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O England !—dearer fnr tlinn life is dear,
fast! The nations strove with puissance; — at
length Wide Europe heaved, impatient to be cast, With all her living strength, With all her armed powers, Upon the offensive shores. The trumpet blew a universal blast! But thou art foremost in the field ;—there
stand: Receive the triumph destined to thy Hand! All States have glorified themselves ;—their
claims Are weighed by Providence, in balance even; And now, in preference to the mightiest
names, To Thee the exterminating award is given. Dread mark of approbation, justly gained! Exalted office, worthily sustained!
Imagination, ne'er before content,
present, Stoops to that closing deed magnificent, And with the embrace is satisfied. —Fly ministers of Fame, Whate'er your means, whatever help ye
claim. Bear through the world these tidings of
delight! Hours, Days and Months, have born them
in the sight Of mortals, travelling faster than the shower, That landward stretches from the sea, The morning's splendors to devour; But this appearance scattered extasy,— And heart-sick Europe blessed the healing power. The shock is given — the Adversaries
bleed— Lo. Justice triumphs .'Earth is freed! Such glad assurance suddenly went forth— It pierced the caverns of the sluggish North— It found no barrier on the ridge Of Andes—frozen gulphs became its bridge— The vast Pacific gladdens with the freight— lipon the Lakes of Asia 'tis bestowed— The Arabian desert shapes a willing road
Across her burning breast, For this refreshing incense from the West!
Where snakes and lions breed, Whcr* towns and cities thick as stars appear,
Wherever fruits are gathered, and where'er The upturned soil receives the hopeful Beed— While the Sun rules, and cross the shades
of night— The unwearied arrow hath pursued it*
flight! The eyes of good men thankfully give beed, And in its sparkling progress read How virtue triumphs, from her bondage
freed! 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, conquered 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
Prcscrve,0 Lord! within our heart* The memory of thy favour, That else, insensibly departs, And loses its sweet savour! Lodge it within us!—As the power of light Lives inexhaustibly in precious gems, Fixed on the front of Eastern diadems. So shine our thankfulness for ever bright! What offering, what transcendant monument Shall our sincerity to Thee present? —Not works of hands; but trophies that
may reach. To highest Heaven—the labour of the soul: That builds, as thy unerring precepts teach, Upon the inward victories of each. Her hope of lasting glory for the whole. —Yet might it well become that City now, Into whose breast the tides of grandeur flow, To whom all persecuted men retreat; If a new temple lifts its votive brow Upon the shore of silver Thames—to greet The peaceful guest advancing from afar? Bright be the distant fabric, as a star Fresh risen—and beautiful within! — there
meet Dcpendance infinite, proportion just; A pile that grace approves, and time can
trust. But if the valiant of this land In reverential modesty demand, Thnt all observance, due to them, be paid Where their serene progenitors are laid; Kings, warriors, high-souled poets, saintlike sages. England's illustrious sons of long, long ages; Be it not unnrdained that solemn rites, Within the circuit of those Gothic walls. Shall be performed at pregnant intervals; Commemoration holy thnt unites The living generations with the dead; By the deep soul-moving sense Of religious eloquence,—
By visual pomp, and by the fie 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-rob'd 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 wonnds,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!
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
—The fierce Tornado sleeps within thy
For Thou art angry with thine enemies!
We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud
And magnify Thy name, Almighty God!
Rat thy most dreaded instrument,
In working out a pure intent,
Is Man—arrayed for mutual slaughter,— Yea, Carnage is thy daughter!
Thou cloth'st the wicked in their dazzling mail.
And by thy just permission they prevnil;
Thine arm from peril guards the coasts
Of tliem who in thy Taws delight:
Thy presence turns the scale of doubtful fight,
Tremendous God of battles, Lord of Hosts!
To Thek—To Thru— On this appointed Day all thnnks ascend, That thou hast brought our warfare to an
end, And that we need no further victory! Ha! what a ghastly sight for man to see; And to the heavenly saints in peace who
For a brief moment, terrible;
of pure delight; Bless thou the hour, or ere the hour arrive, When a whole people shall kneel down in
prayer, And, at one moment, in one spirit, strive With lip and heart to tell their gratitude
For thy protecting care, Their solemn joy—praising the Eternal Lord
For tyranny subdued, And for the sway of equity renewed, For liberty confirmed, and peace restored!
