What though his gaoler, duteous to the last, Poland ! o'er which the avenging angel pass’d, Scarce deemid the coffin's lead could keep hiın fast, But left thee as he found thee, still a waste, Refusing one poor line along the lid,

Forgetting all thy still enduring claim, To date the birth and death of all it bid ;

Thy lotted people and extinguish'd name. That name shall ballow the ignoble shore,

Thy sigh for freedom, thy long-flowing tear, A talisman to all save him who bore :

That sound that crashes in the tyrant's earThe fleets that sweep before the eastern blast Kosciusko! On-on-on-the thirst of war Shall bear their sea-boys hail it from the mast; Gasps for the gore of serfs and of their czar. When

Victory's Gallic column shall but rise, The half barbaric Moscow's minarets Like Pompey's pillar, in a desert's skies,

Gleam in the sun, but 'tis a sun that sets ! The rocky isle that holds or held his dust,

Moscow ! thou limit of his long career, Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust, For which rude Charles bad wept his frozen tear And mighty nature o'er bis obsequies

To see in vain-he saw thee-how with spire Do more than niggard envy still denies.

And palace fuel to one common fire. But what are these to him? Can glory's lust To this the soldier lent his kindling match, Touch the freed spirit or the setter'd dust? To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch, Small care hath he of what his tomb consists; To this the merchant flung bis hoarded store, Nought if he sleeps—nor more if he exists : The prince his hall—and Moscow was no more! Alike the better-seeing shade will smile

Sublimest of volcanoes ! Etna's flame On the rude cavern of the rocky isle,

Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla's tame; As if his ashes found their latest home

Vesuvius shows his blaze, a usual sight
In Rome's Pantheon or Gaul's mimic dome- For gaping tourists, from his hackney'd height:
He wants not this ; but France shall feel the want Thou stand'st alone unrivallid, till the fire
Of this last consolation, though so scant:

To come, in which all empires shall expire.
Her honour, fame, and faith demand his bones,
To rear above a pyramid of thrones ;

Thou other element ! as strong and stern,
Or carried onward in the battle's van,

To teach a lesson conquerors will not learn! To form, like Guesclin's) dust, her talisman. Whose icy wing flapped o'er the faltering foe, But be it as it is the time may come

Till fell a hero with each flake of snow;
His name sball beat the alarm, like Ziska's drum. How did thy numbing beak and silent fang

Pierce, till hosts perislı'd with a single pang!
In vain shall Seine look up along his banks

For the gay thousands of his dashing ranks !
Oh heaven! of which he was in power a feature ; In vain shall France recall beneath her vines
Oh earth! of which he was a noble creature; Her youth-their blood flows faster than her wines;
Thou isle ! to be remember'd long and well, Or stagnant in their human ice remains
That saw'st the unfledged eaglet chip his shell ! In frozen mummies on the Polar plains.
Ye Alps, which view'd him in bis dawning flights In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken
Hover, the victor of a hundred fights !

Her offspring chill'd; its beams are now forsaken. Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Cæsar's deeds out. Of all the trophies gather'd from the war, done!

What shall return the conqueror's broken car! Alas! why pass'd he too the Rubicon

The conqueror's yet unbroken heart! Again The Rubicon of man's awaken'd rights,

The horn of Roland sounds, and not in vain. To herd with vulgar kings and parasites ?

Lutzen, where fell the Swede of victory, Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose Beholds him conquer, but, alas! not die: Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose, Dresden surveys three despots fly once more And shook within their pyramids to hear

Before their sovereign, sovereign as before ; A new Cambyses thundering in their ear :

But there exhausted Fortune quits the field, While the dark shades of forty ages stood, And Leipsic's treason bids the unvanquish'd yield. Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood; The Saxon jackal leaves the lion's side Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle

To turn the bear's, and wolf's, and fox's guide; Beheld the desert peopled, as from hell

,

And backward to the den of his despair With clashing hosts, who strew'd the barren sand, The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair ! To re-manure the uncultivated land ! Spain! which, a moment mindless of the Cid, Oh ye! and each and all! Oh France ! who Beheld his banner flouting thy Madrid !

