Well might they thus adore that heavenly Maid! Or Grove, or Lake, or Fountain, Musk-spot, nor sandal-streak, nor scarlet stain, A daughter of the years of innocence. And therefore all things loved her. When she stood Quick as an arrow from all other eyes, Sought not to tempt her from her secret nest, ODE, WRITTEN DURING THE NEGOCIATIONS WITH BUONAPARTE, IN JANUARY, 1814. I. Who counsels peace at this momentous hour, When God hath given deliverance to the oppress'd, And to the injured power? Who counsels peace, when Vengeance like a flood From the four corners of the world cries out 2. Woe, woe to England! woe and endless shame, False to her feelings and unspotted fame, For by what names shall Right and Wrong be known, . Still his detested reign, And France, who yearns even now to break her chain, Whose blood hath for his lust of power been shed, 3. For sooner shall the Ethiop change his skin, Fool! should he cast away that bright renown! Before him, which to choose. 4. But Evil was his Good, For all too long in blood had he been nurst, And ne'er was earth with verier tyrant curst. Bold man and bad, Remorseless, godless, full of fraud and lies, And black with murders and with perjuries, Himself in Hell's whole panoply he clad; No law but his own headstrong will he knew, No counsellor but his own wicked heart. From evil thus portentous strength he drew, And trampled under foot all human ties, All holy laws, all natural charities. 5. O France beneath this fierce Barbarian's sway Disgraced thou art to all succeeding times; Rapine, and blood, and fire have mark'd thy way, All loathsome, all unutterable crimes. A curse is on thee, France! from far and wide It hath gone up to Heaven; all lands have cried For vengeance upon thy detested head; All nations curse thee, France! for wheresoe'er In peace or war thy banner hath been spread, All forms of human woe have follow'd there: The Living and the Dead Cry out alike against thee! They who bear, Crouching beneath its weight, thine iron yoke, Join in the bitterness of secret prayer The voice of that innumerable throng Whose slaughtered spirits day and night invoke The everlasting Judge of right and wrong, How long, O Lord! Holy and Just, how long! 6. A merciless oppressor hast thou been, Thyself remorselessly oppress'd meantime; Greedy of war, when all that thou couldst gain Was but to dye thy soul with deeper crime, And rivet faster round thyself the chain. O blind to honour, and to interest blind, When thus in abject servitude resign'd Thyself the while a miserable slave; 7. One man hath been for ten long wretched years The cause of all this blood and all these tears; One man in this most aweful point of time Draws on thy danger, as he caused thy crime. Wait not too long the event, For now whole Europe comes against thee bent; His wiles and their own strength the nations know; Wise from past wrongs, on future peace intent, The People and the Princes, with one mind, From all parts move against the general foe: One act of justice, one atoning blow, One execrable head laid low, Even yet, O France! averts thy punishment : Open thine eyes! too long hast thou been blind; Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind! 8. France! if thou lov'st thine ancient fame, Of frozen Muscovy; By the bodies that lie all open to the sky, By the childless parent's misery, By the prayers that rise for curses on his head, Open thine eyes! . . too long hast thou been blind; 9. By those horrors which the night FUNERAL ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE In its summer pride array'd, Low our Tree of Hope is laid! Visiting the bridal bower, Death hath levell'd root and flower. Windsor, in thy sacred shade, |