Of mortals, hurrying like a sudden shower
That landward stretches from the sea,
The morning's splendours to devour;
But this swift travel scorns the company

Of irksome change, or threats from saddening power.
-The shock is given—the Adversaries bleed—

Lo, Justice triumphs! Earth is freed!

Joyful annunciation!-it went forth-
It pierced the caverns of the sluggish North-
It found no barrier on the ridge
Of Andes-frozen gulfs became its bridge-
The vast Pacific gladdens with the freight-
Upon the Lakes of Asia 'tis bestowed-
The Arabian desart shapes a willing road
Across her burning breast,

For this refreshing incense from the West!—
-Where snakes and lions breed,

Where towns and cities thick as stars appear,
Wherever fruits are gathered, and where'er
The upturned soil receives the hopeful seed-

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While the Sun rules, and cross the shades of night—

The unwearied arrow hath pursued its flight!
The eyes of good men thankfully give heed,
And in its sparkling progress read

Of virtue crowned with glory's deathless meed:
Tyrants exult to hear of kingdoms won,

And slaves are pleased to learn that mighty feats are done;
Even the proud Realm, from whose distracted borders

This messenger of good was launched in air,

France, humbled France, amid her wild disorders,
Feels, and hereafter shall the truth declare,

That she too lacks not reason to rejoice,

And utter England's name with sadly-plausive voice.

II

O genuine glory, pure renown!

And well might it beseem that mighty Town
Into whose bosom earth's best treasures flow,
To whom all persecuted men retreat;

If a new Temple lift her votive brow

High on the shore of silver Thames-to greet
The peaceful guest advancing from afar.
Bright be the Fabric, as a star

Fresh risen, and beautiful within!-there meet
Dependence infinite, proportion just;

A Pile that Grace approves, and Time can trust
With his most sacred wealth, heroic dust.

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III

But if the valiant of this land

In reverential modesty demand,

That all observance, due to them, be paid
Where their serene progenitors are laid;

Kings, warriors, high-souled poets, saint-like sages,
England's illustrious sons of long, long ages;
Be it not unordained that solemn rites,
Within the circuit of those Gothic walls,
Shall be performed at pregnant intervals;
Commemoration holy that unites

The living generations with the dead;
By the deep soul-moving sense
Of religious eloquence,-

By visual pomp, and by the tie
Of sweet and threatening harmony;

Soft notes, awful as the omen

Of destructive tempests coming,

And escaping from that sadness
Into elevated gladness;

While the white-robed choir attendant,
Under mouldering banners pendant,
Provoke all potent symphonies to raise

Songs of victory and praise,

For them who bravely stood unhurt, or bled
With medicable wounds, or found their graves
Upon the battle field, or under ocean's waves;
Or were conducted home in single state,
And long procession-there to lie,
Where their sons' sons, and all posterity,
Unheard by them, their deeds shall celebrate!

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IV

Nor will the God of peace and love
Such martial service disapprove.
He guides the Pestilence-the cloud
Of locusts travels on his breath;

The region that in hope was ploughed
His drought consumes, his mildew taints with death;
He springs the hushed Volcano's mine,
He puts the Earthquake on her still design,
Darkens the sun, hath bade the forest sink,
And, drinking towns and cities, still can drink

Cities and towns-'tis Thou-the work is Thine !—

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The fierce Tornado sleeps within Thy courts—
He hears the word--he flies-
And navies perish in their ports;
For Thou art angry with Thine enemies!
For these, and mourning for our errors,
And sins, that point their terrors,

We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud
And magnify Thy name, Almighty God!

But Man is Thy most awful instrument,

In working out a pure intent;

Thou cloth'st the wicked in their dazzling mail,
And for Thy righteous purpose they prevail;
Thine arm from peril guards the coasts
Of them who in Thy laws delight:
Thy presence turns the scale of doubtful fight,
Tremendous God of battles, Lord of Hosts!

