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55 Pour out upon the needy ones the soft and healing
balm ; The storm hath not arisen yet—ye yet may keep
the calm : Already mounts the darkness,—the warning wind
is loud ; But ye may seek your fathers' God, and pray
away the cloud. Go, throng our ancient churches, and on the holy
floor Kneel humbly in your penitence among the kneel
ing poor; Cry out at morn and even, and amid the busy day, “ Spare, spare, O Lord, Thy people ;-oh, cast us
not away !" Hush down the sounds of quarrel ; let party-names
alone; Let brother join with brother, and England claim
her own : In battle with the Mammon-host join peasant,
clerk, and lord, Sweet charity your banner-flag, and GOD FOR ALL
Light up the beacon-pyre ;
THE LIFE OF MAN.
And waved the sign of fire ;
Their gorgeous folds have cast;
A king to war went past.
The peasant by his hearth;
And rises from the earth;
Looks with a boding eye;-
Whose young hearts leap so high.
The falchion to his side;
The lover quits his bride;-
By earthly clarion spread,-
The blast that wakes the dead!
THE LIFE OF MAN.
THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.
THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide. A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire : O’er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain : No joys to him pacific sceptres yield; War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field. Behold surrounding kings their powers combine, And one capitulate, and one resign: Peace courts his hand and spreads her charms in
vain ; “ Think nothing gain’d,” he cries, " till naught
remainOn Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, And all be mine beneath the polar sky!”
THE WAR OF TIIE LEAGUE. The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait ; Stern famine guards the solitary coast, And winter barricades the realms of frost. He comes —nor want nor cold his course delay : Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day! The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, And shews his miseries in distant lands; Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait, While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend? Did no subverted empire mark her end ? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? Or hostile millions press him to the ground? His fall was destined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand : He left the name at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
THE WAR OF THE LEAGUE. Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all
glories are ; And glory to our sovereign liege, Prince Henry
of Navarre ! Now let there be the merry sound of music and
of dance Through thy corn-fields green and sunny vines,
O pleasant land of France !
THE WAR OF THE LEAGUE. 59 And thou Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city
of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters;
[joy, As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought
thy walls annoy. Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the
chance of war; Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of
Navarre. Oh, how our hearts were beating, when at the
dawn of day We saw the army of the League drawn out in long
array; With all its priest-led citizens and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's
Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses
of our land, And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon
in his hand; And as on them we looked, we thought of Seine's
empurpled flood, And good Coligny's hoary hair all dabbled with
his blood; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the
fate of war, To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of