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Streams of rapture roll along,

Silver notes ascend the skies:
Wake, Echo, wake, and catch the song,

Oh, catch it ere it dies !
The Sybil speaks, the dream is o'er,
The holy harpings charm no more.
In vain she checks the god's control;

His madding spirit fills her frame,
And moulds the features of her soul,

Breathing a prophetic flame.
The cavern frowns; its hundred mouths unclose!
And, in the thunder's voice, the fate of empire

flows.

III. 1.

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Mona, thy Druid rites awake the dead!

Rites thy brown oaks would never dare

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 And blasts the laureate wreath of victory. Hark, the bard's soul inspires the vocal string!

At every pause dread Silence hovers o'er : While murky Night sails round on raven wing, Deepening the tempest's howl, the torrent's III. 2. Lo,steel-clad War his gorgeous standard rears!

roar; Chased by the morn from Snowdon's awful brow, Where late she sat and scowl'd on the black wave

below.

• See Tacitus, l. xiv. c. 29.

The redcross squadrons madly rage*,

And mow through infancy and age;
Then kiss the sacred dust and melt in tears.

Veiling from the eye of day,

Penance dreams her life away; In cloister'd solitude she sits and sighs, While from each shrine still small responses rise. Hear with what heartfelt beat the midnight bell Flings its slow summons through the hollow

pile! The weak wan votarist leaves her twilight cell,

To walk, with taper dim, the winding aisle;
With choral chantings vainly to aspire
Beyond this nether sphere, on Rapture's wing of
fire.

III. 3.
Lord of each pang the nerves can feel,

Hence with the rack and reeking wheel,
Faith lifts the soul above this little ball!

While gleams of glory open round,
And circling choirs of angels call,
Canst thou, with all thy terrors crown'd,

Hope to obscure that latent spark

Destined to shine when suns are dark?
Thy triumphs cease! through every land,

Hark! Truth proclaims thy triumphs cease:
Her heavenly form, with glowing hand,

Benignly points to piety and peace. This remarkable event happened at the siege and sack of Jerusalem, in the last year of the eleventh century. Hume, 1.

291.

Flush'd with youth, her looks impart

Each fine feeling as it flows;
Her voice, the echo of her heart,

Pure as the mountain snows:
Celestial transports round her play,
And softly sweetly die away.
She smiles! and where is now the cloud

That blacken’d o'er thy baneful reign?
Grim Darkness furls her leaden shroud,

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.

FRANCE.

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,

Midway the smooth and perilous steep reclined ; Save when your own imperious branches swinging

Have made a solemn music of the wind !
Where, like a man beloved of God,
Through glooms, which never woodman trod,

How oft, pursuing fancies holy,
My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound,

Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable und

O, ye loud waves, and 0, ye forests high,

And 0, ye clouds that far above me soar'd! Thou rising sun, thou blue rejoicing sky!

Yea, every thing that is and will be free!
Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be,

With what deep worship I have still adored The spirit of divinest Liberty.

and sea,

me,

When France in wrath her giant limbs uprear’d, And, with that oath which smote air, earth,

[free, Stamp'd her strong foot and said, she would be Bear witness for how I hoped and feard ! With what a joy my lofty gratulation

Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band:
And when to whelm the disenchanted nation,

Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand,
The monarchs march'd in evil day,
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 lighto'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!

And what,' I said, “though Blasphemy's loud

scream With that sweet music of deliverance strove? VOL. II.

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 as

sembled, 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 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 fee; • 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! 0, forgive those dreams!

I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament,

From bleak Helvetia's icy caverns sentI hear thy groans upon her blood-stain'd streams!

Heroes, that for your peaceful country perish'd; And ye that, fleeing, spot the mountain snows With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I

cherish'd One thought that ever bless'd your cruel foes !

sca rage and traitorous guilt Where Peace her jealous home had built,

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