found Austria! which saw thy twice-ta'en capital Thy long fair fields plough'd up as hostile ground, Twice spared to be the traitress of his fall! Disputed foot by foot, till treason, still Ye race of Frederic!-Frederics but in name His only victor, from Montmartre's hill And falsehood-heirs to all except his fame : Look'd down o'er trampled Paris ! and thou Isle, Who, crush'd at Jena, crouched at Berlin, fell Which seest Etruria from thy ramparts smile, First, and but rose to follow! Ye who dwell Thou momentary shelter of his pride, Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet

Till woo'd by danger, his yet weeping bride ! The unpaid amount of Catherine's bloody debt! Oh, France ! retaken by a single march,

Whose path was through one long triumphal arch ! (1) Guesclin died during the siege of a city; it surrendered, which proves how fools may have their fortune

Won half
by blander, half by treachery :

But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye,
Oh, dull Saint Helen! with thy gaoler nighi- Break o'er th’ Ægean, mindful of the day
Hear! hear Prometheus from his rock appealt Of Salamis !—there, there the waves arise,
To earth, air, ocean, all that felt or feel

Not to be lull'd by tyrant victories.
His power and glory, all who yet shall hear Lone, lost, abandon'd in their utmost need
A name eternal as the rolling year ;

By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed,
He teaches them the lesson taught so long, The desolated lands, the ravaged isle,
So oft, so vainly-learn to do no wrong!

The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile,
A single step into the right had made

The aid evaded, and the cold delay,
This man the Washington of worlds betray'd : Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey ;-
A single step into the wrong has given

These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven;

show The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod, The false friend worse than the infuriate foe. Of fame the Moloch or the demigod;

But this is well: Greeks only should free Greece, His country's Cæsar, Europe's Hannibal,

Not the barbarian, with his mask of peace. Without their decent dignity of fall.

How should the autocrat of bondage be Yet Vanity herself had better taught

The king of serfs, and set the nations free?
A surer path even to the fame he sought,

Better still serve the haughty Mussulman,
By pointing out on history's fruitless page Than swell the Cossaque's prowling caravan ;
Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage.

Better still toil for masters, than await,
While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven, The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate,-
Calming the lightning which he thence had riven, Number'd by hordes, a human capital,
Or drawing from the no less kindled earth

A live estate, existing but for thrall,
Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth ; Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward
While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er For the first courtier in the Czar's regard ;
Shall sink while there's an echo left to air :

While their immediate owner never tastes While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war His sleep, sans dreaming of Siberia's wastes : Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar!

Better succumb even to their own despair, Alas! why must the same Atlantic wave

And drive the camel than purvey the bear.
Which wafted freedom gird a tyrant's grave-

VII.
The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave,
Who burst the chains of millions to renew

But not alone within the hoariest clime
The very fetters which his arm broke through,

Where Freedom dates her birth with that of And crush'd the rights of Europe and his own,

Time, To fit between a dungeon and a throne ?

And not alone where, plunged in night, a crowd

Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud,
VI.

The dawn revives : renown'd, romantic Spain
But 'twill not be—the spark's awaken'd-lo! Holds back the invader from her soil again.
The swarthy Spaniard feels his former glow; Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde
The same high spirit which beat back the Moor Demand her fields as lists to prove the sword ;
Through eight long ages of alternate gore Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth
Revives—and where in that avenging clime

Pollute the plains, alike abhorring both; Where Spain was once synonymous with crime Nor old Pelayo on bis mountain rears Where Cortes and Pizarro's banner flew,

The warlike fathers of a thousand years. The infant world redeems her name of “ New." That seed is sown and reap'd, as oft the Moor 'Tis the old aspiration breathed afresh,

Sighs to remember on his dusky shore. To kindle souls within degraded flesh,

Long in the peasant's song or poet's page Such as repulsed the Persian from the shore Has dwelt the memory of Abencerrage ; Where Greece was—No! she still is Greece once The Zegri, and the captive victors, flung more.

