'I thank thee, I thank thee, Hodeirah's son! A lock of his raven hair, And cast it in the fire, And cried aloud as it burnt, 'Sister! Sister! come and rejoice! The prize is won, The work is done, For I have made captive Hodeirah's Son.' FROM 'KEHAMA.' force of faith! O strength of virtuous will! Behold him in his endless martyrdom, Triumphant still! The Curse still burning in his heart and brain, Patient the while, and tranquil, and content! Such strength the will reveal'd had given They brought the peace of Heaven. Trampling his path through wood and brake, And canes which crackling fall before his way, And tassel-grass, whose silvery feathers play O'ertopping the young trees, On comes the Elephant, to slake His thirst at noon in yon pellucid springs. Lo! from his trunk upturn'd, aloft he flings The grateful shower; and now Plucking the broad-leaved bough Of yonder plane, with wavey motion slow, Fanning the languid air, He moves it to and fro. But when that form of beauty meets his sight, The trunk its undulating motion stops, From his forgetful hold the plane-branch drops, Reverent he kneels, and lifts his rational eyes To her as if in prayer; And when she pours her angel voice in song Entranced he listens to the thrilling notes, Till his strong temples, bathed with sudden dews, Their fragrance of delight and love diffuse. Lo! as the voice melodious floats around, The Tigress leaves her toothless cubs to hear; By that enchanting song; The antic Monkeys, whose wild gambols late, When not a breeze waved the tall jungle grass, Shook the whole wood, are hush'd, and silently Hang on the cluster'd tree. All things in wonder and delight are still; Only at times the Nightingale is heard, Not that in emulous skill that sweetest bird Her rival strain would try, A mighty songster, with the Maid to vie; She only bore her part in powerful sympathy. Well might they thus adore that heavenly Maid! Or Grove, or Lake, or Fountain, Musk-spot, nor sandal-streak, nor scarlet stain, A daughter of the years of innocence. And therefore all things loved her. When she stood Quick as an arrow from all other eyes, Sought not to tempt her from her secret nest, ODE, WRITTEN DURING THE NEGOCIATIONS WITH BUONAPARTE, IN JANUARY, 1814. I. Who counsels peace at this momentous hour, When God hath given deliverance to the oppress'd, And to the injured power? Who counsels peace, when Vengeance like a flood From the four corners of the world cries out 2. Woe, woe to England! woe and endless shame, False to her feelings and unspotted fame, For by what names shall Right and Wrong be known, Still his detested reign, And France, who yearns even now to break her chain, Whose blood hath for his lust of power been shed, That peace which Death and Judgment can bestow, That peace be Buonaparte's.. that alone! 3. For sooner shall the Ethiop change his skin, Fair name might he have handed down, Fool! should he cast away that bright renown! Before him, which to choose. . 4. But Evil was his Good, For all too long in blood had he been nurst, And ne'er was earth with verier tyrant curst. Bold man and bad, Remorseless, godless, full of fraud and lies, And black with murders and with perjuries, 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 succeeding 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 Cry out alike against thee! They who bear, Whose slaughtered spirits day and night invoke 6. A merciless oppressor hast thou been, Thyself remorselessly oppress'd 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. |