Streams of rapture roll along, Silver notes ascend the skies: Wake, Echo, wake, and catch the song, The Sybil speaks, the dream is o'er, The cavern frowns; its hundred mouths unclose! And, in the thunder's voice, the fate of empire flows. III. 1. Mona, thy Druid rites awake the dead! Even whisper to the idle air; Rites that have chain'd old Ocean on his bed. Shiver'd by thy piercing glance, Pointless falls the hero's lance. Thy magic bids the imperial eagle fly*, roar; Chased by the morn from Snowdon's awful brow, Where late she sat and scowl'd on the black wave below. See Tacitus, 1. xiv. c. 29. III. 2. Lo, steel-clad War his gorgeous standard rears! And mow through infancy and age; In cloister'd solitude she sits and sighs, The weak wan votarist leaves her twilight cell, fire. III. 3. Lord of each pang the nerves can feel, Canst thou, with all thy terrors crown'd, * This remarkable event happened at the siege and sack of Jerusalem, in the last year of the eleventh century. Hume, 1. 221. Flush'd with youth, her looks impart She smiles! and where is now the cloud Shrinking from her glance in vain. Her touch unlocks the dayspring from above, And lo! it visits man with beams of light and love. ROGERS. FRANC E. YE 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-bird's singing, Through glooms, which never woodman trod, My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound! O, ye loud waves, and O, ye forests high, Yea, every thing that is and will be free! When France in wrath her giant limbs uprear'd, And, with that oath which smote air, earth, and sea, [free, Stamp'd her strong foot and said, she would be Bear witness for me, how I hoped and fear'd! With what a joy my lofty gratulation Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band: And Britain join'd the dire array; Though dear her shores and circling ocean, Though many friendships, many youthful loves Had swoln the patriot emotion, And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves; Yet still my voice unalter'd sang defeat To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance, And shame too long delay'd, and vain retreat! For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim I dimm'd thy light, or damp'd thy holy flame; But bless'd the pæans of deliver❜d France, And hung my head, and wept at Britain's name! 1 And what,' I said, though Blasphemy's loud scream With that sweet music of deliverance strove? VOL. UI. D Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove A dance more wild than ever maniac's dream? Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, trembled, The sun was rising, though ye hid his light!' And when to soothe my soul, that hoped and [bright; The dissonance ceased, and all seem'd calm and When France, her front deep scarr'd and gory, Conceal'd with clustering wreaths of glory; When insupportably advancing, Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp, While, timid looks of fury glancing, Domestic treason, crush'd beneath her fatal stamp, Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore; Then I reproach'd 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!' Forgive me, Freedom! O, forgive those dreams! One thought that ever bless'd your cruel foes! Where Peace her jealous home had built, |