Back to the barbarous realm from whence they One common cause makes myriads of one breast,

sprung. Slaves of the East, or helots of the West :

But these are gone—their faith, their swords, their On Andes' and on Athos' peaks unfurl’d,

sway,
The self-same standard streams o'er either world : Yet left more anti-christian foes than they ;
The Athenian wears again Harmodius' sword; The bigot monarch, and the butcher priest,
The Chili chief abjures his foreign lord ;

The Inquisition, with her burning feast,
The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek, The faith's red “auto,” fed with human fuel,
Young Freedom plumes the crest of each cacique ;

While sate the catholic Moloch, calmly cruel,
Debating despots, hemm'd on either shore, Enjoying, with inexorable eye,
Shrink vainly' from the roused Atlantic's roar ;

That fiery festival of agony ! Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides advance, The stern or feeble sovereign, one or both Sweep slightly by the half-tamed land of France, By turns ; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth ; Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would fain The long degenerate noble; the debased Unite Ausonia to the mighty main :

Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced,

But more degraded; the unpeopled realm; (1) I refer the reader to the first address of Prometheus in The once impervious phalanx disarray'd ;

The once proud navy which forgot the helm; Æschylus, when he was left alone by his attendants, and before the arrival of the chorus of sea-nymphs,

The idle forge that form’d Toledo's blade ;

IX.

The foreign wealth that flow'd on ev'ry shore, With ponderous malice swaying to and fro,
Save hers who earn'd it with the natives' gore; And crusliing nations with a stupid blow;
The very language which might vie with Rome's, All duly anxious to leave little work
And once was known to nations like their homes, Unto the revolutionary stork.
Neglected or forgotten :-Such was Spain;
But such she is not, nor shall be again.
These worst, these home invaders felt and feel Thrice blest Verona! since the holy three
The new Numantine soul of old Castile.

With their imperial presence shine on thee!
Up! up again! undaunted Tauridor!

Honour'd by them, thy treacherous site forgets The bull of Phalaris renews his roar;

The vaunted tomb of all the Capulets; Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo ! not in vain

Thy Scaligers—for what was “Dog the Great,” Revive the cry!-" Iago! and close Spain ! ”i "Can Grande,” (which I venture to translate) Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round, To these sublimer pugs? Thy poet too, And form the barrier which Napoleon found, - Catullus, whose old laurels yield to new; The exterminating war, the desert plain,

Thine amphitheatre, where Romans sate; The streets without a tenant, save the slain; And Dante's exile shelter'd by thy gate; The wild sierra, with its wilder troop

Thy good old man, 3 whose world was all within Of vulture-plumed guerrillas, on the stoop Thy wall

, nor knew the country held him in ; For their incessant prey; the desperate wall Would that the royal guests it girds about Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall ;

Were so far like, as never to get out! The man nerved to a spirit, and the maid

Ay, shout! inscribe! rear monuments of shame, Waving her more than Amazonian blade !

To tell Oppression that the world is tame! The knife of Arragon,2 Toledo's steel ;

Crowd to the theatre with loyal rage, The famous lance of chivalrous Castile;

The comedy is not upon the stage; The unerring rifle of the Catalan;

The show is rich in ribandry and stars, The Andalusian courser in the van;

Then gaze upon it through thy dungeon bars ; The torch to make a Moscow of Madrid;

Clap thy permitted palms, kind Italy, And in each heart the spirit of the Cid:

For thus much still thy fetter'd hands are free. Such have been, such shall be, such are. Advance, And win—not Spain! but thine own freedom, France !

