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Springs this indigenous produce far and near;
No craft this subtle element can bind,
Rising like water from the soil, to find
In every nook a lip that it may cheer.
Hebe pause: the poet claims at least this
praise, That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope Of his pure song, which did not shrink from
hope In the worst moment of these evil days; From hope, the paramount duty that Heaven
For its own honour, on man's suffering heart.
Never may from our souls one truth depart—
That an accursed thing it is to gaze
On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye;
Nor—touched with due abhorrence of their guilt
For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood, is
And justice labours in extremity—
Forget thy weakness, upon which is built,
0 wretched man, the throne of tyranny!
THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA.
Humanity, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a traveller old,
Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day,
In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain, 5
As though his weakness were disturbed by pain:
Or, if a juster fancy should allow
An undisputed symbol of command,
The chosen sceptre is a withered bough,
Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand. 10
These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn,
But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.
For he it was—dread Winter! who beset, Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net, That host, when from the regions of the Pole 15 They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal— That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied Their God, and placed their trust in human
As fathers persecute rebellious sons,
He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;
He called on Frost's inexorable tooth n
Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold;
Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs;
For why—unless for liberty enrolled
And sacred home—ah! why should hoary Age
Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed, But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind, Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed, And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind, And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride,
And to the battle ride. 31
No pitying voice commands a halt,
No courage can repel the dire assault;
Distracted, spiritless, benumbed, and blind,
Whole legions sink—and, in one instant, find 35
Burial and death: look for them—and descry,
When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,
A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!
ON THE SAME OCCASION.
Ye Storms, resound the praises of your King!
And ye mild Seasons—in a sunny clime,
Midway on some high hill, while father Time
Looks on delighted—meet in festal ring,
And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing!
Sing ye, with blossoms crowned, and fruits, and
Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety
showers, And the dire flapping of his hoary wing! -Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass; With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your
Whisper it to the billows of the main,
And to the aerial zephyrs as they pass,
That old decrepit Winter—He hath slain
That Host, which rendered all your bounties
By Moscow self-devoted to a blaze
Of dreadful sacrifice; by Russian blood
Lavished in fight with desperate hardihood;
The unfeeling Elements no claim shall raise
To rob our Human-nature of just praise 5
For what she did and suffered. Pledges sure
Of a deliverance absolute and pure
She gave, if Faith might tread the beaten ways
Of Providence. But now did the Most High
Exalt his still small voice ;—to quell that Host
Gathered his power, a manifest ally; 11
He, whose heaped waves confounded the proud boast
Of Pharaoh, said to Famine, Snow, and Frost, "Finish the strife by deadliest victory!"
THE GERMANS ON THE HEIGHTS OF H0CHHE1M.
Abruptly paused the strife;—the field
Resting upon his arms each warrior stood,
Checked in the very act and deed of blood,
With breath suspended, like a listening scout.
O Silence! thou wert mother of a shout 5
That through the texture of yon azure dome
Cleaves its glad way, a cry of harvest home
Uttered to Heaven in ecstasy devout!
The barrier Rhine hath flashed, through battle-
On men who gaze heart-smitten by the view,
As if all Germany had felt the shock! 11
—Fly, wretched G-auls! ere they the charge
renew Who have seen—themselves now casting off the
yoke— The unconquerable Stream his course pursue.
Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright,
Our aged Sovereign sits, to the ebb and flow
Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe,
Insensible. He sits deprived of sight,
And lamentably wrapped in twofold night, 5
Whom no weak hopes deceived; whose mind
Through perilous war, with regal fortitude,
Peace that should claim respect from lawless
Dread King of Kings, vouchsafe a ray divine
To his forlorn condition ! let thy grace no
Upon his inner soul in mercy shine;
Permit his heart to kindle, and to embrace
(Though it were only for a moment’s space)
The triumphs of this hour; for they are THINE!
li- Carmina possumus
Donare, et pretium dicere muneri.
Non incisa notis marmora ublicis,
Per quze spiritus et vita redit bonis
Post mortem ducibus
-~- clarius indicant
Laudes, quam -~- Pierides ; neque,
Si chartm sileant quod bene feceris, ,
Mercedem tuleris.-HOR. Car. 8. Lib. 4. 11 sg.
1. WHEN the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch On the tired household of corporeal sense, And Fancy, keeping unreluctant watch, Was free her choicest favours to dispense; I saw, in wondrous pérspective displayed, 5 A landscape more august than happiest skill Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade ; An intermingled pomp of vale and hill, City, and naval stream, suburban grove, And stately forest Where the wild deer rove; xo Nor wanted lurking hamlet, dusky towns, And scattered rural farms of aspect bright; And, here and there, between the pastoral downs,