GREAT MEN have been among us; hands that penn'd
And tongues that utter'd wisdom, better none:
The later Sydney, Marvel, Harington,
Young Vane and others who call'd Milton friend.
These moralists could act and comprehend:
They knew how genuine glory was put on ;
Taught us how rightfully a nation shone
In splendour: what strength was, that would not bend
But in magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis strange,
Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then.
Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change!
No single volume paramount, no code,
No master spirit, no determined road;
But equally a want of books and men!
is not to be thought of that the flood
British freedom, which, to the open sea
the world's praise, from dark antiquity
th flow'd, "with pomp of waters unwithstood"-
ad by which all might come and go that would,
d bear out freights of worth to foreign lands;
it this most famous stream in bogs and sands
uld perish, and to evil and to good
lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Loury of the invincible knights of old:
must be free or die, who speak the tongue
Shakspeare spake-the faith and morals hold
ch Milton held. In everything we're sprung
rth's first blood, have titles manifold.
I have borne in memory what has tamed nations, how ennobling thoughts depart men change swords for ledgers, and desert udent's bower for gold, some fears unnamed my country!-am I to be blamed?
en I think of thee, and what thou art,
in the bottom of my heart,
e unfilial fears I am ashamed.
rly must we prize thee; we who find
ONE might believe that natural miseries
Had blasted France, and made of it a land
Unfit for men; and that in one great band
Her sons were bursting forth, to dwell at ease.
But 'tis a chosen soil, where sun and breeze
Shed gentle favours; rural works are there;
And ordinary business without care;
Spot rich in all things that can soothe and please!
How piteous, then, that there should be such dearth
Of knowledge; that whole myriads should unite
To work against themselves such fell despite ;
Should come in frenzy and in drunken mirth,
Impatient to put out the only light
Of liberty that yet remains on earth!
THERE is a bondage which is worse to bear
Than his who breathes, by roof, and floor, and wal!,
Pent in, a tyrant's solitary thrall:
"Tis his who walks about in the open air,
One of a nation who, henceforth, must wear
Their fetters in their souls. For who could be,
Who, even the best, in such condition, free
From self-reproach, reproach which he must share
With human nature? Never be it ours
To see the sun how brightly it will shine,
And know that noble feelings, manly powers,
Instead of gathering strength must droop and pine,
And earth, with all her pleasant fruits and flowers,
Fade, and participate in man's decline.
THESE times touch money'd worldlings with dismay:
Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air
With words of apprehension and despair:
While tens of thousands, thinking on th' affray,
Men unto whom sufficient for the day
And minds not stinted or untill'd are given,
Sound, healthy children of the God of heaven,
Are cheerful as the rising sun in May.
What do we gather hence but firmer faith
That every gift of noble origin
s breathed upon by hope's perpetual breath:
That virtue and the faculties within
Are vital,-and that riches are akin
To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death?
ENGLAND! the time is come when thou shouldst wean
Thy heart from its emasculating food;
The truth should now be better understood;
Old things have been unsettled; we have seen
Fair seed-time, better harvest might have been
But for thy trespasses; and, at this day,
If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa,
Aught good were destined, thou wouldst step between
England, all nations in this charge agree!
But worse, more ignorant in love and hate,
Far, far more abject is thine enemy:
Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the freight
Of thy offences be a heavy weight:
Oh grief! that earth's best hopes rest all with thee!
HEN, looking on the present face of things,
see one man, of men the meanest too!
ised up to sway the world, to do, undo,
ith mighty nations for his underlings,
e great events with which old story rings
m vain and hollow: I find nothing great;
thing is left which I can venerate;
hat almost a doubt within me springs
Providence, such emptiness at length
ms at the heart of all things. But, great Gorl!
easure back the steps which I have trod,
tremble, seeing, as I do, the strength
uch poor instruments; with thoughts sublime
mble at the sorrow of the time.
TO THE MEN OF KENT, OCTOBER, 1803.
