Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest
In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot
Beneath thee, that is England; there she 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."

CALAIS, AUGUST, 1802.

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-firuit 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!"

1801.

I GRIEVED for Buonapartè, with a vain

And an unthinking grief! The tenderest mood
Of that Man's mind, what can it be? what food
Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could he 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:

7 In the Summer of 1802, Wordsworth and his sister made a short visit to Franco, and arrived at Calais on the 31st of July. Of this trip Miss Wordsworth wrote a brief Diary, noting the things that particularly interested them during their stay at Calais. The Diary furnishes the following in illustration of this sonnet: "Delightful walks in the evening; seeing far off in the West the coast of England, like a cloud, crested with Dover Castle, the evening star, and the glory of the sky: the reflections in the water were more beautiful than the sky itself; purple waves brighter than precious stones for ever melting away upon the sands."

8 Early in August, 1802, Napoleon was made First Consul for life, with the whole forces of the State centred in his hands. Of course the nation was in transports at this swift progress backwards towards the one-man power and the despotism of the sword.

9 Napoleon was by birth and blood an Italian, both his parents being of that stock, and was born February 5, 1768. Corsica was incorporated with France in June fol lowing; and he afterwards gave out that he was born in August, 1769, that he might pass for a Frenchman by birth. Wordsworth always gives the name with the Italian pronunciation. It is said that Napoleon took it in dludgeon to have his name so pro nounced.

Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk
Man holds with week-day man in th' 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.

CALAIS, AUGUST 15, 1802.

FESTIVALS have I seen that were not names:
This is young Buonaparte's natal day,
And his is henceforth an establish'd 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 witness'd,1 in a prouder timé;
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.2

ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC.

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 reach'd its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
Of that which once was great is pass'd away.

1 Alluding to the poet's first visit to France, which was in the Summer of 1790, when the revolutionary ardour was in its full glow of triumph and hope, and Wordsworth himself was in full sympathy with it.

2 At this time, 1802, the poet was all out of heart for the cause of freedom in France: on the Continent of Europe he could see nothing but arguments of despair. In this state of things, with all the surroundings looking so dark, he might weli think that, if men would find any thing to sustain their hopes, they must search within, and explore the better forces of human nature in their own breasts.

3 Venice was ruthlessly seized by Napoleon in 1796, her government revolution. ized into fraternity with that of France; and finally she was made over by him to Austria in the treaty of Leoben, April, 1797.

TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.

TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy man of men!
Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now
Pillow'd in some deep dungeon's earless den;-
O miserable Chieftain! where and when
Wilt thou find patience? Yet die not; do thou
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:
Though fallen thyself, never to rise again,
Live, and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies;
There's not a breathing of the common wind

That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;

Thy friends are exultations, agonies,

And love, and man's unconquerable mind.

COMPOSED IN THE VALLEY NEAR DOVER, ON THE DAY OF LANDING.

HERE, on our native soil, we breathe once more.

The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound
Of bells; those boys who in yon meadow-ground
In white-sleeved shirts are playing; and the roar
Of the waves breaking on the chalky shore;-
All, all are English. Oft have I look'd round
With joy in Kent's green vales; but never found
Myself so satisfied in heart before.

Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,
Thought for another moment. Thou art free,
My Country! and 'tis joy enough and pride
For one hour's perfect bliss, to tread the grass
Of England once again, and hear and sce,
With such a dear companion at my side.

SEPTEMBER, 1802. NEAR DOVER.

INLAND, within a hollow vale, I stood;

And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear,
The coast of France, -the coast of France how near!
Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood."

4. This heroic Negro chief was the most redoubted champion for the freedom which the Constituent Assembly had given to the slaves of Saint Domingo. In 1802, Napoleon sent over a large army, to regain possession of the island, and bring it back to its old condition. After a long resistance, Toussaint was at last treacherously ensnared and captured, and sent to France. For some time it was not known what became of him; but he is now said to have been confined in the castle of Joux, in the Jura, where he died soon after, whether by natural or violent means, is un known.

5 I quote again from Miss Wordsworth's Diary: "On the 29th August left Calais at twelve in the morning for Dover; bathed, and sat on the Dover cliffs, and looked upon France: we could see the shores almost as plain as if it were but an English lake."

I shrunk; for verily the barrier flood
Was like a lake, or river bright and fair,
A span of waters; yet what power is there!
What mightiness for evil and for good!
Even so doth God protect us if we be

Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and waters roll,
Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity;
Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree
Spake laws to them, and said that by the soul
Only, the Nations shall be great and free.

THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND

Two Voices are there; one is of the sea,
One of the mountains; each a mighty Voice:
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen music, Liberty!

There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee

Thou fought'st against him; but hast vainly striven:
Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven,
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.
Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft:
Then cleave, O, cleave to that which still is left;
For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be
That Mountain floods should thunder as before,
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore,
And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!

WRITTEN IN LONDON, SEPTEMBER, 1802.

O FRIEND! I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,

To think that now our life is only drest
For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook,
Or groom! We must run glittering like a brook
In th' open sunshine, or we are unblest:
The wealthiest man among us is the best:
No grandeur now in nature or in book
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
This is idolatry; and these we adore:
Plain living and high thinking are no more:

This magnificent sonnet was a faithful echo of the grief and indignation felt all over Europe at the event in question. In 1802, Napoleon invaded Switzerland with such forces as it was hopeless to resist: the old Swiss Confederacy of Republics was soon broken up, and all crushed into such shape as the invader pleased. All in glaring defiance of the most solemn and stringent treaties. See Coleridge's Ode en France in a subsequent part of this volume.

The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws."

LONDON, 1802.

MILTON! thou shouldst be living at this hour;
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, th' heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
O, raise us up, return to us again!

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

GREAT men have been among us; hands that penn'd
And tongues that utter'd wisdom,- better none:
The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington,

Young Vane, and others who call'd Milton friend.
These moralists could act and comprehend:
They knew how genuine glory was put on;
Taught us how rightfully a nation shone

In splendour; what strength was, that would not bend
But in magnanimous meekness. France, 'tis strange,
Hath brought forth no such souls as we had then.
Perpetual emptiness! unceasing change!
No single volume paramount, no code,
No master spirit, no determined road;
But equally a want of books and men!

It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to th' open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flow'd, "with pomp of waters, unwithstood,"
Roused though it be full often to a mood

7 This was written immediately after my return from France to London, when I could not but be struck, as here described, with the vanity and parade of our own country, especially in great towns and cities, as contrasted with the quiet, and I may say the desolation, that the revolution had produced in France. This must be borne in mind, or else the reader may think that in this and the succeeding sonnets I have exaggerated the mischief engendered and fostered among us by undisturbed wealth.-Author's Notes, 1843.