But hark—the summons!—down the placid
Lake Floats the soft cadence of the Church-towerbells; Bright shines the Sun, as if his beams might
wake The tender insects sleeping in their cells; Bright shines the Sun — and not a breeze
to shake The drops that point the melting icicles:— O! enter now his temple-gate! Inviting words—perchance already Hung, (As the crowd press devoutly down the aisle Of some old minster's venerable pile) From voices into zealous passion stung, While the tubed engine feels the inspiring
blast, And has begun—its clouds of sound to cast Towards the empyreal Heaven, As if the fretted roof were riven. Us, humbler ceremonies now await; But in the bosom, with devout respect, The banner of our joy we will erect. And strength of love our souls Bhnll elevate: For to a few collected in his name Their heavenly Father will incline his ear, Hallowing himself the service which they
frame;— Awake! the majesty of God revere! Go—and with foreheads meekly bowed Present your prayers — go — and rejoice aloud— The Holy One will hear! And what 'mid silence deep, with faith sincere, Ye, in your low and undisturbed estate, Shall simply feel and purely meditate Of warnings—from the unprecedented might, Which, in our time, the impious have disclosed; And of more arduous duties thence imposed Upon the future advocates of right;
Of mysteries revealed,
WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING.
I Heard a thousand blended notes,
To her fair works did Nature link
Through prinirose-tufts.in that sweet bower,
The birds around me hopped and played:
The budding twigs spread ont their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If I these thoughts may not prevent,
IN RECOLLECTION OF TUB EXPEDITION OF THE
Humanity, delighting to behold
weary day— Propped on a staff, ami limping o'er the
plain, 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. These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn; But mighty Winter the device shall srorn. For he it was—dread Winter!—who beset Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net, That host, — when from the regions of the
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
pride! As Fathers persecute rebellious sons. He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth; He called on Frost's inexorable tooth 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 be bold?— 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;— 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 Burial and death: look for them—and descry. When morn returns, beneath the clear blue
A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy.
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF PfELE-0 ARTLR. IN A STORM, PAINTED BY SIR Gkorce
I Was thy Neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! Four summer-weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: I saw thee every day; and all the while Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea.
So pure the sky, so quiet was the air!
How perfect was the calm! it scenfd no
sleep; No mood, which season takes away, or
brings: I could have fancied that the mighty Deep Was even the gentlest of all gentle Things. Ah! Then, if mine had been the Painter's
hand, To express what then I saw; and add the
gleam. The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the l'oet's dream;
I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile! Amid a world how different from this! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss:
Thou shnuldst have seem'd a treasure-house,
A Picture had it been of lasting case,
Such, in the fond illusion of my heart,
made: And seen the soul of truth in every part; A faith, a trust, that could not bo betray'd.
So once it would have been,—'tis so no more;
Not for a moment could I now behold
Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the Friend,
If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore,
This work of thine I blame not, but commend;
This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.
Oh 'tis a passionate work! — yet wise and
well; Well chosen is the spirit that is. here; That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!
And this huge Castle, standing here sublime,
Farewell, farewell the Heart that lives alone,
But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, And frequent sights of what is to be born! Such sights, or worse, us are before me
here.— Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.
composed st Ghasmkek, during a walk, ono evening , alter a stormy day, tin: Author having Just read in a newspaper that the dissolution ot Mr. Fox waa hourly expected.
Lorn is the Vale! the Voice is up
With which she speaks when storms are
gone, A mighty Unison of strenms! Of all her Voices, One.
Loud is the Vale;—this inland Depth
Sad was I, ev'n to pain deprcss'd,
And many thousands now are sad,
A Power is passing from the earth
That Man, who is from God sent forth,
ON Till'. LONGEST DAY.
Lkt ns quit the leafy arbour,
Evening now unbinds the fetters
Yet by some grave thoughts attended
Laura! sport, as now thou spnrtest,
Who would check the happy feeling
Yet, at this impressive season,
And, while shades to shades succeeding
Summer ebbs;—each day that follows
He who governs the creation,
Yet we mark it not;—fruits redden.
Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden!
Now, even now, ere wrapped in slumber,
Follow thou the flowing River
Through the years' successive portals;
Thus, when Thou with Time hast travell'd
Tkink, if thou on beauty leanest,
Duty, like a strict preceptor,
Grasp it.—if thou shrink and tremble,
And ensures those palms of honour
LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS,
ON THE EVE OF A NEW TE1R.
Smile of the Moon!—for so I name
Bright boon of pitying Heaven—alas,
And yet, the soul-awakening gleam,
To-night, the cburch-tower-bells shall ring,
Born all too high, by wedlock raised