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Poems Dedicated to National Independence and Liberty (28)
#1
Poems Dedicated to National Independence and Liberty



Calais, August, 1802

Is it a reed that’s shaken by the wind,
Or what it is that ye go forth to see?
Lords, lawyers, statesmen, squires of low degree,
Men known, and men unknown, sick, lame, and blind,

Post forward all, like creatures of one kind,
With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee
In France, before the new-born Majesty.
’Tis ever thus. Ye men of prostrate mind!

A seemly reverence may be paid to power;
But that’s a loyal virtue, never sown
In haste, nor springing with a transient shower:

When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown
What hardship had it been to wait an hour?
Shame on you, feable heads, to slavery pone!

c. 1802, August ~1-29; p. 1803, January 13 in the Morning Post




To a Friend,Composed Near Calais,
On the Road leading to Ardres, August 7, 1802

Jones! as from Calais southward you and I
Went pacing side by side, this public Way
Streamed with the pomp of a too-credulous day,
When faith was pledged to new-born Liberty:

A homeless sound of joy was in the sky:
From hour to hour the antiquated Earth
Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, mirth,
Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh!

And now, sole register that these things were,
Two solitary greetings have I heard,
‘Good morrow, Citizen! ’ a hollow word,

As if a dead man spake it! Yet despair
Touches me not, though pensive as a bird
Whose vernal coverts winter hath laid bare.

c. 1802, August ~1-7; p. 1807



1801

I grieved for Buonaparté, with a vain
And unthinking grief! The tenderest mood
Of that Man’s kind - what can it be? what food
Fed his first hopes? what knowledge could he gain?’

Tis not in battles that from youth we train
The Governor who must be wise and good,
And temper with the sternness of the brain
Thoughts motherly, and meek as womanhood.

Wisdom doth live with children round her knees:
Books, leisure, perfect freedom, and the talk
Man holds with week-day man in the hourly walk

Of mind’s business: these are the degrees
By which true Sway doth mount; this is the stalk
True Power doth grow on; and her rights are these.

c. 1802, May 21; p. 1802, September 6 (16?) in the Morning Post




Calais, August 15, 1802

Festivals have I seen that were not names:
This is young Buonaparté’s natal day;
And his henceforth an established sway,
Consul for life. With worship France proclaims

Her approbation, and with pomps and games.
Heaven grant, that other Cities may be gay!
Calais is not: and I have bent my way
To the Sea-coast, noting that each man frames

His business as he likes. Another time
That was, when I was here long years ago:
The senselessness of joy was then sublime!

Happy is he, who, caring not for Pope,
Consul, or King, can sound himself to know
The destiny of Man, and live in hope.

1802, August 15; p. 1803, February 26 in the Morning Post


On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic

Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee;
And was the safeguard of the west: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.

She was a maiden City, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And, when she took unto herself a Mate,
She must espouse the everlasting Sea.

And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid

When her long life hath reached its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
Of what which once was great, is passed away.

c. 1802-1807; p. 1807



To Toussaint l’ Ouverture

Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men!
Whether the whistling Rustic tend his plough
Within thy hearing, or thy head be now
Pillowed in some deep dungeon’s earless den; –

O miserable Chieftain! where and when
Wilt thou find patience! Yet die not; do thou
Wear rather in thy bonds a cheerful brow:
Though fallen thyself, never to raise again,

Live and take comfort. Thou hast left behind
Powers that will work for thee; air, earth, and skies;
There’s not a breathing of the common wind

That will forget thee; thou hast great allies;
Thy friends are exultations, agonies,
And love, and man’s unconquerable mind.

c. 1802, ~August 1-29; p. 1803, February 2 in the Morning Post




September 1st, 1802

Among the capricious acts of tyranny that disgraced those times, was the chasing of all Negroes from France by decree of the government: we had a Fellow-passenger who was one of the expelled.

We had a female Passenger who came
From Calais with us, spotless in array, –
A white-robed Negro, like a lady gay,
Yet downcast as a woman fearing blame;

Meek, destitute, as seemed, of hope or aim,
She sate, from notice turning not away,
But on all proffered intercourse did lay
A weight of languid speech, or to the same

No sign of answer made by word or face:
Yet still her eyes retained their tropic fire,
That, burning independent of the mind,

Joined with the lustre of her rich attire
To mock the Outcast – O ye Heavens, be kind!
And feel, thou Earth, for this afflicted Race!

c. 1802, August 29 - September 1; p. 1803, February 11 in the
Morning Post; this version of the text 1815?


