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In every veering gale of faction true,
Untarnished Chatham's genuine child, adieu.
Unlike our common suns, whose gradual ray
Expands from twilight to intenser day,
Thy blaze broke forth at once in full meridian
sway.
O, proved in danger, not the fiercest flame
Of Discord’s rage thy constant soul could tame ;
Not when, far-striding o'er thy palsied land,
Gigantic Treason took his bolder stand;
Not when wild Zeal, by murderous Faction led,
On Wicklow's hills, her grass-green banner
spread;
Or those stern conquerors of the restless wave
Defied the native soil they wont to save.—
Undaunted patriot, in that dreadsul hour,
When pride and genius own a sterner power;
When the dimmed eyeball, and the struggling
breath,
And pain, and terror, mark advancing death;—
Still in that breast thy country held her throne,
Thy toil, thy fear, thy prayer were hers alone,
Thy last faint effort hers, and hers thy parting
groan.
Yes, from those lips while fainting nations drew
Hope ever strong, and courage ever new –
Yet, yet, I deemed, by that supporting hand

Propped in her fall might Freedom's ruin stand;
And purged by fire, and stronger from the storm,
Degraded Justice rear her reverend form.
Now, hope, adieu ;—adieu the generous care
To shield the weak, and tame the proud in war;
The golden chain of realms, when equal awe
Poised the strong balance of impartial law;
When rival states as federate sisters shone,
Alike, yet various, and though many, one ;
And, bright and numerous as the spangled sky,
Beamed each fair star of Europe’s galaxy—
All, all are gone, and after-time shall trace
One boundless rule, one undistinguished race;
Twilight of worth, where nought remains to move
The patriot’s ardor, or the subject’s love.
“Behold, e'en now, while every manly lore
And every muse forsakes my yielding shore;
Faint, vapid fruits of slavery's sickly clime,
Each tinsel art succeeds, and harlot rhyme:
To gild the vase, to bid the purple spread
In sightly foldings o'er the Grecian bed,
Their mimic guard where sculptured gryphons
keep,
And Memphian idols watch o'er beauty’s sleep
To rouse the slumbering sparks of faint desire
With the base tinkling of the Teian lyre,
While youth's enervate glance and gloating age
Hang o'er the mazy waltz, or pageant stage,
Each wayward wish of sickly taste to please,
The nightly revel and the noontide ease—
These, Europe. are thy toils, thy trophies these.
“So, when wide-wasting hail, or whelming rain
Have strowed the bearded hope of golden grain,
From the wet furrow, struggling to the skies,
The tall, rank weeds in barren splendor rise;
And strong, and towering o'er the mildewed ear,
Uncomely flowers and baneful herbs appear:
The swain's rich toils to useless poppies yield,
And Famine stalks along the purple field.
“And thou, the poet’s theme, the patriot’s
prayer :
Where, France, thy hopes, thy gilded promise
where ;
When o'er Montpelier's vines, and Jura's snows,
All goodly bright, young Freedom's planet rose 2
What boots it now, (to our destruction brave,)
How strong thine arm in war? a valiant slave.
What boots it now that wide thine eagles sail,
Fanned by the flattering breath of conquest's gale,
What, that, high-piled within yon ample dome,
The blood-bought treasures rest of Greece and
Rome 2
Scourge of the highest, bolt in vangeance hurled
By Heaven’s dread justice on a shrinking world,

Go, vanquished victor, bend thy proud helm down
Before thy sullen tyrant’s steely crown.
For him in Afric's sands, and Poland's snows,
Reared by thy toil the shadowy laurel grows;
And rank in German fields the harvest springs
Of pageant councils and obsequious kings.
Such purple slaves, of glittering fetters vain,
Linked the wide circuit of the Latian chain;
And slaves like these shall every tyrant find,
To gild oppression, and debase mankind.
‘O, live there yet whose hardy souls and high
Peace bought with shame, and tranquil bonds
defy
Who, driven from every shore, and lords in vain
Of the wide prison of the lonely main,
Cling to their country’s rights with freeborn zeal,
More strong from every stroke, and patient of
the steel ?
Guiltless of chains, to them has Heaven consigned
Th’ entrusted cause of Europe and mankind :
Or hope we yet in Sweden’s martial snows
That Freedom's weary foot may find repose 2
No—from yon hermit shade, yon cypress dell,
Where faintly peals the distant matin-bell;
Where bigot kings and tyrant priests had shed
Their sleepy venom o'er his dreadful head;
He wakes, th’ avenger—hark' the hills around,

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Untamed Asturia bids her clarion sound;
And many an ancient rock, and fleecy plain,
And many a valliant heart returns the strain :
Heard by that shore, where Calpe’s armed steep
Flings its long shadow o'er th' Herculean deep,
And Lucian glades, whose hoary poplars wave
In soft, sad murmurs over Inez' grave.
They bless the call who dared the first withstand
The Moslem wasters of their bleeding land,
When firm in faith,and red with slaughtered foes,
Thy spear-encircled crown, Asturia, rose.
Nor these alone; as loud the war-notes swell,
La Mancha's shepherd quits his cork-built cell ;
Alhama's strength is there, and those who till
(A hardy race () Morena's scortched hill;
And in rude arms through wide Galicia's reign,
The swarthy vintage pours her vigorous train.
‘Saw ye those tribes? not theirs the plumed
boast,
The sightly trappings of a marshalled host;
No weeping nations curse their deadly skill,
Expert in danger, and inured to kill:—
But theirs the kindling eye, the strenuous arm ;
Theirs the dark cheek, with patriot ardor warm,
Unblanched by sluggard ease, or slavish fear,
And proud and pure the blood that mantles there.
Theirs from the birth is toil;-o'er granite steep,

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