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.
from our souls one truth depart, -
That an accursed thing it is to gaze

Never may

On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye;

Nor-touch'd 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!

THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA.

1812-13.

HUMANITY, delighting to behold
A fond reflection of her own decay,
Hath painted Winter like a traveller old,
Propp'd on a staff, and, through the sullen day,
In hooded mantle, limping o'er the plain,

As though his weakness were disturb'd by pain:
Or, if a juster fancy should allow

An undisputed symbol of command,
The chosen sceptre is a wither'd bough,
Infirmly grasp'd within a palsied hand.
These emblems suit the helpless and forlorn;
But mighty Winter the device shall scorn.

-

For he it was - dread Winter! - who beset,
Flinging round van and rear his ghastly net,
That host, when from the regions of the Pole
They shrunk, insane ambition's barren goal,-
That host, as huge and strong as e'er defied
Their God, and placed their trust in human pride!
As fathers persecute rebellious sons,

He smote the blossoms of their warrior youth;

He call'd on Frost's inexorable tooth

Life to consume in Manhood's firmest hold;

Nor spared the reverend blood that feebly runs;

For why, -unless for liberty enroll'd

And sacred home, ah! why should hoary Age be bold?

Fleet the Tartar's reinless steed,

But fleeter far the pinions of the Wind,

Which from Siberian caves the Monarch freed,
And sent him forth, with squadrons of his kind,
And bade the Snow their ample backs bestride,
And to the battle ride.

No pitying voice commands a halt,

No courage can repel the dire assault:
Distracted, spiritless, benumb'd, and blind,
Whole legions sink, and in one instant find
Burial and death: look for them,- and descry,
When morn returns, beneath the clear blue sky,
A soundless waste, a trackless vacancy!

YE Storms, resound the praises of your King!
And ye mild Seasons, in a sunny clime,
Midway on some high bill, while father Time.
Looks on delighted, meet in festal ring,
And loud and long of Winter's triumph sing!
Sing ye, with blossoms crown'd, and fruits, and flowers
Of Winter's breath surcharged with sleety showers,
And the dire flapping of his hoary wing!

Knit the blithe dance upon the soft green grass;
With feet, hands, eyes, looks, lips, report your gain;
Whisper it to the billows of the main,

And to th' aërial zephyrs as they pass,

That old decrepit Winter-He hath slain
That Host which render'd all your bounties vain!

BY Moscow self-devoted to a blaze

Of dreadful sacrifice; by Russian blood
Lavish'd in fight with desperate hardihood;
Th' unfeeling Elements no claim shall raise
To rob our Human-nature of just praise
For what she did and suffer'd. Pledges sure
Of a deliverance absolute and pure

She gave, if Faith might tread the beaten ways
Of Providence. But now did the Most High
Exalt His still small voice;-to quell that Host,
Gather'd His power, a manifest ally;

He, whose heap'd waves confounded the proud boast
Of Pharaoh, said to Famine, Snow, and Frost,

"Finish the strife by deadliest victory!"

OCCASIONED BY THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. FEBRUARY, 1816.

THE Bard whose soul is meek as dawning day,

Yet train'd to judgments righteously severe,

Fervid, yet conversant with holy fear,
As recognising one Almighty sway;

He whose experienced eye can pierce th' array
Of past events; to whom, in vision clear,
Th' aspiring heads of future things appear,
Like mountain-tops whose mists have roll'd away;
Assoil'd 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!

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT. ON LANDING AT CALAIS. 1820.

FISH-WOMEN.

'TIS said, fantastic ocean doth enfold

The likeness of whate'er on land is seen;
But, if the Nereid Sisters and their Queen,
Above whose heads the tide so long hath roll'd,
The Dames resemble whom we here behold,
How fearful were it down through opening waves
To sink and meet them in their fretted caves,
Wither'd, grotesque, immeasurably old,

And shrill and fierce in accent!-Fear it not:
For they Earth's fairest daughters do excel;
Pure undecaying beauty is their lot;
Their voices into liquid music swell,
Thrilling each pearly cleft and sparry grot,
The undisturb'd abodes where Sea-nymphs dwell!
BRUGÈS.