Resplendent sight! Behold the coxcomb Czar,

The autocrat of waltzes and of war! But lo! a Congress! What ! that hallow'd name

for a plaudit as a realm,
Which freed the Atlantic! May we hope the same And just as fit for flirting as the helm;
For outworn Europe ? With the sound arise, A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit,
Like Samuel's shade to Saul's monarchic eyes,

And generous spirit, when 'tis not frost-bit ;
The prophets of young Freedom, summon’d far Now half dissolving to a liberal thaw,
From climes of Washington and Bolivar;

But harden'd back whene'er the morning's raw; Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes,

With no objection to true liberty,
Whose thunder shook the Philip of the seas ; Except that it would make the nations free.
And stoic Franklin's energetic shade,

How well the imperial dandy prates of peace ! Robed in the lightnings which his hand allay'd ; How fain, if Greeks would be his slaves, free And Washington, the tyrant-tamer, wake,

Greece! To bid us blush for these old chains, or break. How nobly gave he back the Poles their Diet, But who compose this senate of the few

Then told pugnacious Poland to be quiet! That should redeem the many ? Who renew How kindly would be send the mild Ukraine, This consecrated name, till now assign'd

With all her pleasant pulks, to lecture Spain! To councils held to benefit mankind ?

How royally show off in proud Madrid Who now assemble at the holy call ?

His goodly person, from the South long hid ! The blest Alliance, which says three are all ! A blessing cheaply purchased, the world knows, An earthly trinity! which wears the shape By having Muscovites for friends or foes. Of heaven's, as man is mimick'd by the ape. Proceed, thou namesake of great Philip's son! A pious unity! in purpose one

La Harpe, thine Aristotle, beckons on ; To melt three fools to a Napoleon.

And that which Scythia was to him of yore Why, Egypt's gods were rational to these ; Find with thy Scythians on Iberia's shore. Their dogs and oxen knew their own degrees, Yet think upon, thou somewhat aged youth, And, quiet in their kennel or their shed,

Thy predecessor on the banks of Pruth; Cared little, so that they were duly fed ;

Thou hast to aid thee, should his lot be thine, But these, more hungry, must have something Many an old woman, but no Catherine.4

Spain, too, hath rocks, and rivers, and defiles
The power to bark and bite, to toss and gore. The bear may rush into the lion's toils.
Ah, how much happier were good Æsop's frogs Fatal to Goths are Xeres' sunny fields;
Than we! for ours are animated logs,

Think’st thou to thee Napoleon's victor yields ?

VIII.

As eager

more

(1) "St. Iago ! and close Spain !" the old Spanish war-cry.

(2) The Arragonians are peculiarly dexterous in the use of this weapon, and displayed it particularly in former French wars.

(3) The famous old man of Verona.

(4) The dexterity of Catherine extricated Peter (called the Great by courtesy), when surrounded by the Mussulmans on the banks of the river Pruth.

Better reclaim thy deserts, turn thy swords

XIII. To ploughshares, shave and wash thy Bashkir Shall noble Alpion pass without a phrase hordes,

From a bold Briton in her wonted praise ? Redeem thy realms from slavery and the knout, * Arts-arms—and George—and glory, and the Than follow headlong in the fatal route,

isles To infest the clime whose skies and laws are pure And happy Britain-wealth, and Freedom's smilesWith thy foul legions. Spain wants no manure : Wbite cliffs, that held invasion far aloof Her soil is fertile, but she feeds no foe:

Contented subjects, all alike tax-proof, Her vultures, too, were gorged not long ago; Proud Wellington, with eagle beak so curld, And would'st thon furnish them with fresher prey ? That nose, the hook where he suspends the world!ı Alas! thou wilt not conquer, but purvey.

And Waterloo—and trade--and- -Chush! not yet I am Diogenes, thou Russ and Hun

A syllable of imposts or of debt)-
Stand between mine and many a myriad's sun; And ne'er enough) lamented Castlereagh,
But were I not Diogenes, I'd wander

Whose penknife slit a goose-quill t'other dayRather a worm than such an Alexander !

And “pilots who have weather'd every storm Be slaves who will, the cynic shall be free;

(But, no, not even for rhyme's sake, name reform)." His tub hath tougher walls than Sinope :

Ì'hese are the themes thus sung so oft before, Still will he hold his lantern up to scan,

Methinks we need not sing them any more; The face of monarchs for an honest man.” Found in so many volumez far and near,

There's no occasion you should find them here. XI.

