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And millions weep a tyrant's single pride?
Thus sadly musing, far my footsteps strayed, Rapt in the visions of the Aonian maid. It was not she, whose lonely voice I hear Fall in soft whispers on my love-lorn ear; My daily guest, who wont my steps to guide Through the green walks of scented even-tide, Or stretched with me in noonday ease along, To list the reaper's chaunt, or throstle's song: But sheoflofiier port, whose grave control Rules the fierce workings of the patriot's soul; She, whose high presence, o'er the midnight oil, With fame's bright promise cheers the student's
toil; That same was she, whose ancient lore refined The sober hardihood of Sidney's mind. Borne on her wing, no more I seemed to rove By Dresden's glittering spires, and linden grove: No more the giant Elbe, all silver bright, Spread his broad bosom to the fair moonlight, While the still margent of his ample flood Bore the dark image of the Saxon wood— (Woods happy once, that heard the carols free Of rustic love, and cheerful industry; 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;
And still the Rhine had rolled a German flood.'O, nursed in many a wile,and practised long
warm, The manliest firmness in the fairest form— Save, Europe, save the remnant.—Vet remains One glorious path to free the world from chains. Why, when your northern band in Kylau'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, And the wild-roaring waves a stern security. But hope not thou in Heaven's own strength to
ride, Freedom's loved ark, o'er broad oppression's tide, If virtue leave thee, if thy careless eye Glance in contempt on Europe's agony. Alas! where now the bands who wont to pour Their strong deliverance on the Egyptian shore? Wing,wingyour course, a prostrate world to save, Triumphant squadrons of Trafalgar's wave.
'And thou, blest star of Europe's darkest hour, Whose words were wisdom, and whose counsels power, Whom Earth applauded through her peopled
In every veering gale of faction true,
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