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Thou stored'st thy sad hours ! Silence ensued, Deep silence o'er th'ethereal multitude, Whose wreathed locks with snow-white glories shone.

Then, his eye wild ardours glancing,

From the choired gods advancing,
The Spirit of the Earth made reverence meet,
And stood up beautiful before the cloudy seat!

ANTISTROPHE II.

On every harp, on every tongue,
While the mute enchantment hung;
Like midnight from a thunder-cloud,
Spake the sudden Spirit loud-
“Thou in stormy blackness throning

Love and uncreated light,
By the Earth's unsolac'd groaning,
Seize thy terrors, Arm of might!

By Belgium's corse impeded flood ! *

By Vendée's steaming brother's blood! By Peace with proffer d insult scar'u,

Masked hate and envying scorn!

By years of havoc yet unborn!
And hunger's bosom to the frost-winds bard!
But chief by Afric's wrongs,

Strange, horrible, and foul !
By what deep guilt belongs
To the deaf Senate, ‘full of gifts and lies!'
By wealth's insensate laugh! by torture's how!!

Avenger, rise!

For ever shall the bloody Island scowl? For aye, unbroken, shall her cruel bow

Shoot famine's arrows o'er thy ravag'd world? Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below! Rise, God of Nature, rise! Ah why those bolts unhurla?"

* The Rhine.

EPODE II.

The voice had ceas'd, the phantoms fled;
Yet still I gasp'd and reel'd with dread,
And ever, when the dream of night
Renews the vision to my sight,
Cold sweat-damps gather on my limbs ;

My ears throb hot; my eye-balls start;
My brain with horrid tumult swims;
Wild is the tempest of my heart;

And my thick and struggling breath

Imitates the toil of death! No stranger agony confounds

The soldier on the war-field spread, When all foredone with toils and wounds,

Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead ! (The strife is o'er, the day-light fled,

And the night.wind clamours hoarse! See! the startful wretch's head

Lies pillowed on a brother's corse!)

O doom'd to fall, enslav'd and vile,
O Albion ! O my mother Isle !
Thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers,
Glitter green with sunny showers;
Thy grassy uplands gentle swells

Echo to the bleat of flocks ;
(Those grassy hills, those glittring dells
Proudly ramparted with rocks)

And Ocean mid his uproar wild

Speaks safety to his island-child. Hence for many a fearless age

Has social quiet lov'd thy shore; Nor ever sworded foeman's rage

Orsack'd thy towers, or stain’d thy fields with gore.

Disclaim'd of heaven ! * mad av’rice at thy side
At coward distance, yet with kindling pride-
Safe ’mid thy herds and corn-fields thou hast stood,
And join'd the yell of famine and of blood !

All nations curse thee: and with eager wond'ring
Shall hear Destruction, like a vulture, scream!
Strange-eyed Destruction, who with many a dream

Of central fires thro' nether seas upthund'ring
Soothes her fierce solitude; yet, as she lies

By livid fount, or roar of blazing stream,
If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes,
O Albion ! thy predestin'd ruins rise,

* The Poet from having considered the peculiar advantages which this country has enjoyed, passes in rapid transition to the uses which we have made of these advantages. We have been preserved by our insular situation, from suffering the actual horrors of war ourselves, and we have shown our gratitude to Providence, for this immunity by our eagerness to spread those horrors over nations less happily situated. In the midst of plenty and safety we have raised or joined the yell for famine and blood. Of the one hundred and seven last years, fifty have been years of war. Such wickedness cannot pass unpunished. We have been proud and confident in our alliances and our fleets—but God has prepared the canker-worm, and will smite the gourds of our pride. “ Art thou better than populous No, that was situate among the rivers, that had the waters round about it, whose rampart was the sea ? Ethiopia and Egypt were her strength, and it was infinite; Put and Lubin were her helpers. Yet she was carried away, she went into captivity; and they cast lots for her honourable men, and all her great men were bound in chains. Thou also shalt be drunken; all thy strong-holds shall be like fig trees with the first ripe figs; if they be shaken, they shall ever fall into the mouth of the eater. Thou hast multiplied thy merchants above the stars of heaven. Thy cowned are as the locusts; and thy captains as the great grasshoppers which camp in the hedges in the cool-day ; but when the sun ariseth they flee away, and their place is not known where they are. There is no healing of thy bruise; thy wound is grievous; all that hear the report of thee, shall clap the hands over thee; for upon whom hath not thy wickedness passed continually?" -NAHUM, CHAP. III.

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The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap, Mutt'ring distemper'd triumph in her charmed sleep.

Away, my soul, away!
In vain, in vain, the birds of warning sing-
And hark! I hear the famish'd brood of prey
Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind !

Away, my soul, away!
I, unpartaking of the evil thing,

With daily prayer, and daily toil

Soliciting for food my scanty soil,
Have wail'd my country with a loud lament.
Now I recentre my immortal mind

In the deep sabbath of blest self-content;
Cleans'd from the fears and anguish that bedim
God's image, sister of the Seraphim.

MONODY ON THE DEATH OF CHATTERTON.

WAEn faint and sad o'er Sorrow's desart wild
Slow journeys onward poor Misfortune's child;
When fades each lovely form by fancy dress’d,
And inly pines the self-consuming breast;
(No scourge of scorpions in thy right arm dread,
No helmet terrors nodding o'er thy head,)
Assume, O Death! the cherub wings of Peace,
And bid the heart-sick wanderer's anguish cease!

Thee, ChatteRTON! yon unblest stones protect
From want, and the bleak freezings of neglect !
Escap'd the sore wounds of afHiction's rod
Meek at the throne of mercy, and of God,
Perchance, thou raisest high th' enraptur'd hymn

Amid the blaze of Seraphim !

Yet oft ('tis nature's call)
I weep, that heaven-born genius so should fall ;
And oft, in fancy's saddest hour, my soul
Averted shudders at the poison'd bowl.
Now groans my sickening heart, as still I view

Thy corse of livid hue:
And now a flash of indignation high
Darts thro' the tear, that glistens in mine eye!

Is this the land of song-ennobled line ?
Is this the land, where Genius ne'er in vain

Pour'd forth his lofty strain ?
Ah me! yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine,
Beneath chill disappointment's shade,
His weary limbs in lonely anguish lay'd :

And o'er her darling dead

Pity hopeless hung her head, While “mid the pelting of that merciless storm," Sunk to the cold earth Otway's famish'd form!

Sublime of thought, and confident of fame,
From vales where Avon winds the Minstrel* came.

Light-hearted youth! he hastes along,

And meditates the future song,
How dauntless Ælla fray'd the Dacyan foes ;

See, as floating high in air

Glitter the sunny visions fair,
His eyes dance rapture, and his bosom glows !

Yes! clad in nature's rich array, And bright in all her tender hues, Sweet tree of hope! thou loveliest child of spring Most fair didst thou disclose thine early bloom, * Avon, a river near Bristol, the birth-place of Chatterton.

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