That an accursed thing it is to gaze
On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye;
Nor-touched with due abhorrence of their
guilt

For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt,

And justice labors in extremity--
Forget thy weakness, upon which is built,
O wretched man, the throne of tyranny!

XXXIV.

THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA

1812-13.

HUMANITY, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a traveller old,
Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen
day,

In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain, As though his weakness were disturbed by pain;

Or, if a juster fancy should allow
An undisputed symbol of command,
The chosen sceptre is a withered bough,
Infirmly grasped within a palsied hand.
These emblem suit the helpless and forlorn,
But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.
For he it was dread Winter! who beset,
Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net,
That host, when from the regions of the Pole
They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal-
That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied
Their God, and placed their trust in human
pride!

As fathers persecute rebellious sons,

He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;

He called on Frost's inexorable tooth
Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold;
Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly

XXXVII.

THE GERMANS ON THE HEIGHTS OF HOCK HEIM.

ABRUPTLY paused the strife;- the field throughout

Resting upon his arms each warrior stood, Checked in the very act and deed of blood, With breath suspended, like a listening scout.

O Silence! thou wert mother of a shout

That through the texture of yon azure dome
Cleaves its glad way, a cry of harvest home
Uttered to Heaven in ecstacy devout!
The barrier Rhine hath flashed, through
battle-smoke,

On men who gaze heart-smitten by the view,
As if all Germany had felt the shock!
-Fly, wretched Gauls! ere they the charge

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 wrapt in twofold night,
Whom no weak hopes deceived: whose
mind ensued,

Through perilous war, with regal fortitude, Peace that should claim respect from the lawless Might.

Dread King of Kings, vouchsafe a ray divine
To his forlorn condition! let thy grace
Upon his inner soul in mercy shine;
Permit his heart to kindle, and to embrace
(Though it were only for a moment's space)
The triumphs of this hour; for they are
THINE!

I.

WHEN the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch

On the tired household of corporeal sense,
And Fancy, keeping unreluctant watch,
Was free her choicest favors to dispense:
I saw, in wondrous pérspective displayed,
A landscape more august than happiest skill
Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade;
An intermingled pomp of vale and hill,
City, and naval stream, suburban grove,
Nor wanted lurking hamlet, dusky towns,
And stately forest where the wild deer rove;
And scattered rural farms of aspect bright;
And, here and there, between the pastoral
downs,

The azure sea upswelled upon the sight.
Fair prospect, such as Britain only shows!
But not a living creature could be seen
Through its wide circuit, that in deep repose,
And, even to sadness, lonely and serene,
Lay hushed; till-through a portal in the sky
Brighter than brightest loop-hole, in a storm,
Opening before the sun's triumphant eye-
Issued, to sudden view, a glorious Form!
Earthward it glided with a swift descent:
Saint George himself this Visitant must be;
And, ere a thought could ask on what intent
He sought the regions of humanity,
A thrilling voice was heard, that vivified
City and field and flood ;-aloud it cried—

"Though from my celestial home,
Like a Champion, armed I come;
On my helm the dragon crest,
And the red cross on my breast;
I, the Guardian of this Land,
Speak not now of toilsome duty;
Well obeyed was that command-
Whence bright days of festive beauty;
Haste, Virgins, haste!-the flowers which
summer gave

Have perished in the field:

But the green thickets plenteously shall yield Fit garlands for the brave,

That will be welcome, if by you entwined; Haste, Virgins, haste; and you, ye Matrons

miring,

DEAR Reliques! from a pit of vilest mould
Uprisen-to lodge among ancestral kings;
And to inflict shame's salutary stings
On the remorseless hearts of men grown old
In a blind worship; men perversely bold
Even to this hour,-yet, some shall now
forsake

Their monstrous Idol if the dead e'er spake,
To warn the living; if truth were ever told
By aught redeemed out of the hollow grave:
O murdered Prince! meek, loyal, pious,
brave!

The power of retribution once was given :
But 'tis a rueful thought that willow bands
So often tie the thunder-wielding hands
Of Justice sent to earth from highest
Heaven!

pious crew. Heroes -for instant sacrifice prepared; Yet filled with ardor and on triumph bent 'Mid direst shocks of mortal accidentTo 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

Which ministered, erewhile, to a sacrifice
Of gratitude, beneath Italian skies,
In words like these, "Up, Voice of song!
proclaim

Thy saintly rapture with celestial aim:
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;

He conquering, as in joyful Heaven is sung, HE CONQUERING THROUGH GOD, AND GOD BY HIM.'

IMAGINATION-ne'er before content,
But aye ascending, restless in her pride
From all that martial feats could yield
To her desires, or to her hopes present-
Stooped to the victory, on that Belgic field,
Achieved this closing deed magnificent,

And with the embrace was satisfied.
-Fly, ministers of fame,
With every help that ye from earth and
heaven may claim!

Bear through the world these tidings of delight!

-Hours, Days, and Months, have borne them in the sight

Of mortals, hurrying like a sudden shower That land-ward stretches from the sea,

"From all this world's encumbrance did himself assoil."

Spenser.

O genuine glory, pure renown!

And well might it beseem that mighty Town Into whose bosom earth's best treasures flow,

To whom all persecuted men retreat;
If a new Temple lift her votive brow
High on the shore of silver Thames-to
greet