IX. Away, my soul, away! In vain, in vain the Birds of warning singAnd hark! I hear the famish'd brood of prey Flap their lank pennons on the groaning wind! Away, my soul, away! I unpartaking of the evil thing, With daily prayer and daily toil Soliciting for food my scanty soil, Have wailed my country with a loud Lament. Now I recenter my immortal mind In the deep sabbath of meek self-content; Cleans'd from the vaporous passions that bedim God's Image, sister of the Seraphim. FRANCE. An Ode. I. YE Clouds! that far above me float and pause, Ye Woods! that listen to the night-birds' singing, Through glooms, which never woodman trod, How oft, pursuing fancies holy, My moonlight way o'er flow'ring weeds I wound, Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound! O ye loud Waves! and O ye Forests high! And O ye Clouds that far above me soar'd! Thou rising Sun! thou blue rejoicing Sky! With what deep worship I have still ador'd The spirit of divinest Liberty. II. When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared, Unaw'd I sang, amid a slavish band: And when to whelm the disenchanted nation, And Britain join'd the dire array; Though dear her shores and circling ocean, Though many friendships, many youthful loves Had swoln the patriot emotion And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves; Yet still my voice, unalter'd, sang defeat To all that brav'd the tyrant-quelling lance, And shame too long delay'd and vain retreat! For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim I dimm'd thy light or damp'd thy holy flame; 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 sooth my soul, that hoped and trembled, The dissonance ceas'd, and all seem'd calm and bright; When France her front deep-scar'd and gory Conceal'd with clustering wreaths of glory; When, insupportably advancing, Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp; Domestic treason, crush'd beneath her fatal stamp, Writh'd like a wounded dragon in his gore; Then I reproach'd 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! Where Peace her jealous home had built; A patriot-race to disinherit Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear; To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer- Are these thy boasts, Champion of human kind; To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray? |