How long shall vengeance sleep?
Heavens, how long?
-Infirm ejaculation! from the tongue
Of Nations wanting virtue to be strong
Up to the measure of accorded might,
And daring not to feel the majesty of right!
Weak Spirits are there, who would ask,
Upon the pressure of a painful thing,
The lion's sinews, or the eagle's wing;
Or let their wishes loose, in forest glade,
Among the lurking powers
Of herbs and lowly flowers,
Or seek, from saints above, miraculous aid, -
That Man may be accomplished for a task
Which his own nature hath enjoined ;· and why?
If, when that interference hath relieved him,
He must sink down to languish
In worse than former helplessness, — and lie
Again engendering anguish,
The same weak wish returns, that had before deceived him.
But Thou, supreme Disposer! mayst not speed The course of things, and change the creed Which hath been held aloft before men's sight Since the first framing of societies,
Whether, as bards have told in ancient song,
Built up by soft seducing harmonies;
Or prest together by the appetite,
And by the power, of wrong.
ON A CELEBRATED EVENT IN ANCIENT HISTORY.
A ROMAN Master stands on Grecian ground,
And to the people at the Isthmian Games
Assembled he, by a herald's voice, proclaims
THE LIBERTY OF GREECE:-the words rebound
Until all voices in one voice are drowned;
Glad acclamation by which air was rent!
And birds, high flying in the element,
Dropped to the earth, astonished at the sound!
Yet were the thoughtful grieved; and still that voice
Haunts, with sad echoes, musing Fancy's ear:
Ah! that a Conqueror's words should be so dear:
Ah! that a boon could shed such rapturous joys!
A gift of that which is not to be given
By all the blended powers of Earth and Heaven.
WHEN, far and wide, swift as the beams of morn The tidings passed of servitude repealed,
And of that joy which shook the Isthmian Field,
The rough Etolians smiled with bitter scorn.
""T is known,” cried they, "that he, who would
adorn
His envied temples with the Isthmian crown,
Must either win, through effort of his own,
The prize, or be content to see it worn
By more deserving brows. - Yet so ye prop,
Sons of the brave who fought at Marathon,
Your feeble spirits! Greece her head hath bowed,
As if the wreath of liberty thereon
Would fix itself as smoothly as a cloud,
Which, at Jove's will, descends on Pelion's top."
TO THOMAS CLARKSON, ON THE FINAL PASSING OF THE BILL FOR THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE-TRADE.
CLARKSON! it was an obstinate hill to climb:
-nay, how dire - it was, by thee
Is known; by none, perhaps, so feelingly :
But thou, who, starting in thy fervent prime,
Didst first lead forth that enterprise sublime,
Hast heard the constant Voice its charge repeat,
Which, out of thy young heart's oracular seat,
First roused thee. - O true yoke-fellow of Time,
Duty's intrepid liegeman, see, the palm
Is won, and by all Nations shall be worn!
The blood-stained Writing is for ever torn;
And thou henceforth wilt have a good man's calm,
A great man's happiness; thy zeal shall find
Repose at length, firm friend of human kind!
A PROPHECY. FEBRUARY, 1807.
HIGH deeds, O Germans, are to come from you!
Thus in your books the record shall be found:
"A watchword was pronounced, a potent sound,-
ARMINIUS! all the people quaked like dew
Stirred by the breeze; they rose, a Nation, true,
True to herself, the mighty Germany,
She of the Danube and the Northern Sea,
She rose, and off at once the yoke she threw.
All power was given her in the dreadful trance;
Those new-born Kings she withered like a flame."
- Woe to them all! but heaviest woe and shame
To that Bavarian who could first advance
His banner in accursed league with France,
First open traitor to the German name!
COMPOSED BY THE SIDE OF GRASMERE LAKE. 1807.
CLOUDS, lingering yet, extend in solid bars Through the gray west; and lo! these waters, steeled
By breezeless air to smoothest polish, yield
A vivid repetition of the stars;
Jove, Venus, and the ruddy crest of Mars,
Amid his fellows beauteously revealed
At happy distance from Earth's groaning field,
Where ruthless mortals wage incessant wars.
Is it a mirror? - or the nether Sphere
Opening to view the abyss in which she feeds. Her own calm fires? - -But list! a voice is near; Great Pan himself low whispering through the
"Be thankful, thou; for, if unholy deeds Ravage the world, tranquillity is here!"
Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes
The genuine mien and character would trace
Of the rash Spirit that still holds her place,
Prompting the world's audacious vanities!
Go back, and see the Tower of Babel rise;
The pyramid extend its monstrous base,
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