UARD of liberty, ye men of Kent !
ildren of a soil that doth advance
ughty brow against the coast of France,
s the time to prove your hardiment!
nce be words of invitacion sent!
rom their fields can see the countenance
fierce war, may ken che glittering lanco,
ear you shouting forta your brave intent.
agle, in bold parley, ye, of yoke,
m the Norman win a gallant wreath :
SIX thousand veterans practised in war's game,
Tried men, at Killicrankie were array'd
Against an equal host that wore the plaid,
Shepherds and herdsmen. Like a whirlwind came
The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame;
And Garry, thund'ring down his mountain-road,
Was stopp'd, and could not breathe beneath the load
Of the dead bodies. 'Twas a day of shame
For them whom precept and the pedantry
Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.
Oh! for a single hour of that Dundee
Who on that day the word of onset gave!
Like conquest would the men of England see:
And her foes find a like inglorious grave.
ANTICIPATION, OCTOBER, 1803.
SHOUT, for a mighty victory is won!
On British ground the invaders are laid low;
The breath of Heaven has drifted them like snow,
And left them lying in the silent sun,
Never to rise again!-the work is done.
Come forth ye old men now, in peaceful show,
And greet your sons! drums beat and trumpets biow!
Make merry, wives! ye little children stun
Your grandame's ears with pleasure of
your noise!
Clap, infants, clap your hands! divine must be
That triumph, when the very worst, the pain,
And e'en the prospect of our brethren slain,
Hath something in it which the heart enjoys:
In glory will they sleep, and endless sanctity.
ANOTHER year! another deadly blow!
Another mighty empire overthrown!
And we are left, or shall be left, alone;
The last that dares to struggle with the foe.
"Tis well! from this day forward we shall know
That in ourselves our safety must be sought:
That by our own right hands it must be wrought
That we must stand unpropp'd, or be laid low.
O dastard, whom such foretaste doth not cheer!
We shall exult, if they who rule the land
Be men who hold its many blessings dear,
Wise, upright, valiant; not a venal band,
Who are to judge of danger which they fear,
And honour, which they do not understand.
Sonnets dedicated to Liberty,
FROM 1807 TO 1813.
ON A CELEBRATED EVENT IN ANCIENT HISTORY.
A ROMAN master stands on Grecian ground,
And to the concourse of the Isthmian games
He, by his herald's voice, aloud proclaims
"The liberty of Greece:"-the words rebound
Until all voices in one voice are drown'd;
Glad acclamation by which air was rent!
And birds, high flying in the element,
Dropp'd to the earth, astonish'd at the sound!
A melancholy echo of that noise
Doth sometimes hang on musing Fancy's ear;
Ah! that a conqueror's words should be so dear;
Ah! that a boon could shed such rapturous joys!
A gift of that which is not to be given
By all the blended powers of earth and heaven.
WHEN, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn
The tidings pass'd of servitude repeal'd,
And of that joy which shook the Isthmian field,
The rough Etolians smiled with bitter scorn.
""Tis known," cried they, "that he who would adorn
His envied temples with the Isthmian crown,
Must either win, through effort of his own,
The prize, or be content to see it worn
By more deserving brows. Yet so ye prop,
Sons of the brave who fought at Marathon,
Your feeble spirits. Greece her head hath bow'd,
As if the wreath of liberty thereon
Would fix itself as smoothly as a cloud
Which, at Jove's will, descends on Pelior's top!"
TO THOMAS CLARKSON, ON THE FINAL PASSING OF THE BILL FOR THE
ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE, MARCH, 1807.
CLARKSON! it was an obstinate hill to climb:
How toilsome, nay, how dire it was, by theo
Is known-by none, perhaps, so feelingly;
But thou, who, starting in thy fervent prime,
Didst first lead forth this pilgrimage sublime,
Hast heard the constant voice its charge repeat,
Which, out of thy young heart's oracular seat,
First roused thee, O true yoke-fellow of time.
With unabating effort, see, the palm
Is won, and by all nations shall be worn !
The bloody writing is for ever torn,
And thou henceforth shalt have a good man s cano,
A great man's happiness; thy zeal shall find
Repose at length, firm friend of human kind i
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