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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
To come, in which all empires shall expire.
Thou other element ! as strong and stern,
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;
Pierce, till hosts perislı'd with a single pang!
For the gay thousands of his dashing ranks !
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
Oh, bloody and most bootless Waterloo ! and the keys were brought and laid upon his bier, so that the place might appear rendered to his ashes.
But driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye,
Not to be lull'd by tyrant victories.
By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed,
The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile,
The aid evaded, and the cold delay,
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?
Better still serve the haughty Mussulman,
Better still toil for masters, than await,
A live estate, existing but for thrall,
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.
But not alone within the hoariest clime
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,
The dawn revives : renown'd, romantic Spain
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,
The Inquisition, with her burning feast,
While sate the catholic Moloch, calmly cruel,
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 ;
The foreign wealth that flow'd on ev'ry shore, With ponderous malice swaying to and fro,
With their imperial presence shine on thee!
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,
And generous spirit, when 'tis not frost-bit ;
But harden'd back whene'er the morning's raw; Henry, the forest-born Demosthenes,
With no objection to true liberty,
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
Think’st thou to thee Napoleon's victor yields ?
(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)-
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 ;
Less faithful far than the four-footed pack,
To stumble, kick, and now and then stick fast
With his great self and rider in the mud;
The first to make a malady of peace.
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,
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.
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,
And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore.
There Fortune plays, while Rumour holds the For ah ! "the loaves and fishes," once so high,
And the world trembles to bid brokers break. Are gone—their oven closed, their ocean dry,
How rich is Britain ! not indeed in mines,
Or peace, or plenty, corn or oil, or wines;
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
The world, with all the spirit of their sect.
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;