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A Roman Master stands on Grecian ground,
And to the Concourse of the Isthmian Games
He, by his Herald's voice, aloud proclaims
The Liberty Of Greece : — the words rebound
Until all voices in one voice are drowned;
Glad acclamation by which air was rent!
And birds, high flying in the element,
Dropped to the earth, astonished at the sound!
— A melancholy Echo of that noise
Doth sometimes hang on musing Fancy's ear:
Ah! that a Conqueror's words should be so dear;
Ah! that a boon could shed such rapturous joys!
A gift of that which is not to be given
By all the blended powers of Earth and Heaven.

II.

UfOH THE SAME EVENT.

When, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn

The tidings passed of servitude repealed,

And of that joy which shook the Isthmian Field,

The rough iEtolians smiled with bitter scorn.

"'Tis known," cried they, "that He, whowould adorn

His envied temples with the Isthmian Crown,

Must either win, through effort of his own,

The prize, or be content to see it worn

By more deserving brows. — Yet so ye prop,

Sons of the Brave who fought at Marathon,

Your feeble Spirits. Greece her head hath bowed,

As if the wreath of Liberty thereon

Would fix itself as smoothly as a cloud,

Which, at Jove's will, descends on Pelion's top!"

III.

TO THOMAS CLARKSON, ON THE FINAL PASSING OF THE BILL FOB THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE, MARCH, 1807.

Clarkson! it was an obstinate Hill to climb:
How toilsome, nay how dire it was, by Thee
Is known, — by none, perhaps, so feelingly;
But Thou, who, starting in thy fervent prime,
Didst first lead forth this pilgrimage sublime,
Hast heard the constant Voice its charge repeat,
Which, out of thy young heart's oracular seat,
First roused thee. — O true yoke-fellow of Time
With unabating effort, see, the palm
Is won, and by all Nations shall be worn!
The bloody Writing is for ever torn,
And Thou henceforth shalt have a good Man's calm,
A great Man's happiness; thy zeal shall find
Repose at length, firm Friend of human kind!

IV.

A PROPHECY.

February., 1807

High deeds, O Germans, are to come from you!
Thus in your Books the record shall be found,
"A Watchword was pronounced, a potent sound,
Arminius ! — all the people quaked like dew
Stirred by the breeze — they rose, a Nation, true,
True to herself—the mighty Germany,
She of the Danube and the Northern sea,
She rose, — and off at once the yoke she threw.
All power was given her in the dreadful trance —
Those new-born Kings she withered like a flame."
—Woe to them all! but heaviest woe and shame
To that Bavarian who did first advance
His banner in accursed league with France,
First open Traitor to a sacred name!

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