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THE PAINS OF SLEEP.

RE on my bed my limbs I lay,

It bath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees ;

But silently, by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,
No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
Only a sense of supplication ;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, everywhere
Eternal strength and wisdom are.

But yester-night I prayed aloud
In anguish and in agony,
Up-starting from the fiendish crowd
Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me:
A lurid light, a trampling throng,
Sense of intolerable wrong,
And whom I scorned, those only strong !
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still !

E

Desire with loathing strangely mixed
On wild or hateful objects fixed.
Fantastic passions ! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all !
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know,
Whether I suffered, or I did:
For all seemed guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

So two nights passed : the night's dismay Saddened and stunned the coming day. Sleep, the wide blessing, seemed to me Distemper's worst calamity. The third night, when my own loud scream Had waked me from the fiendish dream, O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild, I wept as I had been a child; And having thus by tears subdued My anguish to a milder mood, Such punishments, I said, were due To natures deepliest stained with sin,For aye entempesting anew The unfathomable hell within The horror of their deeds to view, To know and loathe, yet wish and do! Such griefs with such men well agree, But wherefore, wherefore fall on me? To be beloved is all I need, And whom I love, I love indeed.

FRANCE. AN ODE.

I.

Y

E Clouds! that far above me float and

pause,
Whose pathless march no mortal may

control !
Ye Ocean-Waves ! that, wheresoe'er ye roll,
Yield homage only to eternal laws !
Ye Woods! that listen to the night-birds singing,

Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined,
Save when your own imperious branches swinging,

Have made a solemn music of the wind !
Where, like a man beloved of God,
Through glooms, which never woodman trod,

How oft, pursuing fancies holy,
My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound,

Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound ! 0

ye loud Waves! and 0 ye Forests high!

And O ye Clouds that far above me soared!
Thou rising Sun! thou blue rejoicing Sky!

Yea, every thing that is and will be free!
Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be,
With what deep worship I have still adored

The spirit of divinest Liberty.

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II.

When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared,

And with that oath, which smote air, earth and sea,

Stamped her strong foot and said she would be free,
Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared !
With what a joy my lofty gratulation

Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band :
And when to whelm the disenchanted nation,
Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand,

The Monarchs marched in evil day,

And Britain joined the dire array ;
Though dear her shores and circling ocean,
Though many friendships, many youthful loves

Had swol'n the patriot emotion
And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves;
Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat

To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance,
And shame too long delayed and vain retreat!
For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim
I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame;

But blessed the pæans of delivered France,
And hung my head and wept at Britain's name.

III.

“ And what," I said, “ though Blasphemy's loud scream

With that sweet music of deliverance strove !

Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream!

Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled, The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!" And when, to soothe my soul, that hoped and

trembled, The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright;

When France her front deep-scarr'd and gory
Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory;

When, insupportably advancing,
Her arm made mockery of the warrior's tramp;

While timid looks of fury glancing,
Domestic treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp,
Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore ;

Then I reproached my fears that would not flee;
“And soon,” I said, “shall Wisdom teach her lore
In the low huts of them that toil and groan !
And, conquering by her happiness alone,

Shall France compel the nations to be free,
Till Love and Joy look round, and call the Earth their

own.”

IV.

Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams !

I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament,

From bleak Helvetia's icy cavern sent-
I hear thy groans upon her blood-stained streams !

Heroes, that for your peaceful country perished,
And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows

With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherished One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes !

To scatter rage, and traitorous guilt,
Where Peace her jealous home had built ;

A patriot-race to disinherit
Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear;

And with inexpiable spirit
To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer-
O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind,

And patriot only in pernicious toils,
Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind ?

To mix with Kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey;
To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils

From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray ?

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