XCII.

Thou glorious Adriatic! do I gaze

On thee, at last, thou dream of youth! how springs Again the memory of childhood's days,

When hope outstripped the heart's imaginings:

How the sail wafts me with its outstretched wings,

Over thy azure waters! while the foam

O'er the white deck its feathering eddy flings:

Free as the bounding sea-bird on we roam :

But whither tends her course-what port shall be

our home?

XCIII.

Home-Father-Land! what music in the sound!
How, like a spell, it doth, at once, awake

The memories, England! of thy sacred ground;

O thou loved Isle! round whom the wild waves

break

Vainly as foes their wrath would on thee wreak;

Thou first in arts and arms! from whose rock-shrine,

Wisdom, that doth to after ages speak,

Goes forth to humanise, exalt, refine;

Till listening States forget their greatness came from

thine!

XCIV.

Oh I have been where Mountains hide their heads

In the far Clouds! where torrents rave beneath:
Where the wild Avalanche its ruin spreads:

Where the sweet South comes like a spirit's breath, Caught from the doors of heaven; and, where the heath,

Even in its rankness, flowered like Paradise!
But then, as when before the gates of Death,

Thou still wert ever present to my eyes,

The charms of other lands, their hills, seas, glorious skies.

XCV.

Endeared thee but the more! even now I see

That grass-grown area, those mouldering walls,

Once, seat of a time-honoured Ancestry:

Who battled to the last in those Old Halls,
For him o'er whom the tear of memory falls;
Martyr of Royalty !-even now, I prove

The sacred thrill that hallowed spot recals;

The patriot-oath, it may be, heard above,

To show in such high cause, the same devoted love!

XCVI.

Pride of the chainless wave! that owns no thrall:

Scorning Earth's narrow land-mark, thou dost claim
For thy broad boundary, Heaven's sapphire wall;
And for thy bulwark, Freedom's holy name;
Far as the thundering echoes of thy fame,
Thy glory hath gone forth: and Nations vow

To hate thee from remembrance of their shame;

And despots fear thee; and the bondsman's brow Is raised to thy bright sun, for thou wilt hear him, thou,

XCVII.

Lord of the mighty free! whose throne doth stand

Based on the Rock of ages! thou hast wreathed
The Olive-branch around thy sceptered hand;

And kingdoms, at thy word, their swords have sheathed;

And oh! how god-like thou, who hast bequeathed That Gift which God to man his birth-right gave, His heaven-stamped liberty! wherever breathed The man in chains, thy arm was stretched to save: Thy eloquence roused the heart, and Slavery found its grave!

XCVIII.

Ocean's first isle! whose circle is the world:

What furthest shore hath not thy wealth endowered?

Or Sea beheld thy battle-flag unfurled?

Thy Lion-flag that never yet was lowered,

Even when the deadliest of War's thunders showered: When single handed Valour stood to die

?

On the rent deck by giant force o'erpowered! What Nation hath not heard thy soldiers cry His fiery charging shout-whose charge was Victory!

XCIX.

No deathless flowers are thine, no azure skies,

No airs, that softening man, enervate more;
Vapour and Cloud for ever o'er thee rise,

But sun-like Freedom sits upon thy shore!

What are the Storm's wild thunders as they roar,
To those thy bulwarks oaken ribs enfold?

And what the aimless Lightnings as they pour,
To their Volcanic blaze, when uncontrolled,
Before their fiery path have sunken navies rolled !

F

C.

Call me not truant from my native Land,
For still I love her! though not yet to me
Is given the wreath from her according hand,
Which others, who have bowed the suppler knee
To time and place have won; but I was free,

And proud as thou, my Land! that gav'st me birth :
Oh! how it trembles while it turns to thee

My bosom-glorying that my Father's hearth

Stands on thy sacred ground, thou envy of the Earth!

END OF CANTO I.