VII. - COMPOSED ON THE BEACH NEAR CALAIS.

1802. 1807.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,

The holy time is quiet as a Nun

Breathless with adoration; the broad sun

Is sinking down in its tranquillity;

The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea :
Listen the mighty Being is awake,

And doth with his eternal motion make

A sound like thunder-everlastingly.

Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,

If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,

Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.

VIII. EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC. 1802. - 1807.

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.

IX. TO TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE.
1802. - 1807.

TOUSSAINT, the most unhappy man of men!
Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now
Pillowed 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.

X. - SEPTEMBER, 1802, NEAR DOVER.
1802. 1807.

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 neighborhood.

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.

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

XII. - LONDON, 1802.
1802. 1807.

MILTON! thou should'st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! 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: d

C

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 penned And tongues that uttered wisdom

better none :

The later Sidney, Marvel, Harrington,

Young Vane, and others who called Milton friend.
These moralists could act and comprehend:
They knew how genuine glory was put on;

Taught us how rightfully a nation shone

In splendor: what strength was that would not bend
But in magnanimous meekness. France, 't is 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 !

XIV.

1802. - 1807.

It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of the world's praise, from dark antiquity

Hath flowed, "with pomp of waters unwithstood,"
Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good
Be lost forever. In our halls is hung
Armory of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue
That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held. — In everything we are sprung
Of Earth's first blood, have titles manifold.

XV.

1802. - 1807.

WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed
Great Nations, how ennobling thoughts depart
When men change swords for ledgers, and desert
The student's bower for gold, some fears unnamed
I had, my Country! – am I to be blamed?
Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art,
Verily, in the bottom of my heart,

Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed.

For dearly must we prize thee; we who find
In thee a bulwark for the cause of men;
And I by my affection was beguiled:
What wonder if a Poet now and then,

Among the many movements of his mind,
Felt for thee as a lover or a child!

DEGENERATE Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord
Whom mere despite of heart could so far please,
And love of havoc (for with such disease
Fame taxes him), that he could send forth word
To level with the dust a noble horde,

A brotherhood of venerable Trees,

Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these,
Beggared and outraged ! — Many hearts deplored
The fate of those old Trees; and oft with pain
The traveller, at this day, will stop and gaze
On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed:
For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays,
And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed,
And the green silent pastures, yet remain.