Warsaw's last champion from her height sur. vey'd, Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,- He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd; Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, Revenge, or death,-the watch-word and reply; Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm, And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm! In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew:Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime; Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her high career;HOPE, for a season, bade the world farewell, And Freedom shriek'd-as Kosciusko fell! The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, Oh! righteous Heaven! ere Freedom found a grave, Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save? Where was thine arm, O vengeance! where thy rod That smote the foes of Zion and of God; That crush'd proud Ammon, when his iron car Was yoked in wrath, and thunder'd from afar? Where was the storm that slumber'd till the host Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast; Then bade the deep and wild commotion flow, And heaved an ocean on their march below? Departed spirits of the mighty dead! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled! Friends of the world! restore your swords to man, Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, And make her arm puissant as your own! Oh! once again to Freedom's cause return The patriot Tell-the Bruce of Bannockburn! Yes! thy proud lords, unpitied land! shall see That man hath yet a soul-and dare be free! A little while, along thy saddening plains, The starless night of Desolation reigns. Truth shall restore the light by Nature given, And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven! Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurl'd, Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world! Ye that the rising morn invidious mark, And hate the light-because your deeds are dark; Ye that expanding truth invidious knew, And think, or wish, the song of HOPE untrue; Perhaps your little hands presume to span The march of Genius, and the powers of man; Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallow'd shrine, Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine:"Here shall thy triumph, Genius, cease; and here Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career." Tyrants! in vain ye trace the wizard ring; In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring: What! can ye lull the winged winds asleep, Arrest the rolling world, or chain the deep? No!-the wild wave contemns your sceptered hand: It roll'd not back when Canute gave command! Man! can thy doom no brighter soul allow? Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow? Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furl'd? Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world? What! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied? Why then hath Plato lived-or Sidney died? Ye fond adorers of departed fame. Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name! Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore, Yes! in that generous cause, for ever strong, Yes! there are hearts, prophetic HOPE may trust, That slumber yet in uncreated dust, Ordain'd to fire th' adoring sons of earth With every charm of wisdom and of worth; Ordain'd to light, with intellectual day, The mazy wheels of Nature as they play, Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow, And rival all but Shakspeare's name below! And say, supernal Powers! who deeply scan Heaven's dark decrees, unfathom'd yet by man, When shall the world call down, to cleanse her shame, That embryo spirit, yet without a name,- Yet, yet, degraded men! th' expected day Eternal Nature! when thy giant hand Had heaved the floods, and fix'd the trembling land, When life sprung starting at thy plastic call, Lo! once in triumph, on his boundless plain, |