Yet something may remain perchance to chime And what doth Gaul, the all-prolific land

With reason, and, what's stranger still, with rhyme. Of ne plus ultra ultras and their band

Even this thy genius, Canning! may permit, Of mercenaries ? and her noisy chambers

Who, bred a statesman, still was born a wit, And tribune, which each orator first clambers And never, even in that dull house, couldst tame Before he finds a voice, and when 'tis found, To unleaven'd prose, thine own poetic flame; Hears “the lie" echo for his answer round ? Our last, our best, our only orator, Our British Commons sometimes deign to hear ! Even I can praise thee—Tories do no more : A Gallic senate bath more tongue than ear ; Nay, not so much ;-they hate thee, man, because Even Constant, their sole master of debate, Thy spirit less upholds them than it awes. Must fight next day his speech to vindicate. The hounds will gather to their huntsman's hollo, But this costs little to true Franks, who'd rather And where he leads the duteous pack will follow; Combat than listen, were it to their father. But not for love mistake their yelling cry; What is the sirople standing of a shot,

Their yelp for game is not an eulogy ;
To listening long, and interrupting not P

Less faithful far than the four-footed pack,
Though this was not the method of old Rome, A dubious scent would lure the bipeds back,
When Tully fulmined o'er each vocal dome, Thy saddle-girths are not yet quite secure,
Demosthenes has sanction’d the transaction, Nor royal stallion's feet extremely sure ;
In saying eloquence meant “Action, action!' The unwieldy old white horse is apt at last

To stumble, kick, and now and then stick fast
XII.

With his great self and rider in the mud;
But where's the monarch ? hath he dined ? or yet But what of that ? the animal shows blood.
Groans beneath indigestion's heavy debt ?
Have revolutionary patés risen,

XIV.
And turn'd the royal entrails to a prison ? Alas, the country! how shall tongue or pen
Have discontented movements stirr'd the troops ? Bewail her now uncountry gentlemen ?
Or have no movements followed traitorous soups ? The last to bid the cry of warfare cease,
Have Carbonaro cooks not carbonadoed

The first to make a malady of peace.
Each course enough! or doctors dire dissuaded For what were all these country patriots born ?
Repletion ? Ah! in thy dejected looks

To hunt, and vote, and raise the price of corn ? I read all France's treason in her cooks !

But corn, like every mortal thing, must fall, Good classic Louis ! is it, canst thou say,

Kings, conquerors, and markets most of all. Desirable to be the “ Désiré ? "

And must ye fall with every ear of grain ? Why wouldst thou leave calm Hartwell's green Why would you trouble Buonaparte's reign ? abode,

He was your great Triptolemus; his vices A pician table, and Horatian ode,

Destroy'd but realms, and still maintain'd your To rule a people who will not be ruled,

prices;
And love much rather to be scourged than schoold? He amplified to every lord's content
Ah! thing was not the temper or the taste The grand agrarian alchymy, hight rent.
For thrones ; the table sees thee better placed : Why did the tyrant stumble on the Tartars,
A mild Epicurean, form'd, at best,

And lower wheat to such desponding quarters ? To be a kind host and as good a guest,

Why did you chain him on yon isle so lone ? To talk of letters, and to know by heart

The man was worth much more upon his throne. One half the poet's, all the gourmand's art : True, blood and treasure boundlessly were spilt, A scholar always, now and then a wit,

But wbat of that ? the Gaul may bear the guilt ; And gentle when digestion may permit;But not to govern lands enslaved or free;

(1) “Naso suspendit adunco."--HORACE. The gout was martyrdom enough for thee.

The Roman applies it to one who merely was imperious to his acquaintance.

XV.

But bread was high, the farmer paid his way, Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be wise;" Aud acres told upou the appointed day.

Admire their patience through each sacrifice, But where is now the goodly audit ale ?

Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride, The purse-proud tenant, never known to fail ? The price of taxes and of homicide : The farm which never yet was left on hand Admire their justice, which would fain deny The marsh reclaim’d to most improving land ? The debt of nations :--pray, who made it high? The impatient hope of the expiring lease? The doubling rental? What an evil's peace ! In vain the prize excites the plouglıman's skill, In vain the Commons pass their patriot bill;

Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks, The landed interest-(you may understand

The new Symplegades—the crushing Stocks, The phrase much better leaving out the land)—

Where Midas might again his wish behold The land self-interest groans from shore to shore,

In real paper or imagined gold. For fear that plenty should attain the poor.