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Forbear :-to Thee

Father and Judge of all, with fervent tongue,
But in a gentler strain

Of contemplation, by no sense of wrong
(Too quick and keen) incited to disdain
Of pity pleading from the heart in vain—

TO THEE-TO THEE,

Just God of christianised Humanity,

Shall praises be poured forth, and thanks ascend,
That Thou hast brought our warfare to an end,
And that we need no second victory!

Blest, above measure blest,

If on Thy love our Land her hopes shall rest,

And all the Nations labour to fulfil

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Thy law, and live henceforth in peace, in pure good will.

XLVI
ODE

1815 or 1816

THE MORNING OF THE DAY APPOINTED FOR A GENERAL
THANKSGIVING. JANUARY 18, 1816

I

AIL, orient Conqueror of gloomy Night!

Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude

On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;

Whether thy punctual visitations smite

The haughty towers where monarchs dwell;
Or thou, impartial Sun, with presence bright
Cheer'st the low threshold of the peasant's cell!
Not unrejoiced I see thee climb the sky
In naked splendour, clear from mist or haze,
Or cloud approaching to divert the rays,
Which even in deepest winter testify
Thy power and majesty,

Dazzling the vision that presumes to gaze.
-Well does thine aspect usher in this Day;
As aptly suits therewith that modest pace
Submitted to the chains

That bind thee to the path which God ordains

That thou shalt trace,

Till, with the heavens and earth, thou pass away!
Nor less, the stillness of these frosty plains,
Their utter stillness, and the silent grace
Of yon ethereal summits white with snow
(Whose tranquil pomp and spotless purity
Report of storms gone by

To us who tread below),

Do with the service of this Day accord.
-Divinest Object which the uplifted eye

Of mortal man is suffered to behold;

Thou, who upon those snow-clad Heights hast poured Meek lustre, nor forget'st the humble Vale;

Thou who dost warm Earth's universal mould,

And for thy bounty wert not unadored

By pious men of old;

Once more, heart-cheering Sun, I bid thee hail! Bright be thy course to-day, let not this promise fail!

'Mid the deep quiet of this morning hour, All nature seems to hear me while I speak, By feelings urged that do not vainly seek Apt language, ready as the tuneful notes

That stream in blithe succession from the throats

Of birds, in leafy bower,

Warbling a farewell to a vernal shower.

-There is a radiant though a short-lived flame,
That burns for Poets in the dawning east ;
And oft my soul hath kindled at the same,
When the captivity of sleep had ceased;
But He who fixed immoveably the frame
Of the round world, and built, by laws as strong,

ΤΟ

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A solid refuge for distress

The towers of righteousness;

He knows that from a holier altar came

The quickening spark of this day's sacrifice;
Knows that the source is nobler whence doth rise
The current of this matin song;

That deeper far it lies

Than aught dependent on the fickle skies.

III

Have we not conquered?-by the vengeful sword?

Ah no, by dint of Magnanimity;

That curbed the baser passions, and left free

A loyal band to follow their liege Lord
Clear-sighted Honour, and his staid Compeers,
Along a track of most unnatural

years;

In execution of heroic deeds
Whose memory, spotless as the crystal beads
Of morning dew upon the untrodden meads,
Shall live enrolled above the starry spheres.
He, who in concert with an earthly string
Of Britain's acts would sing,

He with enraptured voice will tell

Of One whose spirit no reverse could quell;
Of One that 'mid the failing never failed—

Who paints how Britain struggled and prevailed
Shall represent her labouring with an eye

Of circumspect humanity;

Shall show her clothed with strength and skill
All martial duties to fulfil ;

Firm as a rock in stationary fight;

In motion rapid as the lightning's gleam;
Fierce as a flood-gate bursting at mid night
To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream—
Woe, woe to all that face her in the field!
Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield.

IV

And thus is missed the sole true glory
That can belong to human story!

At which they only shall arrive

Who through the abyss of weakness dive.

The very humblest are too proud of heart;
And one brief day is rightly set apart

For Him who lifteth up and layeth low;

For that Almighty God to whom we owe,

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Say not that we have vanquished—but that we survive.