XL.

OCCASIONED BY THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

(The last six lines intended for an Inscription.)

FEBRUARY, 1816.

INTREPID Sons of Albion! not by you

Is life despised; al no, the spacious earth
Ne'er saw a race who held, by right of birth,
So many objects to which love is due :

Ye slight not life-to God and Nature true;
But death, becoming death, is dearer far,
When duty bids you bleed in open war:

Hence hath your prowess quelled that impious crew.
Heroes! for instant sacrifice prepared ;

Yet filled with ardour and on triumph bent
'Mid direst shocks of mortal accident-

To you who fell, and you whom slaughter spared
To guard the fallen, and consummate the event,
Your Country rears this sacred Monument!

XLI.

'

SIEGE OF VIENNA RAISED BY JOHN SOBIESKI.

FEBRUARY, 1816.

O, FOR a kindling touch from that pure flame
Which ministered, erewhile, to a sacrifice
Of gratitude, beneath Italian skies,

6

In words like these. Up, voice of song! proclaim Thy saintly rapture with celestial aim:

'For lo! the Imperial City stands released From bondage threatened by the embattled East, ' And Christendom respires; from guilt and shame 'Redeemed, from miserable fear set free

'By one day's feat, one mighty victory.

-Chant the Deliverer's praise in every tongue!

'The cross shall spread, the crescent hath waxed dim ;

'He conquering, as in joyful Heaven is sung,

'HE CONQUERING THROUGH GOD, AND GOD BY HIM *.'

* See Filicaia's Ode.

XLII.

OCCASIONED BY THE BATTLE OF WATERLO0.

FEBRUARY, 1816.

THE Bard-whose soul is meek as dawning day,
Yet trained to judgments righteously severe;
Fervid, yet conversànt with holy fear,
As recognising 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!

* From all this world's encumbrance did himself assoil.'-Spenser.

XLIII.

EMPERORS and Kings, how oft have temples rung
With impious thanksgiving, the Almighty's scorn!
How oft above their altars have been hung
Trophies that led the good and wise to mourn
Triumphant wrong, battle of battle born,

And sorrow that to fruitless sorrow clung!
Now, from Heaven-sanctioned victory, Peace is sprung;
In this firm hour Salvation lifts her horn.

Glory to arms! But, conscious that the nerve

Of popular reason, long mistrusted, freed

Your thrones, ye Powers! from duty fear to swerve; Be just, be grateful; nor, the oppressor's creed Reviving, heavier chastisement deserve

Than ever forced unpitied hearts to bleed.

WHEN the soft hand of sleep had closed the latch
On the tired household of corporeal sense,
And Fancy, keeping unreluctant watch,
Was free her choicest favours to dispense;
I saw, in wondrous pérspective displayed,
A landscape more august than happiest skill
Of pencil ever clothed with light and shade;
An intermingled pomp of vale and hill,