The boat came closer to the ship, The boat came close beneath the ship, Under the water it rumbled on, It reach'd the ship, it split the bay; Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Like one that hath been seven days drown'd, But swift as dreams, myself I found Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, I moved my lips-the Pilot shrieked The holy Hermit raised his eyes, I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Laughed loud and long, and all the while Ha ha! quoth he, full plain I see, And now, all in my own countree. I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepped forth from the boat, O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man! Say quick, quoth he, I bid thee say— Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd Which forced me to begin my tale; Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns ; And till my ghastly tale is told, I pass, like night, from land to land; What lond uproar bursts from that door! Or where, his two bright torches blending, Ye Woes! ye young-eyed Joys! advance! Raises it's fateful strings from sleep, I bid you haste, a mixt tumultuous band! And with a loud and yet a louder voice Still echoes the dread NAME, that o'er the earth Let slip the storm, and woke the brood of Hell. And now advance in saintly Jubilee Justice and Truth! They too have heard thy spell, They too obey thy name, divinest LIBERTY! I mark'd Ambition in his war-array! cry Ah! wherefore does the Northern Conqueress stay? Groans not her chariot on it's onward way? Stunn'd by Death's twice mortal mace, Th' insatiate hag shall glote with drunken eye! Mancs of th' unnumber'd slain! When human ruin choak'd the streams, Mid women's shrieks and infants' screams! Dance like death-fires round her tomb! Departing Year! 'twas on no earthly shore My soul beheld thy vision! Where alone, Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne, Aye MEMORY sits: thy robe inscrib'd with gore, With many an unimaginable groan Thou storiedst thy sad hours! Silence ensued, Deep silence o'er th' ethereal multitude, Then, his eye wild ardours glancing, And stood up,beautiful, before the cloudy seat. Throughout the blissful throng, Till wheeling round the throne the LAMPADS seven, (The mystic Words of Heaven) For ever shall the thankless Island scowl, And on the darkling foe cloud! O dart the flash! O rise and deal the blow! The Past to thee, to thee the Future cries! Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below! Rise, God of Nature! rise. The voice had ceased, the vision fled; Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths Not yet enslav'd, not wholly vile, with glories shone. | O Albion! O my mother-isle! Thy vallics, fair as Eden's bowers, (Those grassy hills, those glitt'ring dells Have made a solemn music of the wind! Where, like a man belov'd of God, Through glooms, which never woodman trod, How oft, pursuing fancies holy, Or sack'd thy towers, or stain'd thy fields My moonlight-way o'er flow'ring weeds I with gore. Away, my soul, away! In vain, in vain the Birds of warning sing- I unpartaking of the evil thing, God's Image, sister of the Seraphim. FRANCE. AN ODE. YB Clouds! that far above me float and pause, Whose pathless march no mortal may controul! Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll, wound, Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound! O ye loud Waves! and oh ye Forests high! And oh ye Clouds that far above me soar'd! Thou rising Sun! thou blue rejoicing Sky! Yea, every thing that is and will be free! Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be, With what deep worship I have still ador'd The spirit of divinest Liberty. When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared, And with that oath, which smote air, earth and sea, Stamp'd her strong foot and said she would be free, Bear witness for me, how I hop'd and fear'd! Had swoln the patriot emotion Yet still my voice, unalter'd, sang defeat name. And what, I said, though Blasphemy's loud scream With that sweet music of deliverance strove? Though all the fierce and drunken passions Wove A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream? Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light! And when, to sooth my soul, that hoped and trembled, The dissonance ceas'd, and all seem'd calm and bright; When France her front deep-scar'd and gory Conceal'd with clustering wreaths of glory; When, insupportably advancing, Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp; While timid looks of fury glancing, Domestic treason, crush'd beneath her fatal stamp, Writh'd like a wounded dragon in his gore; With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherish'd One thought that ever bless'd your cruel foes! To scatter rage, and traitorous guilt, Where Peace her jealous home had built; A patriot-race to disinherit Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear; And with inexpiable spirit To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind, And patriot only in pernicious toils! Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind; To mix with Kings in the low lust of sway, Yell in the hunt, and share the murd'rous prey; To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray? The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain, Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game They burst their manacles and wear the name Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain! nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee, (Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee) Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions, And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves, Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves! And there I felt thee!-on that sea-cliff's verge, Whose pines, scarce travell'd by the breeze above, Had made one murmur with the distant surge! Yes, while I stood and gaz'd, my temples bare, And shot my being through earth, sea and air, FEARS IN SOLITUDE. Written in April 1798, during the Alarm of an luvasion. A GREEN and silent spot, amid the hills, A small and silent dell! O'er stiller place No singing sky-lark ever pois'd himself. The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope, Which hath a gay and gorgeous covering on, All golden with the never-bloomless furze, Which now blooms most profusely; but the dell, Bath'd by the mist, is fresh and delicate As vernal corn-field, or the unripe flax, When, through its half-transparent stalks, at eve, The level sunshine glimmers with green light. Oh! 'tis a quiet spirit-healing nook! Which all, methinks, would love; but chiefly he, The humble man, who, in his youthful years, Knew just so much of folly, as had made His early manhood more securely wise! Here he might lic on fern or wither'd heath, While from the singing-lark (that sings unseen The minstrelsy that solitude loves best) That singest like an angel in the clouds! My God! it is a melancholy thing For such a man, who would full fain preserve His soul in calmness, yet perforce must feel And weighs upon the heart, that he must think What uproar and what strife may now be stirring And hooting at the glorious Sun in Heaven, Cries out: Where is it? Thankless too for peace ; (Peace long preserv'd by fleets and perilous Secure from actual warfare, we have lov'd It's ghastlier workings (famine or blue plague, This way or that way o'er these silent hills-Alas! for ages ignorant of all Battle, or siege, or flight through wintry We, this whole people, have been clamorous And women, that would groan to see a child Associations and Societies, Guild, One BENEFIT-CLUB for mutual flattery, life For gold, as at a market! The sweet words Are mutter'd o'er by men, whose tones How flat and wearisome they feel their trade: truth. Oh! blasphemous! the book of life is made We gabble o'er the oaths we mean to break; young; All, all make up one scheme of perjury, enough To ask a blessing from his heavenly Father, Like mere abstractions, empty sounds to We join no feeling and attach no form! Who ever gaz'd with fondness on the forms with joy, Forth from his dark and lonely hiding-place, (Portentous sight!) the owlet, ATHEISM, Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon, And all who ever heard the sabbath-bells Drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them | Without the infidel's scorn, make yourselves close, pure! |