(Those grassy hills, those glittering dells Hence for many a fearless age Or sacked thy towers, or stained thy fields with gore. VIII. Abandoned of Heaven! mad avarice thy guide, stood, And joined the wild yelling of famine and blood! O Albion thy predestined ruins rise, IX. Away, my soul, away! In vain, in vain the birds of warning sing— I unpartaking of the evil thing, Soliciting for food my scanty soil, Have wailed my country with a loud Lament. Now I recentre my immortal mind In the deep sabbath of meek self-content; Cleansed from the vaporous passions that bedim God's Image, sister of the Seraphim. YE FRANCE. AN ODE. I. E Clouds! that far above me float and pause, Whose pathless march no mortal may control! Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll, Yield homage only to eternal laws! Ye Woods! that listen to the night-birds singing, By moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound! II. When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared, And with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea, H Stamped her strong foot, and said she would be Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared! [free, With what a joy my lofty gratulation Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band: And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves; To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance, And shame too long delayed and vain retreat! For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame; But blessed the pæans of delivered France, And hung my head and wept at Britain's name. III. "And what," I said, "though Blasphemy's loud scream With that sweet music of deliverance strove! Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream! Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!" And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled, [bright; The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and When France her front deep-scarred and gory Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory; When, insupportably advancing, Her arm made mockery of the warrior's tramp; While timid looks of fury glancing, Domestic treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp, Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore; Then I reproached my fears that would not flee ; "And soon," I said, "shall Wisdom teach her lore In the low huts of them that toil and groan! And, conquering by her happiness alone, Shall France compel the nations to be free, Till Love and Joy look round, and call the Earth their own. IV. Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams! One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes! Where Peace her jealous home had built; Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear; To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer- Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind? To mix with Kings in the low lust of sway, Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey: To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray? V. The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain, Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game They burst their manacles and wear the name Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain! O Liberty! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour; But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power. Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee, (Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee) Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions, And factious Blasphemy's obscener slaves, Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions, [waves! The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the And there I felt thee !—on that sea-cliff's verge, Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above, Had made one murmur with the distant surge! Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare, And shot my being through earth, sea and air, Possessing all things with intensest love, O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there. February, 1797. FEARS IN SOLITUDE. WRITTEN IN APRIL, 1798, DURING THE ALARM A OF AN INVASION. GREEN and silent spot, amid the hills, A small and silent dell! O'er stiller place No singing sky-lark ever poised himself. The hills are heathy, save that swelling slope, |