A corresponding virtue to beguile

The hostile purpose of wide-wasting Time— That not in vain they laboured to secure, For their great deeds, perpetual memory, And fame as largely spread as land and sea, By Works of spirit high and passion pure!

XLV.

ODE.

1815.

I.

IMAGINATION-ne'er before content,
But aye ascending, restless in her pride
From all that martial feats could yield
To her desires, or to her hopes present-
Stooped to the Victory, on that Belgic field,
Achieved, this closing deed magnificent,
And with the embrace was satisfied.

-Fly, ministers of Fame,

With every help that ye from earth and heaven may claim !

Bear through the world these tidings of delight! -Hours, Days, and Months, have borne them in the

sight

Of mortals, hurrying like a sudden shower
That land-ward stretches from the sea,

The morning's splendours to devour ;
But this swift travel scorns the company
Of irksome change, or threats from saddening power.
-The shock is given the Adversaries bleed—
Lo, Justice triumphs! Earth is freed!

Joyful annunciation !-it went forth-
It pierced the caverns of the sluggish North-
It found no barrier on the ridge

Of Andes-frozen gulphs became its bridge-
The vast Pacific gladdens with the freight-
Upon the Lakes of Asia 'tis bestowed-
The Arabian desart shapes a willing road
Across her burning breast,

For this refreshing incense from the West!-
-Where snakes and lions breed,

Where towns and cities thick as stars appear,
Wherever fruits are gathered, and where'er
The upturned soil receives the hopeful seed-
While the Sun rules, and cross the shades of night-
The unwearied arrow hath pursued its flight!
The eyes of good men thankfully give heed,
And in its sparkling progress read

Of virtue crowned with glory's deathless meed:
Tyrants exult to hear of kingdoms won,

And slaves are pleased to learn that mighty feats are done;

Even the proud Realm, from whose distracted borders
This messenger of good was launched in air,

France, humbled France, amid her wild disorders,
Feels, and hereafter shall the truth declare,

That she too lacks not reason to rejoice,

And utter England's name with sadly-plausive voice.

II.

O genuine glory, pure renown!

And well might it beseem that mighty Town.
Into whose bosom earth's best treasures flow,
To whom all persecuted men retreat ;
If a new Temple lift her votive brow
High on the shore of silver Thames-to greet
The peaceful guest advancing from afar.
Bright be the peaceful Fabric, as a star
Fresh risen, and beautiful within !—there meet
Dependence infinite, proportion just;

A Pile that Grace approves, and Time can trust
With his most sacred wealth, heroic dust.

III.

But if the valiant of this land

In reverential modesty demand,

That all observance, due to them, be paid
Where their serene progenitors are laid;

Kings, warriors, high-souled poets, saint-like sages,
England's illustrious sons of long, long ages;
Be it not unordained that solemn rites,
Within the circuit of those Gothic walls,
Shall be performed at pregnant intervals ;
Commemoration holy that unites
The living generations with the dead;
By the deep soul-moving sense
Of religious eloquence,-

By visual pomp, and by the tie
Of sweet and threatening harmony ;
Soft notes, awful as the omen
Of destructive tempests coming,
And escaping from that sadness
Into elevated gladness;

While the white-rob'd choir attendant,
Under mouldering banners pendant,
Provoke all potent symphonies to raise

Songs of victory and praise,

For them who bravely stood unhurt, or bled
With medicable wounds, or found their graves
Upon the battle field, or under ocean's waves;
Or were conducted home in single state,
And long procession-there to lie,

Where their sons' sons, and all posterity,

Unheard by them, their deeds shall celebrate!