That magic palace of Alcina shows

More wealth than Britain ever had to lose, Up, up again, ye rents ! exalt your notes,

Were all her atonis of unleaven'd ore,
Or else the ministry will lose their votes,

And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore.
And patriotism, so delicately nice,
Her loaves will lower to the market price ;

There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the For ah ! "the loaves and fishes," once so high,

stake,

And the world trembles to bid brokers break. Are gone—their oven closed, their ocean dry,

How rich is Britain ! not indeed in mines,
And nought remains of all the million spent,
Excepting to grow moderate and content.

Or peace, or plenty, corn or oil, or wines;
They who are not so, had their turn--and turn

No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey, About still flows from Fortune's equal urn;

Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money : Now let their virtue be its own reward,

But let us not to own the truth refuse, And share the blessings which themselves pre- Those parted with their teeth to good King John,

Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews ? pared. See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm,

And now, ye kings ! they kindly draw your own; Farmers of war, dictators of the farm ;

All states, all things, all sovereigns they control, Their ploughshare was the sword in hireling hands, And waft a loan from Indus to the pole.”

The banker-broker-baron-brethren, speed Their fields manured by gore of other lands; Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent

To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need. Their brethren out to battle—why? for rent !

Nor these alone; Columbia feels no less Year after year they voted cent. per cent.,

Fresh speculations follow each success; Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions-why? for And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain rent!

Her mild per-centage from exhausted Spain.

Not without Abraham's seed can Russia march; They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they swore they meant

'Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's arch. To die for England-why then live ?-for rent !

Two Jews, a chosen people, can command The peace has made one general malcontent

In every realm their scripture-promised land: Of these high-market patriots; war was rent!

Two Jews keep down the Ronians, and uphold Their love of country, millions all misspent,

The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old :

Two Jews-but not Samaritans-direct
How reconcile ? by reconciling rent !
And will they not repay the treasures lent ?

The world, with all the spirit of their sect.
No; down with everything, and up with rent !

What is the happiness of earth to them ? Their good, ill, health, wealth, joy, or discontent,

A congress forms their “New Jerusalem," Being, end, aim, religion-rent, rent, rent !

Where baronies and orders both inviteThou sold'st thy birthright, Esau, for a mess ; Thy followers mingling with these royal swine,

Oh, holy Abraham ! dost thou see the sight? Thou shouldst have gotten more, or eaten less ; Now thou hast swill'd thy pottage, thy demands

Who spit not “on their Jewish garberdine," Are idle ; Israel says the bargain stands.

But honour them as portion of the showSuch, landlords ! was your appetite for war,

(Where now, oh Pope! is thy forsaken toe ?

Could it not favour Judah And gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar!

some kicks? What! would they spread their earthquake even

Or has it ceased to "kick against the pricks ?”) o'er cash ?

On Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh, And when land crumbles, bid firm

To cut from nations' hearts their “pound of flesh.." crash?

paper So rent may rise, bid bank and nation fall, And found on 'Change a Fundling hospital !

XVI. Lo, Mother Church, while all religion writhes, Strange sight this Congress ! destined to unite Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring, Tithes ; All that's incongruous, all that's opposite. The prelates go to—where the saints have gone, I speak not of the sovereigns—they're alike, And proud pluralities subside to one ;

A common coin as ever mint could strike : Church, state, and faction wrestle in the dark, But those who sway the puppets, pull the strings, Toss'd by the deluge in their common ark.

Have more of notley than their heavy kings. Shoru of her bishops, banks, and dividends, Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine, Another Babel soars—but Britain ends.

While Europe wonders at the vast design: And why? to pamper the self-seeking wants, There Metternich, power's foremost parasite, And prop the bill of these agrarian ants.

Cajules; there Wellington forgets to fight;