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YE Clouds! that far above me float and pause, Whose pathless march no mortal may controul!
Ye Ocean-Waves ! that, wheresoe'er ye roll, Yield homage only to eternal laws ! Ye Woods ! that listen to the night-birds' singing,
Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclin’d, Save when your own imperious branches swinging
Have made a solemn music of the wind !
How oft, pursuing fancies holy,
Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound ! O ye loud Waves! and 0 ye Forests high !
And O ye Clouds that far above me soar'd!
Thou rising Sun ! thou blue rejoicing Sky!
Yea, every thing that is and will be free !
The spirit of divinest Liberty.
And with that oath, which smote air, earth and sea,
Stamp'd her strong foot and said she would be free,
Unaw'd I sang, amid a slavish band :
The Monarchs march'd in evil day,
And Britain join'd the dire array;
Had swoln the patriot emotion
To all that brav’d the tyrant-quelling lance, And shame too long delay'd and vain retreat!
For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim
But blest the pæans of deliver'd France,
. III. “ And what,” I said, “ though Blasphemy's loud scream
“ With that sweet music of deliverance strove ?
“ Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove “ A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream?
“ Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, .* The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!"
And when, to sooth my soul, that hoped and trembled, The dissonance ceas'd, and all seem'd calm and bright;
When France her front deep-scar'd and gory
When, insupportably advancing,
While timid looks of fury glancing,
Then I reproach'd my fears that would not flee; “ And soon,” I said, “ shall Wisdom teach her lore “ In the low huts of them that toil and groan ! “ And, conquering by her happiness alone,
“Shall France compel the nations to be free, Till Love and Joy look round, and call the Earth their
I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament,
From bleak Helvetia's icy caverns sent-
Heroes, that for your peaceful country perish’d,
With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherish'd One thought that ever bless'd your cruel foes !
To scatter rage, and traitorous guilt,
A patriot-race to disinherit
And with inexpiable spirit
And patriot only in pernicious toils !
To mix with Kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell in the hunt, and share the murd'rous prey; To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils
From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray?
The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain,
Of Freedom, graven on a heavier chain !
But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
Alike from Priestcraft's harpy minions,
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions,
Whose pines, scarce travell’d by the breeze above,
O Liberty! my spirit felt thee there,