uttered wisdom-better none: The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington, Young Vane, and others who called Milton

friend. These moralists could act and comprehend: 5 They knew how genuine glory was put on; Taught us how rightfully a nation shone In splendour: what strength was, that would

not bend But in magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis

strange,

10

Hath brought forth no such souls as we had

then.
Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change!
No single volume paramount, no code,
No master spirit, no determined road;
But equally a want of books and men !

1802. (?)

XVI.

It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed," with pomp of waters, unwith-

stood.”
Roused though it be full often to a mood 5
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and

sands Should perish; and to evil and to good Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung Armoury of the invincible Knights of old: 10 We must be free or die, who speak the tongue That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals

hold Which Milton held.-In every thing we are

sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

1803.

XVII.

WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and

desert The student's bower for gold, some fears un.

named I had, my Country-am I to be blamed? 5 Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart, Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. For dearly must we prize thee; we who find In thee a bulwark for the cause of men; 10 And I by my affection was beguiled : What wonder if a Poet now and then,

Among the many movements of his mind,
Felt for thee as a lover or a child !

1803.

XVIII.

OCTOBER, 1803. One might believe that natural miseries Had blasted France, and made of it a land Unfit for men; and that in one great band Her sons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease. But 'tis a chosen soil, where sun and breeze 5 Shed gentle favours: rural works are there, And ordinary business without care; Spot rich in all things that can soothe and

please! How piteous then that there should be such

dearth Of knowledge; that whole myriads should unite To work against themselves such fell despite : Should come in phrensy and in drunken mirth, Impatient to put out the only light Of Liberty that yet remains on earth!

XIX. THERE is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and

wall, Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary Thrall: 'Tis his who walks about in the open air, One of a Nation who, henceforth, must wear 5 Their fetters in their souls. For who could be, Who, even the best, in such condition, free From self-reproach, reproach that he must

share With Human-nature? Never be it ours

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