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And swept with wild hand the Tyrtæan lyre: Red from the Tyrant's wound I shook the lance, And strode in joy the reeking plains of France !
Fallen is the oppressor, friendless, ghastly, low,
“ Content, as random Fancies might inspire,
soft strains Whose sadness soothes me, like the murmuring
My heart has thanked thee, Bowles! for those
Of wild-bees in the sunny showers of spring !
S late I lay in slumber's shadowy vale,
With wetted cheek and in a mourner's guise, I saw the sainted form of Freedom rise: She spake! not sadder moans the autumnal gale“ Great Son of Genius ! sweet to me thy name, Ere in an evil hour with altered voice Thou bad'st Oppression's hireling crew rejoice Blasting with wizard spell my laurelled fame. Yet never, Burke! thou drank'st Corruption's bowl! Thee stormy Pity and the cherished lure Of Pomp, and proud Precipitance of soul Wildered with meteor fires. Ah Spirit pure! That error's mist had left thy purged eye: So might I clasp thee with a Mother's joy !"
"HOUGH roused by that dark Vizir Riot rude
Have driven our Priestley o'er the ocean swell; Though Superstition and her wolfish brood Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell; Calm in his halls of brightness he shall dwell ! For lo ! Religion at his strong behest Starts with mild anger from the Papal spell, And flings to earth her tinsel-glittering vest, Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy; And Justice wakes to bid the Oppressor wail Insulting aye the wrongs of patient Folly: And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil To smile with fondness on her gazing son !
HEN British Freedom for a happier land
Of Nature bids thee die, beyond the tomb
T was some Spirit, Sheridan! that breathed
O’er thy young mind such wildly various power! My soul hath marked thee in her shaping hour, Thy temples with Hymettian flow'rets wreathed : And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's bier Sad music trembled through Vauclusa's glade; Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn Serenade That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's listening ear. Now patriot rage and indignation high [dance Swell the full tones! And now thine eye-beams Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry! Writhes inly from the bosom-probing glance The Apostate by the brainless rout adored, As erst that elder Fiend beneath great Michael's
WHAT a loud and fearful shriek was there,
poured! Ah me! they saw beneath a hireling's sword Their Kosciusko fall! Through the swart air (As pauses the tired Cossac's barbarous yell Of triumph) on the chill and midnight gale Rises with frantic burst or sadder swell
The dirge of murdered Hope ! while Freedom pale
S when far off the warbled strains are heard
That soar on Morning's wing the vales among, Within his cage the imprisoned matin bird Swells the full chorus with a generous song: He bathes no pinion in the dewy light, No Father's joy, no Lover's bliss he shares, Yet still the rising radiance cheers his sight: His fellows' freedom soothes the captive's cares ! Thou, Fayette! who didst wake with startling voice Life's better sun from that long wintry night, Thus in thy Country's triumphs shalt rejoice, And mock with raptures high the dungeon's might: For lo ! the morning struggles into day, And Slavery's spectres shriek and vanish from the
HOU gentle look, that didst my soul beguile,
hast thou left me ? Still in some fond Revisit my sad heart, auspicious Smile! [dream As falls on closing flowers the lunar beam: What time, in sickly mood, at parting day I lay me down and think of happier years ;