Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurl'd,-
Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world!

Ye that the rising morn invidious mark,

And hate the light-because your deeds are dark;

420

Ye that expanding truth invidious view,
And think, or wish the song of Hope untrue;
Perhaps your little hands presume to span

The march of Genius, and the pow'rs of Man ;

Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallow'd shrine,

Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine :

"Here shall thy triumph, Genius, cease; and here,

Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career."

425

Tyrants! in vain ye trace the wizard ring,

In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring :

430

C

What! can ye lull the winged winds asleep,

Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep?

No :-the wild wave contemns your scepter'd hand;—

It roll'd not back when Canute gave command! .

Man! can thy doom no brighter soul allow?
Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow?
Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furl'd?
Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world?
What! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied?

Why then hath Plato liv'd-or Sydney died?

435

440

Ye fond adorers of departed fame,

Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name!

Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire

The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre!

Wrapt in historic ardour, who adore

Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore,

Where Valour tun'd, amid her chosen throng, '

The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song ;
Or, wand'ring thence, behold the later charms

445

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?

450

455

Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm,

The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm?

460

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, 465

That slumber yet in uncreated dust,

Ordain'd to fire th' adoring sons of earth

With every charm of wisdom and of worth ;

Ordain'd to light, with intellectual day,

The mazy wheels of Nature as they play,

470

Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow,

And rival all but Shakspeare's name below!

And say, supernal Powers! who deeply scan Heav'ns dark decrees, unfathom'd yet by man,

When shall the world call down, to cleanse her shame, 475

That embryo spirit, yet without a name,

That friend of Nature, whose avenging hands

Shall burst the Lybian's adamantine bands?

Who, sternly marking on his native soil,

The blood, the tears, the anguish, and the toil,

480

Shall bid each righteous heart exult, to see

Peace to the slave, and vengeance on the free!

Yet, yet, degraded men! th' expected day That breaks your bitter cup, is far away;

Trade, wealth, and fashion, ask you still to bleed,

And holy men give scripture for the deed;
Scourg'd and debas'd, no Briton stoops to save
A wretch, a coward; yes, because a slave !

485