I.-COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS. AUGUST 1802.
FAIR Star of Evening, Splendour of the West, Star of my country!—on the horizon's brink Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,
Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink, Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies. Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot, One life, one glory! I with many a fear For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs, Among Men who do not love her, linger here.
II.-CALAIS, AUGUST 1802.
Is it a Reed that's shaken by the wind,
Or what is it that ye go forth to see?
Lords, Lawyers, Statesmen, Squires of low degree, Men known, and men unknown, sick, lame, and blind, Post forward all, like creatures of one kind,
With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee
In France, before the new-born Majesty.
'Tis ever thus. Ye Men of prostrate mind!
A seemly reverence may be paid to power;
But that's a loyal virtue, never sown
In haste, nor springing with a transient shower: When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown, What hardship had it been to wait an hour? Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone !
III. ON THE EXTINCTION of the VENETIAN
ONCE did She hold the gorgeous East in fee; And was the safeguard of the West: the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty. She was a Maiden City, bright and free; No guile seduced, no force could violate; And, when She took unto herself a Mate, She must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories fade, Those titles vanish, and that strength decay; Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
When her long life hath reached its final day: Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade Of that which once was great, is passed away.
IV.--TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVerture.
TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy Man of Men! Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough Within thy hearing, or thy head be now Pillowed in some deep dungeon's earless den ;— O miserable Chieftain! where and when Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow: Though fallen Thyself, never to rise again,
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies;
There's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
And love, and Man's unconquerable mind.
INLAND, within a hollow Vale, I stood;
And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear, The Coast of France, the Coast of France how near! Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood,
I shrunk, for verily the barrier flood
Was like a Lake, or River bright and fair,
A span of waters; yet what power is there! What mightiness for evil and for good! Even so doth God protect us if we be
Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and Waters roll, Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity, Vet in themselves are nothing! One decree Spake laws to them, and said that, by the Soul Only, the Nations shall be great and free.
VI. THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND.
Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains; each a mighty Voice: In both from age to age Thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen Music, Liberty! There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee
Thou fought'st against Him; but hast vainly striven: Thou from the Alpine holds at length art driven, Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft : Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left; For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be That mountain Floods should thunder as before, And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!
VII.—Written in London, SEPTEMBER 1802.
O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our Life is only drest For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook, Or groom!-We must run glittering like a Brook In the open sunshine, or we are unblest : The wealthiest man among us is the best : No grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore: Plain living and high thinking are no more: The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws.
THE world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers ; For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not.-Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
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