XXXIV. November, 1813. Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright, Our aged Sovereign sits;-to the ebb and flow Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe Insensible; he sits deprived of sight, And lamentably wrapped in twofold night, Whom no weak hopes deceived; whose mind ensued, Peace that should claim respect from lawless Might. Upon his inner soul in mercy shine; Permit his heart to kindle, and embrace (Though were it only for a moment's space) The triumphs of this hour; for they are THINE! XXXV. ON THE DISINTERMENT OF THE REMAINS OF THE DEAR Reliques! from a pit of vilest mold On the remorseless hearts of men grown old By aught surrendered from the hollow grave: Of Justice, sent to earth from highest Heaven! XXXVI. OCCASIONED BY THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. (The last six lines intended for an Inscription.) INTREPID Sons of Albion!—not by you Is life despised! - Ah no- the spacious earth Ye slight not life -to God and Nature true; Yet filled with ardour, and on triumph bent, Mid direst shocks of mortal accident, To you who fell, and you whom slaughter spared, To guard the fallen, and consummate the event, Your Country rears this sacred Monument! XXXVII. OCCASIONED BY THE SAME BATTLE. February, 1816. THE Bard, whose soul is meek as dawning day, He whose experienced eye can pierce the array The aspiring heads of future things appear, He only, if such breathe, in strains devout And worthily rehearse the hideous rout, Which the blest Angels, from their peaceful clime Beholding, welcomed with a choral shout. * "From all this world's encumbrance did himself assoil." Spenser. XXXVIII. February, 1816. O, FOR a kindling touch of that pure flame It rose, thy saintly rapture to proclaim, Then, when the imperial city stood released By one day's feat - one mighty victory. Chaunt the Deliverer's praise in every tongue! The cross shall spread, dim, the crescent hath waxed He conquering-as in Earth and Heaven was sung- * Ond' è ch' Io grido e griderò: giugnesti, Si, si, vincesti, o Campion forte e pio, Per Dio vincesti, e per te vinse Iddio. * See Filicaia's Canzone, addressed to John Sobieski, king of Poland, upon his raising the siege of Vienna. This, and his other poems on the same occasion, are superior perhaps to any lyrical pieces that contemporary events have ever given birth to, those of the Hebrew Scriptures only excepted. |