style="font-size:15px;"> The Soldier on the war-field spread, When all foredone with toil and wounds, 115
Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead!
(The strife is o’er, the daylight fled,
And the night-wind clamours hoarse!
See! the starting wretch’s head
Lies pillow’d on a brother’s corse!) 120
VII
Not yet enslaved, not wholly vile,
O Albion! O my mother Isle!
Thy valleys, fair as Eden’s bowers,
Glitter green with sunny showers;
Thy grassy uplands’ gentle swells 125
Echo to the bleat of flocks;
(Those grassy hills, those glittering dells
Proudly ramparted with rocks)
And Ocean mid his uproar wild
Speaks safety to his Island-child! 130
Hence for many a fearless age
Has social Quiet lov’d thy shore;
Nor ever proud Invader’s rage
Or sack’d thy towers, or stain’d thy fields with gore.
VIII
Abandon’d of Heaven! mad Avarice thy guide, 135
At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pride —
Mid thy herds and thy cornfields secure thou hast stood,
And join’d the wild yelling of Famine and Blood!
The nations curse thee! They with eager wondering
Shall hear Destruction, like a vulture, scream! 140
Strange-eyed Destruction! who with many a dream
Of central fires through nether seas up-thundering
Soothes her fierce solitude; yet as she lies
By livid fount, or red volcanic stream,
If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes, 145
O Albion! thy predestin’d ruins rise,
The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap,
Muttering distemper’d triumph in her charméd sleep.
IX
Away, my soul, away!
In vain, in vain the Birds of warning sing — 150
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 155
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 meek self-content;
Cleans’d from the vaporous passions that bedim 160
God’s Image, sister of the Seraphim.
'Let it not be forgotten during the perusal of this Ode that it was written many years before the abolition of the Slave Trade by the British Legislature, likewise before the invasion of Switzerland by the French Republic, which occasioned the Ode that follows’
MS. Note by S. T. C.
Title] Ode for the last day of the Year 1796, C. I.: Ode on the
Departing Year
When lo! far onwards waving on the wind
I saw the skirts of the DEPARTING YEAR.
From Poverty’s heart-wasting languish
From Distemper’s midnight anguish
Seiz’d in sore travail and portentous birth
(Her eyeballs flashing a pernicious glare)
Sick Nature struggles! Hark! her pangs increase!
Her groans are horrible! but O! most fair
The promis’d Twins she bears — Equality and Peace!
Whose shrieks, whose screams were vain to stir
Loud-laughing, red-eyed Massacre
When shall sceptred SLAUGHTER cease?
A while he crouch’d, O Victor France!
Beneath the lightning of thy lance;
With treacherous dalliance courting PEACE —
But soon upstarting from his coward trance
The boastful bloody Son of Pride betray’d
His ancient hatred of the dove-eyed Maid.
A cloud, O Freedom! cross’d thy orb of Light,
And sure he deem’d that orb was set in night:
For still does MADNESS roam on GUILT’S bleak dizzy height!
With treacherous dalliance wooing Peace.
But soon up-springing from his dastard trance
The boastful bloody Son of Pride betray’d
His hatred of the blest and blessing Maid.
One cloud, O Freedom! cross’d thy orb of Light,
And sure he deem’d that orb was quench’d in night:
For still, &c.
To juggle this easily-juggled people into better
humour with the supplies (and themselves, perhaps, affrighted
by the successes of the French) our Ministry sent an
Ambassador to Paris to sue for Peace. The supplies are
granted: and in the meantime the Archduke Charles turns the
