And exquisite, that sleep alone bestows Ability like splendor to endure: Entered, with streaming thousands, through the gate, I saw the banquet spread beneath a Dome of state, A lofty Dome, that dared to emulate The heaven of sable night With starry lustre; yet had power to throw Upon a princely company below, While the vault rang with choral harmony, Like some Nymph-haunted grot beneath the roaring sea. No sooner ceased that peal, than on the verge Of exultation hung a dirge Breathed from a soft and lonely instrument, That kindled recollections Of agonized affections; And, though some tears the strain attended, In peace of spirit, and sublime content! IV. But garlands wither; festal shows depart, Victorious England! bid the silent Art Reflect, in glowing hues that shall not fade, Those high achievements; even as she arrayed With second life the deed of Marathon So may she labor for thy civic halls: Of consecrated places As nobly graced by Sculpture's patient toil; With gratulation thoroughly benign! V. And ye, Pierian Sisters, sprung from Jove And sage Mnemosyne, full long debarred From your first mansions, exiled all too long From many a hallowed stream and grove, Dear native regions where ye wont to rove, Chanting for patient heroes the reward Of never-dying song! Now (for, though Truth descending from above Spared for obeisance from perpetual love Strike audibly the noblest of your lyres, That I, or some more favored Bard, may hear What ye, celestial Maids! have often sung catch it with rapt ear, Of Britain's acts, may And give the treasure to our British tongue! When they to future empires have given birth, Own, that the progeny of this fair Isle The hostile purpose of wide-wasting Time,- XL. FEELINGS OF A FRENCH ROYALIST, ON THE DISINTERMENT OF THE REMAINS OF THE DUC D'ENGHIEN. DEAR Relics! from a pit of vilest mould XLI. OCCASIONED BY THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. (The last six lines intended for an inscription.) FEBRUARY, 1816. INTREPID Sons of Albion! not by you Ne'er saw a race who held, by right of birth, Ye slight not life, — to God and Nature true; Yet filled with ardor and on triumph bent To you who fell, and you whom slaughter spared To guard the fallen, and consummate the event, Your Country rears this sacred Monument! XLII. SIEGE OF VIENNA RAISED BY JOHN SOBIESKI. FEBRUARY, 1816. O FOR a kindling touch from that pure flame In words like these: "Up, Voice of song! proclaim For lo! the Imperial City stands released From bondage threatened by the embattled East, And Christendom respires; from guilt and shame Redeemed, from miserable fear set free, By one day's feat, one mighty victory. Chant the Deliverer's praise in every tongue! The cross shall spread, the crescent hath waxed dim; |