MILTON thou shouldst be living at this hour : England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea :
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.
It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which to the open Sea Of the world's praise from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood," Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in Bogs and Sands Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost for ever. In our Halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old : We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakspeare spake; the faith and morals hold Which Milton held.-In every thing we are sprung Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.
WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart When men change Swords for Ledgers, and desert The Student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed I had, my Country !-am I to be blamed? But when I think of Thee, and what Thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart,
Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.
But dearly must we prize thee; we who find In thee a bulwark for the cause of men ; And I by my affection was beguiled: What wonder if a Poet now and then, Among the many movements of his mind, Felt for thee as a Lover or a Child!
THESE times touch monied Worldlings with dismay :
Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air
With words of apprehension and despair :
While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,
Men unto whom sufficient for the day
And minds not stinted or untilled 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
Is 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?
XIII.-TO THE Men of Kent. OCTOBER 1803.
VANGUARD of Liberty, ye Men of Kent,
Ye children of a soil that doth advance
Her haughty brow against the coast of France, Now is the time to prove your hardiment ! To France be words of invitation sent! They from their fields can see the countenance Of your fierce war, may ken the glittering lance, And hear you shouting forth your brave intent. Left single, in bold parley, Ye, of yore, Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath ; Confirmed the charters that were yours before ;- No parleying now! In Britain is one breath We all are with you now from shore to shore :— Ye Men of Kent, 'tis Victory or Death!
XIV.—IN THE PASS OF KILLICRANKY, AN INVASION BEING EXPECTED, OCTOBER 1803.
Six thousand Veterans practised in War's game, Tried men, at Killicranky were arrayed
Against an equal host that wore the plaid, Shepherds and Herdsmen.-Like a whirlwind came The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame; And Garry, thundering down his mountain road, Was stopped, 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.
O 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.
ENGLAND! the time is come when thou should'st 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 would'st 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!
ANOTHER year!—another deadly blow! Another mighty Empire overthrown! And We are left, or shall be left, alone; The last that dare 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 unpropped, 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 servile band, Who are to judge of danger which they fear, And honour which they do not understand.
XVII. 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 Thee 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, Duty's intrepid liegeman, 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 calm, A great man's happiness; thy zeal shall find Repose at length, firm Friend of human kind!
HERE pause the poet 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. from our souls one truth depart,
That an accursed thing it is to gaze
On prosperous Tyrants with a dazzled eye;
Nor, touched 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!
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