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Well might they thus adore that heavenly Maid !
For never Nymph of Mountain,
Or Grove, or Lake, or Fountain,
No idle ornaments deface
Her natural grace,
Nor trinketry on front, or neck, or breast,
Of early nature undefiled,
Beside the glassy pool, the fish, that flies
Quick as an arrow from all other eyes,
When Kailyal's step she heard,
ODE, WRITTEN DURING THE NEGOCIATIONS WITH
BUONAPARTE, IN JANUARY, 1814.
Who counsels peace at this momentous hour, When God hath given deliverance to the oppress’d,
And to the injured power ?
When innocent blood
For justice upon one accursed head ;
Over all nations, now in one just cause
Europe throws off the yoke abhorrd,
Follow the avenging sword!
Woe, woe to England! woe and endless shame,
If this heroic land,
Be suffer'd still to stand !
What new and courtly phrases must we feign For Falsehood, Murder, and all monstrous crimes, If that perfidious Corsican maintain
Still his detested reign, And France, who yearns even now to break her chain,
Beneath his iron rule be left to groan ?
No! by the innumerable dead Whose blood hath for his lust of power been shed,
Death only can for his foul deeds atone; That peace which Death and Judgment can bestow,
That peace be Buonaparte's . . that alone!
Have ye not seen him in the balance weighed,
Foremost the resolute adventurer stood;
And when, by many a battle won,
He placed upon his brow the crown,
Then, like Octavius in old time,
Effacing many a stain of former crime.
Fool! the redemption proffer'd should he lose ! When Heaven such grace vouchsafed him that the way
To Good and Evil lay
Bold man and bad,
Himself in Hell's whole panoply he clad ; No law but his own headstrong will he knew,
No counsellor but his own wicked heart. From evil thus portentous strength he drew, And trampled under foot all human ties, All holy laws, all natural charities.
5. O France ! beneath this fierce Barbarian's sway Disgraced thou art to all succe
cceeding times ; Rapine, and blood, and fire have mark'd thy way,
All loathsome, all unutterable crimes. A curse is on thee, France! from far and wide It hath gone up to Heaven; all lands have cried
For vengeance upon thy detested head; All nations curse thee, France ! for wheresoe’er In peace or war thy banner hath been spread, All forms of human woe have follow'd there :
The Living and the Dead Cry out alike against thee! They who bear, Crouching beneath its weight, thine iron yoke,
Join in the bitterness of secret prayer
The voice of that innumerable throng Whose slaughtered spirits day and night invoke
The everlasting Judge of right and wrong, How long, O Lord! Holy and Just, how long!
6. A merciless oppressor hast thou been, Thyself remorselessly oppressid meantime; Greedy of war, when all that thou couldst gain Was but to dye thy soul with deeper crime,
And rivet faster round thyself the chain.
O blind to honour, and to interest blind,
When thus in abject servitude resign'd
Thyself the while a miserable slave ; Behold the flag of vengeance is unfurld! The dreadful armies of the North advance ; While England, Portugal, and Spain combined
Give their triumphant banners to the wind,
7. One man hath been for ten long wretched years The cause of all this blood and all these tears ;
One man in this most aweful point of time Draws on thy danger, as he caused thy crime.
Wait not too long the event,
The People and the Princeș, with one mind,
One execrable head laid low,
Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame!
By the blood which on Domingo's shore
Hath clogg'd the carrion-birds with gore ;
Of frozen Muscovy;
By the bodies that lie all open to the sky,
By the widow's and the orphan's cry,
By the childless parent's misery,
By the ruin he hath spread,
Redeem, O France! thine ancient fame,
Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame;
Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind !
By thy murder'd Pichegru's fame;
By murder'd Hofer's martyrdom ;
The Villain's own peculiar private guilt,
Take vengeance for thyself and for mankind !
FUNERAL ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE
In its summer pride array'd,