Composed in the Valley near Dover,on the day of Landing

Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more!
The cock that crows, the smoke that curls, that sound
Of bells, – those boys who in yon meadow-ground
In white-sleeved shirts are playing, – and the roar

Of waves breaking on the chalky shore, –
All, all are English. Oft have I looked round
In Kent’s green vales, but never found
myself so satisfied in heart before.

Europe is yet in bonds; but let that pass,
Thought for another moment. Thou art free
My Country! and ’tis joy enough and pride

For one hour’s perfect bliss, to tread the grass
Of England once again, and hear and see
With such a dear Companion at my side.

c. 1802, ~August 30; p. 1807, this version of the text 1815?




September 1802. Near Dover

Inland, within a hollow vale, I stood;
And saw, while sea was calm and air was clear,
The coast of France – the coast of France how near!
Drawn almost into frightful neighbourhood.

I shrunk; for verily the barrier flood
Was like a lake, or river bright and fair,
A span of waters; yet what power is there!
What mightiness for evil and for good!

Even so doth God protect us if we be
Virtuous and wise. Winds blow, and waters roll,
Strength to the brave, and Power, and Deity;

Yet in themselves are nothing! One decree
Spake laws to them, and said that by the soul
Only, the Nations shall be great and free.

c. 1802, ~August 30; p. 1807




Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation of Switzerland

Two Voices are there; one is of the sea,
One of the mountains; each a mighty Voice:
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice,
They were thy chosen music, Liberty!

There came a Tyrant, and with holy glee
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 left;
For, high-souled Maid, what sorrow would it be

That Mountain floods should thunder as before,
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore,
And neither awful Voice be heard by thee!

c. ~1806, October 30 - 1807, February; first p. 1807 also 1809, December 21 in The Friend




Written in London, September, 1802

O Friend, I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our life is only drest
For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook,

Or groom! – We must run glittering like a brook
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest:
The wealthiest man among us is the best:
No grandeur now in nature or in book

Delight us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
This is idolatry; and these we adore:
Plain living and high thinking are no more:

The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws

c. 1802, September; p. 1807. Fenwick Note (1843);

‘This was written immediately after my return from France to London, when I could not but be struck, as here described, with the vanity and parade of our own country, especially in great towns and cities, as contrasted with the quiet, and I may say the desolation, that the Revolution had produced in France. This must be borne in mind, or else the reader may think that in this and the succeeding sonnet I have exaggerated the mischief engendered and fostered among us by undisturbed wealth.’




London, 1802

Milton! thou should’st 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 old English dower
In inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.

Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,

So didst thou travel on life’s common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

c. 1802, September: p. 1807




‘It Is Not to Be Thought of that the Flood’

It is not to be thought of that the Flood
Of British freedom, which, to the open sea
Of world’s praise, from dark antiquity
Hath flowed, ‘with pomp of waters, unwithstood,

’Roused though it be full often to a mood
Which spurns the check of salutary bands,
That this most famous Stream in bogs and sands
Should perish; and to evil and to good

Be lost for ever. In our halls is hung
Armoury of the invincible Knights of old:
We must be free or die, who speak the tongue

That Shakespeare spake; the faith and morals hold
Which Milton held. - In every thing we are sprung
Of Earth’s first blood, have titles manifold.

c. 1802; p. 1803, April 16 in the Morning Post




November, 1806

Another year! – another deadly blow!
Another mighty Empire overthrown!
And We are left, or shall be left, alone;
The last that dare to struggle with the Foe.

’Tis well! from this day forward we shall know
That in ourselves our safety must be sought;
That by our own right hands it must be wrought;
That we must stand unpropped, or be laid low.

O dastard whom such foretaste doth not cheer!
We shall exult, if they who rule the land
Be men who hold its many blessings dear,

Wise, upright, valiant; not a servile band,
Who are to judge of danger which they fear,
And honour which they do not understand.

c. 1806/1807; p. 1807




Composed while the author was engaged inwriting a tract occasioned by the Convention of Cintra, 1808

Not ’mid the World’s vain objects that enslave
The free-born Soul – that World whose vaunted skill
In selfish interest perverts the will,
Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave –

Not there, but in dark wood and rocky cave,
And hollow vale which foaming torrents fill
With omnipresent murmur as they rave
Down their steep beds, that never shall be still:

Here mighty Nature! in this school sublime
I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering Spain;
For her consult the auguries of time,

And through the human heart explore my way;
And look and listen – gathering, whence I may,
Triumph, and thoughts no bondage can restrain.





