COMPOSED BY THE SEA-SIDE, NEAR CALAIS, AUGUST, 1802.
FAIR Star of evening, Splendour of the west, Star of my Country!—on the horizon's brink Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink On England's bosom; yet well pleased to rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,
Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink, Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot Beneath thee, that is England; there she lies. Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot, One life, one glory!—I, with many a fear For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs, Among men who do not love her, linger here.
Is it a reed that's shaken by the wind, Or what is it that ye go forth to see? Lords, lawyers, statesmen, squires of low degree, Men known, and men unknown, sick, lame, and blind. Post forward all, like creatures of one kind,
With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee
In France, before the new-born Majesty.
'Tis ever thus. Ye men of prostrate mind, A seemly reverence may be paid to power: But that's a loyal virtue, never sown
In haste, nor springing with a transient shower: When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown, What hardship had it been to wait an hour? Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!
Composed near Calais, on the road leading to Ardres, August 7, 1802.
JONES! as from Calais southward you and I Went pacing side by side, this public Way Streamed with the pomp of a too-credulous day When faith was pledged to new-born Liberty: A homeless sound of joy was in the sky; From hour to hour the antiquated Earth,
Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, mirth, Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh!
And now, sole register that these things were, Two solitary greetings have I heard, 'Good morrow, Citizen!' a hollow word, As if a dead man spake it! Yet despair Touches me not, though pensive as a bird Whose vernal coverts winter hath laid bare t.
I GRIEVED for Buonaparté, with a vain And an unthinking grief! The tenderest mood Of that Man's mind-what can it be? what food Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could he gain? 'Tis not in battles that from youth we train The Governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood. Wisdom doth live with children round her knees: Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk Of the mind's business: these are the degrees By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these
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