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III.
I mark'd Ambition in his war-array!

I heard the mailed Monarch's troublous cry“ Ah! wherefore does the Northern Conqueress stay? “Groans not her chariot on it's onward way?"

Fly, mailed Monarch, fly!
Stunn'd by Death's twice mortal mace,

No more on Murder's lurid face
Th’insatiate hag shall glote with drunken eye !

Manes of th' unnumber'd slain !

Ye that gasp'd on WARSAW's plain!
Ye that erst at ISMAIL's tower,
When human ruin choak'd the streams,

Fell in conquest's glutted hour,
Mid women's shrieks and infant's screams !
Spirits of the uncoffin'd slain,

Sudden blasts of triumph swelling,
Oft, at night, in misty train,

Rush around her narrow dwelling! The exterminating fiend is fled

(Foul her life, and dark. her doom). Mighty armies of the dead,

Dance like death-fires round her tomb !
Then with prophetic song relate,
Each some tyrant-murderer's fate!

IV.

Departing Year! 'twas on no earthly shore

My soul beheld thy vision! Where alone,

Voiceless and stern, before the cloudy throne, Aye MEMORY sits : thy robe inscrib'd with gore, With many an unimaginable groan

Thou storied’st thy sad hours ! Silence ensued,

Deep silence o'er th' etherial multitude,
Whose locks with wreaths, whose wreaths with glories

shone,
Then, his eye wild ardours glancing,

From the choired Gods advancing,
The SPIRIT of the Earth made reverence meet,
And stood up, beautiful, before the cloudy seat.

V.
Throughout the blissful throng,

Hush'd were harp and song: Till wheeling round the throne the LAMPADS seven, (The mystic Words of Heaven)

Permissive signal make; The fervent Spirit bow'd, then spread his wings and spake!

“ Thou in stormy blackness throning

“ Love and uncreated Light,

“ By the Earth's unsolaced groaning,

“ Seize thy terrors, Arm of might! “ By Peace, with proffer'd insult scar'd,

“ Masked Hate and envying Scorn!

By Years of Havoc yet unborn ! “ And Hunger's bosom to the frost-winds bared! “ But chief by Afric's wrongs,

“Strange, horrible, and foul ! “ By what deep guilt belongs « To the deaf Synod, full of gifts and lies ! “ By Wealth's insensate laugh! by Torture's howl!

“Avenger, rise ! • For ever shall the thankless Island scowl,

“ Her quiver full, and with unbroken bow? “Speak! from thy storm-black Heaven O speak aloud !

" And on the darkling foe “ Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud !

“ O dart the flash ! O rise and deal the blow ! “ The Past to thee, to thee the Future cries ! “ Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below!

“Rise, God of Nature ! rise."

VI.

The voice had ceased, the vision fled;
Yet still I gasp'd and reeld with dread.

And ever, when the dream of night
Renews the phantom to my sight,
Cold sweat-drops gather on my limbs ;

My ears throb hot; my eye-balls start;
My brain with horrid tumult swims ;

Wild is the tempest of my heart ;
And my thick and struggling breath
Imitates the toil of Death !
No stranger agony confounds

The Soldier on the war-field spread,
When all foredone with toil and wounds.

Death-like he dozes among heaps of dead ! (The strife is o'er, the day-light fled,

And the night-wind clamours hoarse ! See ! the starting wretch's head

Lies pillow'd on a brother's corse !)

VII.

Not yet enslav'd, not wholly vile,
O Albion ! O my mother Isle !
Thy vallies, fair as Eden's bowers,
Glitter green with sunny showers;
Thy grassy uplands' gentle swells

Echo to the bleat of flocks;

1

(Those grassy hills, those glitt'ring dells

Proudly ramparted with rocks)
And OCEAN mid his uproar wild
Speaks safety to his ISLAND-CHILD !
Hence, for many a fearless age,

Has social Quiet lov'd thy shore;

Nor ever proud Invader's rage
Or sack'd thy towers, or stain’d thy fields with gore.

VIII.

Abandon'd of Heaven ! mad Avarice thy guide,
At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pridem:
Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure thou hast stood,
And join’d the wild yelling of Famine and Blood !
The nations curse thee, and with eager wond'ring

Shall hear DESTRUCTION, like a vulture, scream!

Strange-eyed DESTRUCTION ! who with many a dream Of central fires thro' nether seas upthund'ring

Soothes her fierce solitude; yet as she lies By livid fount, or red volcanic stream,

If ever to her lidless dragon-eyes,

O Albion ! thy predestin'd ruins rise, The fiend-hag on her perilous couch doth leap, Muttering distemper'd triumph in her charmed sleep.

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