Composed at the same Time and on the same Occasion

I dropped my pen; and listened to the Wind
That sang of trees up-torn and vessels tost –
A midnight harmony; and wholly lost
To the general sense of men by chains confined

Of business, care, or pleasure; or resigned
To timely sleep. Thought I, the impassioned strain,
Which, without aid of numbers, I sustain,
Like acceptation from the World will find.

Yet some with apprehensive ear shall drink
A dirge devoutly breathed o’er sorrows past;
An to the attendant promise will give heed –

The prophecy, – like that of this wild blast,
Which, while it makes the heart with sadness shrink,
Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed.

c. 1808/1809; p. 1815




Hofer

Of mortal parents is the Hero born
By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led?
Or is it Tell’s great Spirit, from the dead
Returned to animate an age forlorn?

He comes like Phoebus through the gates of morn
When dreary darkness is discomfited,
Yet mark his modest state! upon his head,
That simple crest, a heron’s plume, is worn.

O Liberty! they stagger at the shock
From van to rear – and with one mind would flee,
But half their host is buried: – rock on rock

Descends: – beneath this godlike Warrior, see!
Hills, torrents, woods, embodied to bemock
The Tyrant, and confound his cruelty.

c. 1809, October 10; p. 1809, October 26 in The Friend


‘Advance – come forth from thy Tyrolean ground’

Advance – come forth from thy Tyrolean ground,
Dear Liberty! stern Nymph of soul untamed;
Sweet Nymph, O rightly of the mountains named!
Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound

And o’er the eternal snows, like Echo bound;
Like Echo, when the hunter train at dawn
Have roused her from her sleep: and forest-lawn,
Cliffs, woods and caves, her viewless steps resound

And babble of her pastime! – On dread Power!
Which such invisible motion speed thy flight,
Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to height,

Through the green vales and through the herdsman’s bower –
That all the Alps may gladden in thy might,
Here, there, and in all places at one hour.

c. 1809, October 10; p. 1809, October 26 in The Friend


Feelings of the Tyrolese

The Land we from our fathers had in trust,
And to our children will transmit, or die:
This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and Nature say that it is just.

That which we would perform in arms – we must!
We read the dictate in the infant’s eye;
In the wife’s smile; and in the placid sky;
And, at our feet, amid the silent dust

Of them that where before us. – Sing aloud
Old songs, the precious music of the heart!
Give, herds and flocks, your voices to the wind!

While we go forth, a self-devoted crowd,
With weapons grasped in fearless hands, to assert
Our virtue, and to vindicate mankind.

c. 1809, p. 1809, December 21 in The Friend



Sonnet suggested by the efforts of the Tyrolese,
contrasted with the present state of Germany

Alas! what boots the long laborious quest
Of moral prudence, sought through good and ill;
Or pains abstruse – to elevate the will,
And lead us on to that transcendent rest

Where every passion shall the sway attest
Of Reason, seated on their sovereign hill;
What is it but a vain and curious skill,
If sapient Germany must lie deprest,

Beneath the brutal sword? – Her haughty Schools
Shall blush; and may not we with sorrow say,
A few strong instincts and a few plain rules,

Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought
More for mankind at this unhappy day
Than all the pride of intellect and thought?

c. 1809; p. 1809, November 16 in The Friend



'And is it among rude untutored Dales'

And is it among rude untutored Dales,
There, and only there, that the heart is true?
And, rising to repel or to subdue,
Is it by rocks and woods that man prevails?

Ah no! though Nature’s dread protection fails,
There is a bulwark in the soul. This knew
Iberian Burghers, when the sword they drew
In Zaragoza, naked to the gales

Of fiercely-breathing War. The truth was felt
By Palafox, and many a brave Compeer,
Like him, of noble birth and noble mind;

By ladies, meek-eyed women without fear
And wanderers of the street, to whom is dealt
The bread which without industry they find.

c. 1809; p. 1809, December 21 in The Friend



‘O’er the wide earth, on mountain and on plain’

O’er the wide earth, on mountain and on plain,
Dwells in the affections and the soul of man
A Godhead, like the universal PAN;
But more exalted, with a brighter train:

And shall his bounty be dispensed in vain,
Showered equally on city and on field,
And neither hope nor steadfast promise yield
In these usurping times of fear and pain?

