ODE 1816 1816 I WHO rises on the banks of Seine, And binds her temples with the civic wreath? And twinkling in the light, And, if a breeze be straying, That breeze she will invite; And stands on tiptoe, conscious she is fair, And spreads her arms, as if the general air Melt, Principalities, before her melt! Her love ye hailed - her wrath have felt! But She through many a change of form hath gone, And stands amidst you now an armèd creature, Whose panoply is not a thing put on, But the live scales of a portentous nature; That, having forced its way from birth to birth, Stalks round — abhorred by Heaven, a terror to the Earth! II I marked the breathings of her dragon crest; My Soul, a sorrowful interpreter, In many a midnight vision bowed Before the ominous aspect of her spear; Whether the mighty beam, in scorn upheld, Threatened her foes, or, pompously at rest, Seemed to bisect her orbèd shield, As stretches a blue bar of solid cloud Across the setting sun and all the fiery west. III So did she daunt the Earth, and God defy! Have we not known and live we not to tell That Justice seemed to hear her final knell? - Infirm ejaculation! from the tongue IV Weak Spirits are there who would ask, Upon the pressure of a painful thing, Of herbs and lowly flowers, Or seek, from saints above, miraculous aid - He must sink down to languish In worse than former helplessness and lie Till the caves roar, and, imbecility Again engendering anguish, The same weak wish returns, that had before deceived him. V But Thou, supreme Disposer! may'st not speed The course of things, and change the creed Which hath been held aloft before men's sight Since the first framing of societies, Whether, as bards have told in ancient song, Built up by soft seducing harmonies; Or prest together by the appetite, And by the power, of wrong. THE FRENCH ARMY IN RUSSIA 1812-1813 1816 1816 HUMANITY, delighting to behold A fond reflection of her own decay, Hath painted Winter like a traveller old, Propped on a staff, and, through the sullen day, In hooded mantel, limping o'er the plain, As though his weakness were disturbed by pain: Or, if a juster fancy should allow An undisputed symbol of command, The chosen sceptre is a withered bough, For he it was dread Winter! who beset, |