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HERE pause: the pcet claims at least this praise,
That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope
Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope
In the worst moment of these evil days;
From hope, the paramount duty that Heaven lays,
For its own honour, on man's suffering heart.
Never from our souls one truth depart,
That an accursèd thing it is to gaze
On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye;
Nor -touch'd with due abhorrence of their guilt
For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt,
And justice labours in extremity –
Forget thy weakness, upon which is built,
O wretched man, the throne of tyranny!

HUMANITY, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a traveller old,
Propp'd on a staff, and, through the sullen day,
In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain,
As though his weakness were disturb'a by pain:
Or, if a juster fancy should allow
An undisputed symbol of command,
The chosen sceptre is a wither'd bough,
Infirmly grasp'd within a palsied hand.
These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn;
But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.
For he it was - dread Winter! — who beset,
Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net,
That host, when from the regions of the Pole
They shrunk, insane ambition’s barren goal,-
That host, as huge and strong as c'er defied
Their God, and placed their trust in human pride!
As fathers persecute rebellious sons,
He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;
He call’d on Frost's inexorable tooth
Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold;
Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs;
For why,-unless for liberty enrollid
And sacred home, - ah! why should hoary Age be bold ?

Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,
But flecter far the pinions of the Wind,

Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed,
And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind,
And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride,

And to the battle ride.
No pitying voice commands a halt,
No courage can repel the dire assault:
Distracted, spiritless, benumb'd, and blind,
Whole legions sink, and in one instant find
Burial and death: look for them, -- and descry,
When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,
A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!

YE Storms, resound the praises of your King!


mild Seasons, in a sunny clime, Midway on some high bill, while father Time Looks on delighted, meet in festal ring, And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing! Sing ye, with blossoms crown'd, and fruits, and flowers Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers, And the dire flapping of his hoary wing! Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass ; With feet, hands, eves, looks, lips, report your gain; Whisper it to the billows of the main, And to th' aörial zephyrs as they pass, That old decrepit Winter He hath slain That Host which render'd all your bounties vain!

By Moscow self-devoted to a blaze
Of dreadful sacrifice; by Russian blood
Lavish'd in fight with desperate hardihood;
Th’unfeeling Elements no claim shall raise
To rob) our Human-nature of just praise
For what she did and suffer'd. Pledges sure
Of a deliverance absolute and pure
She gave, if l'aith might tread the beaten ways
Of Providence. But now did the Most High
Exalt His still small voice; – to quell that Host,
Gather'd His power, a manifest ally;
He, whose heap'd waves confounded the proud boast
Of Pharaoh, said to Famine, Snow, and Frost,

“Finish the strife by deadliest victory!” OCCASIONED BY THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. FEBRUARY, 1816.

THE Bard whose soul is meek as dawning day,
Yet train’d to judgments righteously severe,

Fervid, yet conversant with holy fear,
As recognising one Almighty sway;
He whose experienced eye can pierce th' array
Of past events; to whom, in vision clear,
Th' aspiring heads of future things appear,
Like mountain-tops whose mists have roll'd away;
Assoild from all encumbrance of our time,
He only, if such breathe, in strains devout
Shall comprehend this victory sublime;
Shall worthily rehearse the hideous rout,
The triumph hail, which from their peaceful clime
Angels might welcome with a choral shout!


'Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold
The likeness of whate'er on land is seen;
But, if the Nereid Sisters and their Queen,
Above whose heads the tide so long hath roll'd,
The Dames resemble whom we here behold,
How fearful were it down through opening waves
To sink and meet them in their fretted caves,
Wither'd, grotesque, immeasurably old,
And shrill and fierce in accent!- Fear it not:
For they Earth's fairest daughters do excel;
Pure undecaying beauty is their lot;
Their voices into liquid music swell,
Thrilling each pearly cleft and sparry grot,
The undisturb'd abodes where Sea-nymphs dwell!

The Spirit of Antiquity — enshrined
In sumptuous buildings, vocal in sweet song,
In picture speaking with heroic tongue,
And with devout solemnities entwined
Mounts to the seat of grace within the mind:
Hence Forms that glide with swan-like ease along,
Hence motions, even amid the vulgar throng,
To a harmonious decency confined:
As if the streets were consecrated ground,
The city one vast temple, dedicate
To mutual respect in thought and deed;
To leisure, to forbearances sedate;
To social cares from jarring passions freed;
A deeper peace than that in deserts found!



IN Bruges town is many a street FOR THE BOATMEN, AS THEY APPROACH Whence busy life hath fled;

THE RAPIDS UNDER THE CASTLE Where, without hurry, noiseless feet

OF HEIDELBERG. The grass-grown pavement tread.

JESU! bless our slender Boat, There heard we, halting in the shade By the current swept along; Flung from a Convent-tower,

Loud its threatenings, - let them not A harp that tuneful prelude made

Drown the music of a song To a voice of thrilling power.

Breathed Thy mercy to implore,

Where these troubled waters roar! The measure, simple truth to tell, Was fit for some gay throng;

Saviour, for our warning, seen Though from the same grim turret fell

Bleeding on that precious Rood; The shadow and the song.

If, while through the meadows green When silent were both voice and chords,

Gently wound the peaceful food, The strain seem'd doubly dear,

We forgot Thee, do not Thou Yet sad as sweet, - for English words Disregard thy Suppliants now! Had fallen upon the ear.

