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They, by a strange frenzy driven, | fight for power, | for plun der, and extended rule — | We, for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer, whom they fear, and obey a power | which they hate. We serve a monarch whom we love a God, whom we adore, !|
Whene'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their progress; where'er they pause, in am'ity," | affliction mourns their friend ship. They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, ! and free us from the yoke of error! Yesid they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves, the slaves of passion, | av`arice, | and pride. |
They offer us their protection. tection as vultures give to lambs', devouring them! | They call on us good we have inherited, and proved, rate chance of something better,
| covering, and to barter all of for the despewhich they prom
Be our plain answer this: | The throne we honour | is the people's choice the laws we reverencef ̧ | are our brave fathers' legacy | the faith we follow, | teaches us to live in bonds of charity with all mankind, and die with hopes of bliss, beyond the grave.] Tell your invaders this; and tell them too', | we seek no change; and least of all, | such change, as they would bring us. |
CHILDE HAROLD'S ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN.
O that the desert were my dwell'ing-place, |
e Plain an
Mon'nårk; not monnuck. b Move in anger; not mo-vin-nang'Pause in amity; not paw-zin-nam'ity. d Yis. swer; not plain-nan'swer. Rev'èr-êns; not revurunce.
Ye elements! in whose ennobling stir, I feel myself exalted - | can ye not Accord me such a being? | Do I err In deeming such inhabit many a spot? | Though with them to converse, can rarely be our lot. |
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, | There is a rap'ture on the lonely shore, | There is society, where none intrudes | By the deep sea, and music in its roar. | I love not man the less, | but nature more', | From these, our interviews, in which I steal From all I may be, or have been before, 1 To mingle with the universe, | and feel, What I can ne'er express', yet cannot all conceal. [
Roll, on', thou deep, and dark-blue ocean |roll!| Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; | Man marks the earth' with ruin his control, Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain | The wrecks are all thy' deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, | save his own, | When, for a moment, like a drop of rain', | He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan', | Without a grave, unknell'❜d, uncof fin'd, and unknown.
His steps are not upon thy paths, thy fields, Are not a spoil for him, thou dost arise, And shake him from' thee; the vile strength, he wields, For earth's destruction, thou dost all despise, I Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies', | And send'st him, 'shivering in thy playful spray, | And howling to his gods', 'where haply lies His petty hope', in some near port, or bay, | Then dashest him again1 to earth' :— there let him lay1.|
Port, or bay; not Porter
The armaments which thunderstrike the walls,
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake', | They melt into thy yest of waves, which mar, Alike, the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.a | Thy shores are em pires,, chang'd in all save thee Assyria, Greece, Rome, Car thage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free', | And many a tyrant since ; | their shores obey The stranger, slave', or sav age; | their decay Has dri'd up realms to deserts :- not so thou', | Unchange able, save to thy wild waves' play, — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow. I Such as creation's dawn' beheld, thou rollest now. |
Thou glorious mirror, | 'where the Almighty's form, Glasses itself in tempests; | in all time, | Calm, or convuls’d` — ¡ in breeze', or gale', or storm、, | Icing the pole', or in the torrid clime, Dark-heaving; bound less, end'less, and sublime.-| The image of eternity — | 'the throne, Of the Invisible; | even from out thy slime', I The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fath'omless, alone,.
SP And I have lov'd thee, o'cean! | and my joy, Of youthful sports, was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, on ward: | from a boy' | I wanton'd with thy breakers: they to me, Were a delight'; | and, if the fresh'ning sea, Made them a terror't was a pleasing fear, | For I was, as it were a child' of thee, | And trusted to thy billows, far, and near, | And laid my hand upon thy mane'— as I do here. |
Mon'nårks; not mon'nucks. Yest. Ar-má'-dâz. a
APOSTROPHE TO THE QUEEN OF FRANCE.
It is now sixteen, or seventeen years', since I saw I the queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles; | and surely, never lighted on this, orb, | (which she hardly seemed to touch) | a more delightful vision. [ I saw her just above the horizon, decorating, and cheering the elevated sphere, she just began to move inglittering like the morning star- full of life', | and splendour, and joy. | 'Oh what a revolution! | and what a heart must I have, to contemplate without 1 emotion, that elevation, and that fall! |
"Little did I dream', | when she added titles of venel ration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, | that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace', | concealed in that bo som little did I dream that I should have lived | to see such Į disasters fallen upon her | in a nation of gallant men',—| in a nation of men of honour, and of cavaliers. | I I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards | to avenge even a look' | that threatened 1 her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone.. | That of sophisters, | economists, | and calculators, has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ever.
Never, never more, | shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex,- that proud submission,- | that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart' which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the I spirit of an exalted free dom. The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, | the nurse of manly sentiment, and heroic en'terprise, is gone! It is 1 gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated ferocity, I which ennobled whatever it touched; and under which, vice itself | lost half its evil, by losing all its gross.ness. |
BATTLE OF WARSAW.
O sacred Truth! thy triumph ceas'd awhile, |
Warsaw's last champion, from her height, survey'd, |
He said and on the rampart-heights, array'd, |
In vain, alas! | in vain, ye gallant few! |
a Pandour (French), Hungarian soldier. b Hůz-zår, one of the Hungarian horsemen, so called from the shout they generally make, at the first onset.