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Where Valour tuned, amid her chosen throng,
The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song ;
Or, wand'ring thence, behold the later charms
Of England's glory, and Helvetia's arms !
See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom swell,
And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell !
Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore,
Hath Valour left the world to live no more?
No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die,
And sternly smile with vengeance in his eye?
Hampden no more, when suffering Freedom calls, ·
Encounter fate, and triumph as he falls ?
Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm,
The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm?

Yes! in that generous cause for ever strong,
The patriot's virtue, and the poet's song,
Still, as the tide of ages rolls away,
Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay!

Yes! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust,
That slumber yet in uncreated dust,
Ordained to fire th' adoring sons of earth
With every charm of wisdom and of worth ;
Ordained to light, with intellectual day,

wheels of Nature as they play, Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow, And rival all but Shakspeare's name below!

And say, supernal Powers ! who deeply scan Heaven's dark decrees, unfathomed yet by man, When shall the world call down, to cleanse her shame, That embryo spirit, yet without a name,That friend of Nature, whose avenging hands Shall burst the Libyan's adamantine bands?

Who, sternly marking on his native soil,
The blood, the tears, the anguish, and the toil,
Shall bid each righteous heart exult, to see
Peace to the slave, and vengeance on the free!

is far away;

Yet, yet, degraded men! th’ expected day
That breaks


Trade, wealth, and fashion, ask you still to bleed,
And holy men give scripture for the deed;
Scourged and debased, no Briton stoops to save
A wretch, a coward; yes, because a slave !

Eternal Nature! when thy giant hand Had heaved the floods, and fixed the trembling land, When life sprung startling at thy plastic call, Endless her forms, and Man the lord of all; Say, was that lordly form inspired by thee To wear eternal chains, and bow the knee? Was man ordained the slave of man to toil, Yoked with the brutes, and fettered to the soil; Weighed in a tyrant's balance with his gold? No !-Nature stamped us in a beavenly mould; She bade no wretch his thankless labour urge, Nor, trembling, take the pittance and the scourge ! No homeless Libyan, on the stormy deep, To call upon his country's name, and weep!

Lo! once in triumph on his boundless plain,
The quivered chief of Congo loved to reign!
With fires proportioned to his native sky,
Strength in his arm, and lightning in his eye!
Scoured with wild feet his sun-illumined zone,
The spear, the lion, and the woods his own!
Or led the combat, bold without a plan,
An artless savage, but a fearless man!

The plunderer came :-alas ! no glory smiles For Congo's chief on yonder Indian isles ! For ever fallen! no son of Nature now, With Freedom chartered on his manly brow; Faint, bleeding, bound, he weeps the night away, And, when the seawind wafts the dewless day, Starts, with a bursting heart, for ever more To curse the sun that lights their guilty shore. The shrill horn blew ! (k) at that alarum knell His guardian angel took a last farewell! That funeral dirge to darkness face.. resigned The fiery grandeur of a generous mind ! Poor fettered man! I hear, thee whispering low Unhallowed vows to Guilt, the child of Wo! Friendless thy heart! and, canst thou harbour thoro A wish but death—a passion but despair?

The widowed Indian, when her lord expires,
Mounts the dread pile, and braves the funeral fires !
So falls the heart at Thraldom's bitter sigh!
So Virtue dies, the spouse of Liberty!

But not to Libya's barren climes alone,
To Chili, or the wild Siberian zone,
Belong the wretched heart and haggard eye,
Degraded worth, and

misfortune's sigh!
Ye orient realms, where Ganges' waters run!
Prolific fields ! dominions of the sun !
How long your tribes have trembled, and obeyed !'
How long was Timour's iron sceptre swayed ! (1)
Whose marshalled hosts, the lions of the plain,
From Scythia's northern mountains to the main,
Raged o'er your plundered shrines and altars bare,
With blazing torch and gory scimitar,-
Stunned with the cries of death each gentle gale,
And bathed in blood the verdure of the vale!


Yet could no pangs the immortal spirit tame,
When Brama's children perished for his name;
The martyr smiled beneath avenging pow'r,
And braved the tyrant in his torturing hour!

When Europe sought your subject realms to gain, And stretched her giant sceptre o’er the main, Taught her proud barks their winding way to shape, And braved the stormy spirit of the Cape; (m) Children of Brama! then was Mercy nigh To wash the stain of blood's eternal dye ? Did Peace descend, to triumph and to save, When free-born Britons crossed the Indian wave? Ah, no!-to more than Rome's ambition true, The Nurse of Freedom gave it not to you ! She the bold route of Europe's guilt began, And in the march of nations, led the van!

Rich in the gems of India's gaudy zone, And plunder piled from kingdoms not their own Degenerate Trade ! thy minions could despise The heart-born anguish of a thousand cries ; Could lock, with impious hands, their teeming store, While famished nations died along the shore ; (n) Could mock the groans of fellow-men, and bear The curse of kingdoms peopled with despair! Could stamp disgrace on man's polluted name, And barter, with their gold, eternal shame!

But hark! as bowed to earth the Bramin kneels, From heavenly climes propitious thunder peals! Or India's fate her guardian spirits tell, Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell, And solemn sounds, that awe the list'ning mind, Roll on the azure paths of every wind.

“Foes of mankind! (her guardian spirits say) Revolving ages bring the bitter day, When Heaven's unerring arm shall fall on you, And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew; Nine times have Brama's wheels of lightning hurled His awful presence o'er the alarmed world! (0) Nine times hath Guilt, through all his giant frame, Convulsive trembled as the Mighty came ! Nine times hath suffering Mercy spared in vainBut Heaven shall burst her starry gates again; He comes ! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high! Heaven's fiery horse, beneath his warrior form, Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm! Wide waves his flickering sword, his bright arms glow Like summer suns, and light the world below! Earth, and her trembling isles in Ocean's bed Are shook, and Nature rocks beneath his tread.


redress on India's injured realm,
The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm;
To chase destruction from her plundered shore,
With arts and arms that triumphed once before,
The tenth Avater comes ! at Heaven's command
Shall Seriswattee () wave her hallowed wand!
And Camdeo bright! and Genesa sublime,
Shall bless with joy their own propitious clime !
Come, Heavenly Powers ! primeval peace restore !
Love :-Mercy !-Wisdom! rule for ever more !"

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