Hither, like yon ancient Tower It was a breezy hour of eve;

Watching v'er the River's bed, And pinnacle and spire

Fling the shadow of Thy power, Quiver'd and almost seem'd to heave, Else we sleep among the dead; Clothed with innocuous fire;

Thou who trodd'st the billowy sea, But, where we stood, the setting Sun, Shield us in our jeopardy!

Show'd little of his state;
And, if the glory reach'd the Nun,

Guide our Bark among the waves; 'Twas through an iron grate.

Thro’ the rocks our passage smooth,

Where the whirlpool frets and raves Not always is the heart unwise,

Let Thy love its anger soothe: Nor pity idly born,

All our hope is placed in Thee;
If even a passing stranger sighs

Miserere Domine!
For them who do not mourn.
Sad is thy doom, self-solaced dove,

Captive, whoe'er thou be!
01 what is beauty, what is love,

NEAR THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE OF And opening life to thee?

THUN. Such feeling press'd upon my soul,

Aloys Reding was Captain-General of the

Swiss forces, which, with a courage and A feeling sanctified

perseverance worthy of the cause, opBy one soft trickling tear that stole

posedl the flagitions and too successful From the Maiden at my side:

attempt of Buonaparte to subjugate Less tribute could she pay than this,

their country. Borne gaily o'er the sea,

AROUND a wild and woody hill Fresh from the beauty and the bliss A gravell’d pathway treading, Of English liberty?

We reach'd a votive Stone that bears

The name of Aloys Reding. 1 This occurred at Bruges in 1828. Mr. Well judged the friend who placed it there Coleridge, my daughter, and I made a tour together in Flanders, upon the Rhine, For silence and protection; and returned to Holland. Dora and I, And haply with a finer care while taking a walk along a retired part of dutiful affection. of the town, heard the voice as herc described, and were afterwards informed it was a Convent in which were many En- The Sun regards it from the West; glish. We were both much touched, I And, while in summer glory might say affected, and Dora moved 'as appears in these verses. - Author's Notes, He sets, his sinking yields a type 1843.

or that pathetic story:

These crowded offerings as they hang
In sign of misery relieved
Even these, without intent of theirs,
Report of comfortless despairs,
Of many a deep and cureless pang,
And confidence deceived.

To Thee, in this aërial cleft,
As to a common centre, tend
All sufferers that no more rely
On mortal succour, - all who sigh
And pine, of human hope bereft,
Nor wish for earthly friend.

And hence, O Virgin Mother mild!
Though plenteous flowers around theo
Not only from the dreary strife [blow,
Of Winter, but the storms of life,
Thee have thy Votaries aptly styled,

Even for the Man who stops not here,
But down th' irriguous valley hies,
Thy very name, O Lady! flings,
O’er blooming fields and gushing springa,
A tender sense of shadowy fear,
And chastening sympathies!

Nor falls that intermingling shade
To summer glad someness unkind:
It chastens only to requite
With gleams of fresher, purer light;
While, o'er the flower-enamell’d glade,
More sweetly breathes the wind.

But on!-a tempting downward way,
A verdant path before us lies;
Clear shines the glorious Sun above;
Then give free course to joy and love,
Deeming the evil of the day
Sufficient for the wise.


FROM THE LAKE OF LUGANO. This Church was almost destroyed by lightning a few years ago, but the altar and the image of the Patron Saint were untouched. The Mount, upon the summit of which the Church is built, stands amid the intricacies of the Lake of Lugano; and is, from a hundred points of view, its principal ornament, rising to the height of 2000 feet, and, on one side, nearly perpendicular. The ascent is toilsome; but the traveller who performs it will be amply rewarded. Splendid fertility, rich woods and dazzling waters, seclusion and continement or

And oft he tempts the patriot Swiss
Amid the grove to linger;
Till all is dim, save this bright Stone
Touch'd by his golden finger.



DOOM'D as we are our native dust
To wet with many a bitter shower,
It ill befits us to disdain
The altar, to deride the fane,
Where simple Sufferers bend, in trust
To win a happier hour.
I love, where spreads the village lawn,
Upon some knee-worn cell to gaze:
Hail to the firm unmoving cross,
Aloft, where pines their branches toss!
And to the chapel far withdrawn,
That lurks by lonely ways!
Where'er we roam, - along the brink
Of Rhine, or by the sweeping Po,
Thro' Alpine vale, or champain wide, -
Whate'er we look on, at our side
Be Charity! to bid us think,
And feel, if we would know.

OH Life! without thy chequer'd scene
Of right and wrong, of weal and woe,
Success and failure, could a ground
For magnanimity be found;
For faith, 'mid ruin'd hopes, serene?
Or whence could virtue flow?

Pain enter'd through a ghastly breach;
Nor while sin lasts must effort cease;
Heaven upon Earth's an empty boast;
But, for the bowers of Eden lost,
Mercy has placed within our reach
A portion of God's peace.

MEEK Virgin Mother, more benign
Than foirest Star, upon the height
Of thy owu mountain, 2 set to keep
Lone vigils through the hours of sleep,
What eye can look upon thy shrine
Untroubled at the sight?

2 Mount Righi, that is, the Queen Mountain.

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