The barrier Rhine hath flashed, through battle

smoke,

On men who gaze heart-smitten by the view,
As if all Germany had felt the shock!

-Fly, wretched Gauls! ere they the charge renew
Who have seen themselves now casting off the

yoke

The unconquerable Stream his course pursue.

XXXVIII.

NOVEMBER, 1813.

Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright,
Our aged Sovereign sits, to the ebb and flow
Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe,
Insensible. He sits deprived of sight,

And lamentably wrapped in twofold night,
Whom no weak hopes deceived; whose mind ensued,
Through perilous war, with regal fortitude,

Peace that should claim respect from lawless Might.
Dread King of kings, vouchsafe a ray divine
To his forlorn condition! let thy grace

Upon his inner soul in mercy shine;
Permit his heart to kindle, and to embrace
(Though it were only for a moment's space)
The triumphs of this hour; for they are THINE!

WHEN the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch
On the tired household of corporeal sense,
And Fancy, keeping unreluctant watch,
Was free her choicest favors to dispense;
I saw, in wondrous perspective displayed,
A landscape more august than happiest skill
Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade;
An intermingled pomp of vale and hill,
City, and naval stream, suburban grove,
And stately forest where the wild deer rove;
Nor wanted lurking hamlet, dusky towns,
And scattered rural farms of aspect bright;
And, here and there, between the pastoral downs,
The azure sea upswelled upon the sight.
Fair prospect, such as Britain only shows!
But not a living creature could be seen

Through its wide circuit, that, in deep repose,
And even to sadness, lonely and serene,
Lay hushed; till-through a portal in the sky
Brighter than brightest loop-hole, in a storm,
Opening before the sun's triumphant eye, –
Issued, to sudden view, a glorious Form!
Earthward it glided with a swift descent;
Saint George himself this Visitant must be;
And, ere a thought could ask on what intent
He sought the regions of humanity,

A thrilling voice was heard, that vivified
City and field and flood; — aloud it cried:

"Though from my celestial home,
Like a Champion, armed I come,
On my helm the dragon crest,
And the red cross on my breast,
I, the Guardian of this Land,
Speak not now of toilsome duty;

Well obeyed was that command,

Whence bright days of festive beauty;

Haste, Virgins, haste! - the flowers which sum

mer gave

Have perished in the field;

But the green thickets plenteously shall yield

Fit garlands for the brave,

That will be welcome, if by you entwined;
Haste, Virgins, haste! and you, ye Matrons grave,
Go forth with rival usefulness of mind,

And gather what ye find

Of hardy laurel and wild holly boughs,
To deck your stern Defenders' modest brows!
Such simple gifts prepare,

Though they have gained a worthier meed;
And in due time shall share

Those palms and amaranthine wreaths
Unto their martyred Countrymen decreed,
In realms where everlasting freshness breathes!"

́II.

And lo! with crimson banners proudly streaming, And upright weapons innocently gleaming,

Along the surface of a spacious plain

Advance in order the redoubted Bands,

And there receive green chaplets from the hands

Of a fair female train,
Maids and Matrons, dight

In robes of dazzling white;

While from the crowd bursts forth a rapturous noise,

By the cloud-capt hills retorted;

And a throng of rosy boys

In loose fashion tell their joys;

And gray-haired sires, on staffs supported,

Look round, and by their smiling seem to say,
Thus strives a grateful Country to display
The mighty debt which nothing can repay.

III.

Anon before my sight a palace rose

Built of all precious substances,

so pure

And exquisite, that sleep alone bestows

Ability like splendor to endure:

Entered, with streaming thousands, through the

gate,

I saw the banquet spread beneath a Dome of state, A lofty Dome, that dared to emulate

The heaven of sable night

With starry lustre; yet had power to throw
Solemn effulgence, clear as solar light,

Upon a princely company below,

While the vault rang with choral harmony,

Like some Nymph-haunted grot beneath the roar

ing sea.

-No sooner ceased that peal, than on the verge Of exultation hung a dirge

Breathed from a soft and lonely instrument,

That kindled recollections

Of agonized affections;

And, though some tears the strain attended,
The mournful passion ended
In peace of spirit, and sublime content!

IV.

But garlands wither; festal shows depart, Like dreams themselves; and sweetest sound (Albeit of effect profound)

Victorious England! bid the silent Art

Reflect, in glowing hues that shall not fade,

Those high achievements; even as she arrayed