Such doom awaits us. Nay, forbid it Heaven!
We know the arduous strife, the eternal laws
To which the triumph of all good is given,

High sacrifice, and labour without pause,
Even to the death: – else wherefore should the eye
Of man converse with immortality?

c. 1809; p. 1809, December 21 in The Friend



On the Final Submission of the Tyrolese

It was a moral end for which they fought;
Else how, when mighty Thrones were put to shame,
Could they, poor Shepherds, have preserved an aim,
A resolution, or enlivening thought?

Nor hath that moral good been vainly sought;
For in their magnanimity and fame
Powers have they left, an impulse, and a claim
Which neither can be overturned nor bought.

Sleep, Warriors, sleep! among your hills repose!
We know that ye, beneath the stern control
Of awful prudence, keep the unvanquished soul:

And when, impatient of her guilt and woes,
Europe breaks forth; then, Shepherds! shall ye rise
For perfect triumph o’er your Enemies.

c. 1809; p. 1809, December 21 in The Friend



‘Say, what is Honour? ’Tis the finest sense’

Say, what is Honour? ‘Tis the finest sense
Of justice which the human mind can frame,
Intent each lurking frailty to disclaim,
And guard the way of life from all offence

Suffered or done. When lawless violence
Invades a Realm, so pressed that in the scale
Of perilous war her weightiest armies fail,
Honour is hopeful elevation, - whence

Glory, and triumph. Yet with politic skill
Endangered States may yield to terms unjust;
Stoop their proud heads, but not into the dust –

A Foe’s most favourite purpose to fulfil:
Happy occasions oft by self-mistrust
Are forfeited; but infamy doth kill.

c. 1809/1810; p. 1815



‘Brave Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight’

Brave Schill! by death delivered, take thy flight
From Prussia’s timid region. Go, and rest
With heroes, ’mid the island of the Blest,
Or in the fields of empyrean light.

A meteor wert thou crossing a dark night:
Yet shall thy name, conspicuous and sublime,
Stand in the spacious firmament of time,
Fixed as a star: such glory is thy right.

Alas! it may not be: for earthly fame
Is Fortune’s frail dependant; yet there lives
A Judge, who, as man claims by merit, gives;

To whose all-pondering mind a noble aim,
Faithfully kept, is as a noble deed;
In whose pure sight all virtue doth succeed.

c. 1809; p. 1815



1811

The power of armies is a visible thing,
Formal, and circumscribed in time and place;
But who the limits of that power shall trace
Which a brave People into light can bring

or hide, at will, – for freedom combating
By just revenge inflamed? No foot may chase,
No eye can follow, to a fatal place
That power, that spirit, whether on the wing

Like the strong wind, or sleeping like the wind
Within its awful cave. – From year to year
Springs this indigenous produce far to near;

No craft this subtle element can bind,
Rising like water from the soil, to find
in every nook a lip that it may cheer.

c. 1811?; p. 1815



1811

Here pause: the poet claims at least this praise,
That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope
Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope
In the worst moment of these evil days;

From hope, the paramount duty that Heaven lays,
For its own honour, on man’s suffering heart.
Never may from our souls one truth depart –
That an accursed thing it is to gaze

On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye;
Nor – touched with due abhorrence of their guilt
For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt,

And justice labours in extremity –
Forget thy weakness, upon which is built,
O wretched man, the throne of tyranny!

c. 1811?; p. 1815



Occasioned by the Battle of Waterloo,February, 1816

The Bard – whose soul is meek as dawning day,
Yet trained to judgements righteously severe,
Fervid, yet conversànt with holy fear,
As recognizing one Almighty sway:

He – whose experienced eye can pierce the array
Of past events; to whom, in vision clear,
The aspiring heads of future things appear,
Like mountain-tops whose mists have rolled away –

Assoiled from all encumbrance of our time,
He only, if such breathe, in strains devout
Shall comprehend this victory sublime;

Shall worthily rehearse the hideous rout,
The triumph hail, which from their peaceful clime
Angels might welcome with a choral shout!
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