And millions weep a tyrant's single pride? That same was she, whose ancient lore refined Borne on her wing, no more I seemed to rove Now dull and joyless lie their alleys green, And silence marks the tract where France has been.) Far other scenes than these my fancy viewed; Not yet, not yet the day of rest,' he said; 'It may not be. Destruction's gory wing Soars o'er the banners of the younger king, Too rashly brave, who seeks with single sway To stem the lava on its destined way. Poor, glittering warriors, only wont to know The bloodless pageant of a martial show; Nurselings of peace, for fiercer fights prepare, And dread the step-dame sway of unaccustomed war. They fight, they bleed-O, had that blood been shed When Charles and valor Austria's armies led, Had these stood forth the righteous cause to shield, When victory wavered on Moravia's field, Then France had mourned her conquests made in vain, Her backward-beaten ranks, and countless slain, Then had the strength of Europe's freedom stood, And still the Rhine had rolled a German flood. 'Enough of vengeance. O'er the ensanguined plain I gaze, and seek their numerous host in vain, Gone like the locust band, when whirlwinds bear Their flimsy legions through the waste of air. By her whose charms the coldest zeal might warm, The manliest firmness in the fairest form Save, Europe, save the remnant.-Yet remains One glorious path to free the world from chains. Why, when your northern band in Eylau's wood Retreating struck, and tracked their course with blood, While one firm rock the floods of ruin stayed, Why, generous Austria,were thy wheels delayed? And Albion !'-Darker sorrow veiled his brow'Friend of the friendless-Albion, where art thou? Child of the Sea, whose wing-like sails are spread, The covering cherub of the ocean's bed; The storm and tempest render peace to thee, Freedom's loved ark, o'er broad oppression's tide, And thou, blest star of Europe's darkest hour, Whose words were wisdom, and whose counsels power, Whom Earth applauded through her peopled shores, (Alas! whom Earth too early lost deplores ;-) Young without follies, without rashness bold, And greatly poor amidst a nation's gold; In every veering gale of faction true, Thy blaze broke forth at once in full meridian sway. O, proved in danger, not the fiercest flame 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 And pain, and terror, mark advancing death ;- groan. Yes, from those lips while fainting nations drew Hope ever strong, and courage ever new ;— Yet, yet, I deemed, by that supporting hand |