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I see

- but not by sight alone,
Loved Yarrow, have I won thee;
A ray of Fancy still survives-
Her sunshine plays upon thee !
Thy ever-youthful waters keep
A course of lively pleasure;

And gladsome notes my lips can breathe,
Accordant to the measure.

The vapours linger round the Heights,
They melt
and soon must vanish;
One hour is theirs, nor more is mine
Sad thought, which I would banish,
But that I know, where'er I go,
Thy genuine image, Yarrow !

Will dwell with me- to heighten joy,
And cheer my mind in sorrow.






FAIR Star of Evening, Splendour of the West,
Star of my country! on the horizon's brink
Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink
On England's bosom ; yet well pleased to rest,
Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest
Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think,

Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink,
Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest

In thy fresh beauty.

There! that dusky spot

Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies.
Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot,
One life, one glory! I with many a fear
For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs,
Among Men who do not love her, linger here.

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Is it a Reed that's shaken by the wind,

Or what is it that ye go forth to see?

Lords, Lawyers, Statesmen, Squires of low degree,
Men known, and men unknown, Sick, Lame, and Blind,
Post forward all, like Creatures of one kind,
With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee

In France, before the new-born Majesty.
'Tis ever thus. Ye Men of prostrate mind!
A seemly reverence may be paid to power;
But that's a loyal virtue, never sown

In haste, nor springing with a transient shower :
When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown,
What hardship had it been to wait an hour?
Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone!

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AUGUST 7. 1802.

JONES! while from Calais southward you and I
Urged our accordant steps, this public Way
Streamed with the pomp of a too-credulous day *,
When faith was pledged to new-born Liberty:
A homeless sound of joy was in the Sky ;
The antiquated Earth, as one might say,
Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, play,
Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh!
And now, sole register that these things were,
Two solitary greetings have I heard,
"Good morrow, Citizen!" a hollow word,
As if a dead Man spake it! Yet despair
Touches me not, though pensive as a Bird
Whose vernal coverts winter hath laid bare.

* 14th July, 1790.

IV.. - 1801.

I GRIEVED for Buonaparté, with a vain
And an unthinking grief! for, who aspires
To genuine greatness but from just desires,
And knowledge such as he could never gain?
'Tis not in battles that from youth we train
The Governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain
Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.
Wisdom doth live with children round her knees:
Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk
Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk
Of the mind's business: these are the degrees
By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk
True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these.

V. CALAIS, AUGUST 15. 1802.

FESTIVALS have I seen that were not names:
This is young Buonaparte's natal day,

And his is henceforth an established sway,
Consul for life. With worship France proclaims
Her approbation, and with pomps and games.
Heaven grant that other Cities may be gay!
Calais is not and I have bent my way
To the sea-coast, noting that each man frames
His business as he likes. Far other show
My youth here witnessed, in a prouder time;
The senselessness of joy was then sublime!
Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,
Consul, or King, can sound himself to know
The destiny of Man, and live in hope.



ONCE did She hold the gorgeous East in fee;

And was the safeguard of the West: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.
She was a Maiden City, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate ;
And, when She took unto herself a Mate,
She must espouse the everlasting Sea.
And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid

When her long life hath reached its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
Of that which once was great, is passed away.

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THE Voice of Song from distant lands shall call
To that great King; shall hail the crownèd Youth
Who, taking counsel of unbending Truth,
By one example hath set forth to all

How they with dignity may stand; or fall,
If fall they must. Now, whither doth it tend?
And what to him and his shall be the end?

That thought is one which neither can appal

Nor cheer him; for the illustrious Swede hath done
The thing which ought to be: He stands above
All consequences: work he hath begun

Of fortitude, and piety, and love,

Which all his glorious Ancestors approve :
The Heroes bless him, him their rightful Son.

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