THE Spirit of Antiquity - enshrined

In sumptuous buildings, vocal in sweet song,
In picture speaking with heroic tongue,
And with devout solemnities entwined-
Mounts to the seat of grace within the mind:
Hence Forms that glide with swan-like ease along,
Hence motions, even amid the vulgar throng,
To a harmonious decency confined:

As if the streets were consecrated ground,
The city one vast temple, dedicate
To mutual respect in thought and deed;
To leisure, to forbearances sedate;

To social cares from jarring passions freed;
A deeper peace than that in deserts found!

INCIDENT AT BRUGES.1

IN Brugès town is many a street
Whence busy life hath fled;
Where, without hurry, noiseless feet
The grass-grown pavement tread.
There heard we, halting in the shade
Flung from a Convent-tower,
A harp that tuneful prelude made
To a voice of thrilling power.

The measure, simple truth to tell,
Was fit for some gay throng;
Though from the same grim turret fell
The shadow and the song.

When silent were both voice and chords,
The strain seem'd doubly dear,
for English words
Had fallen upon the ear.

Yet sad as sweet,

It was a breezy hour of eve;

And pinnacle and spire
Quiver'd and almost seem'd to heave,
Clothed with innocuous fire;
But, where we stood, the setting Sun,
Show'd little of his state;
And, if the glory reach'd the Nun,
'Twas through an iron grate.

Not always is the heart unwise,
Nor pity idly born,

If even a passing stranger sighs
For them who do not mourn.
Sad is thy doom, self-solaced dove,
Captive, whoe'er thou be!

O! what is beauty, what is love,

And opening life to thee?

Such feeling press'd upon my soul,
A feeling sanctified

By one soft trickling tear that stole

From the Maiden at my side:
Less tribute could she pay than this,
Borne gaily o'er the sea,
Fresh from the beauty and the bliss
Of English liberty?

HYMN,

FOR THE BOATMEN, AS THEY APPROACH
THE RAPIDS UNDER THE CASTLE
OF HEIDELBERG.

JESU! bless our slender Boat,

By the current swept along;
Loud its threatenings, let them not
Drown the music of a song
Breathed Thy mercy to implore,
Where these troubled waters roar!

Saviour, for our warning, seen

Bleeding on that precious Rood;
If, while through the meadows green
Gently wound the peaceful flood,
We forgot Thee, do not Thou
Disregard thy Suppliants now!

Hither, like yon ancient Tower

Watching o'er the River's bed,
Fling the shadow of Thy power,

Else we sleep among the dead;
Thou who trodd'st the billowy sea,
Shield us in our jeopardy!

Guide our Bark among the waves;
Thro' the rocks our passage smooth,
Where the whirlpool frets and raves
Let Thy love its anger soothe:
All our hope is placed in Thee;
Miserere Domine!

MEMORIAL,

NEAR THE OUTLET OF THE LAKE OF

THUN.

Aloys Reding was Captain-General of the
Swiss forces, which, with a courage and
perseverance worthy of the cause, op-
posed the flagitious and too successful
attempt of Buonaparte to subjugate
their country.

AROUND a wild and woody hill
A gravell'd pathway treading,

We reach'd a votive Stone that bears
The name of Aloys Reding.

1 This occurred at Brugès in 1828. Mr.
Coleridge, my daughter, and I made a
tour together in Flanders, upon the Rhine,
and returned to Holland. Dora and I,
while taking a walk along a retired part
of the town, heard the voice as here de-
scribed, and were afterwards informed it
was a Convent in which were many En- The Sun regards it from the West;
glish. We were both much touched, I And, while in summer glory
might say affected, and Dora moved as
appears in these verses.-Author's Notes, He sets, his sinking yields a type
1843.
Of that pathetic story:

Well judged the friend who placed it there
For silence and protection;
And haply with a finer care
of dutiful affection.