Thou who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe : From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth O! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast. Serene will be our days and bright And happy will our nature be When love is an unerring light, And they a blissful course may hold Ev'n now who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet find that other strength, according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried, The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy controul, My hopes no more must change their name; Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! The confidence of reason give; And in the light of Truth thy bondman let me live. W. Wordsworth E CCIX ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON TERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art— For there thy habitation is the heart -- The heart which love of Thee alone can bind; And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd, Chillon! thy prison is a holy place And thy sad floor an altar, for 't was trod, By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface! Lord Byron CCX ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND 1802 WO Voices are there, one is of the Sea, In both from age to age thou didst rejoice, There came a tyrant, and with holy glee voice: Thou fought'st against him, - but hast vainly striven: Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft ; Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is leftFor, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be That Mountain floods should thunder as before, CCXI ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC. NCE did She hold the gorgeous East in fee Of Venice did not fall below her birth, She was a maiden city, bright and free ; And what if she had seen those glories fade, worth When her long life hath reach'd its final day : CCXII LONDON, MDCCCII FRIEND! I know not which way I must look To think that now our life is only drest For show; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook, Or groom! We must run glittering like a brook Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry; and these we adore : The homely beauty of the good old cause M1 CCXIII THE SAME ILTON! thou shouldst be living at this, hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way W. Wordsworth. |