Freedom And Peace

When long thick Tempests waste the Plain
And Lightnings cleave an angry Sky,
Sorrow invades each anxious Swain—
And trembling Nymphs to shelter fly!
But let the Sun illume the skies,
They hail his beam with grateful eyes.


So, when fierce ZEAL a Nation rends,
And stern INJUSTICE rules the Throne,
Beneath the Yoke meek VIRTUE bends,
And modest TRUTH is heard to groan!
But, when fair FREEDOM's Star appears,
Hush'd are their sighs and calm'd their fears.


And who, when Nations long oppress'd
Decree to curb th' Oppressor's pride,
And Patriot Virtues fire the breast,
Who shall the gen'rous ardour chide?
What shall withstand the great Decree,
When a brave Nation WILL BE FREE?


Thus GREECE repell'd her num'rous foes;
Thus BRITAIN curb'd a STUART'S race;
Thus GALLIA'S Sons to Glory rose,
Heralds of Peace to future days;
And thus MAY ALL the Nations rise,
And shout their Triumphs to the skies!


The Wars of ages thus decided,
Commerce shall bless each smiling Land;
And Man from Man no more divided,
In Peace shall live, a friendly band!
But Tyrants, with their glare of pow'r,
Like Meteors fall—to rise no more!

Then blooming Youths and Sages hoary
Shall sing the deeds of ancient days,
And tender Virgins learn the story,
And Children lisp their Grandsire's praise;
The Heav'ns shall smile and Earth be gay,
If PEACE with FREEDOM rule the day!

Written In The Cloisters Of Christ's-Hospital In London.

Now cease the sad complaining strain,
Now hush'd be PITY'S tender sigh,
While Memory wakes her fairy train,
And young delight sits laughing by;
Return, each hour of rosy hue,
In wreathy smiles, and garlands gay,
As when on playful wing ye flew,
When every month was blithe as May;
When young Invention wak'd his mimic powers,
And Genius, wand'ring wild, sigh'd for enchanted bowers.

Then too in antic vestment dress'd,
Pastime would blithsome trip along,
Throwing around the gibe, or jest,
Satire enrhymed, or simple song,
And merry Mischief oft would weave
His wanton tricks for little hearts,
Nor love his tender votary grieve,
Soft were his hands, nor keen his darts:
While Friendship felt th' enthusiast's glow,
Would give her half of bliss, and take her share of woe.

And though around my youthful spring
Many a low'ring storm might rise,
Hope her soul-soothing strain would sing,
And quickly brightened up the skies;
How sweetly pass'd my youth's gay prime!
For not untuneful was my tongue;
And as I tried the classic rhyme,
The critic school-boy prais'd my song.
Nor did mine eye not catch the splendid ray,
That promis'd fair to gild Ambition's distant day.

Ah! pleasing, gloomy, cloister shade,
Still, still this wavering breast inspire!
Here lost in rapturous trance I stray'd,
Here view'd with horror visions dire:
For soon as day dark-veil'd his head,
With hollow cheek, and haggard eye,
Pale ghosts would flit from cold death-bed,
And stalk with step terrific by:
Till the young heart would freeze with wild affright,
And store the dismal tale to cheer a winter's night.

Yet ah! what means the silent tear?
Why e'en mid joy this bosom heave?
Ye long-lost scenes, enchantments dear?
Lo! now I wander o'er your grave.
—Yet fly ye hours of rosy hue,
And bear away the bloom of years!
And quick succeed ye sickly crew,
Of doubts and pains of hopes and fears!
Still will I ponder Fate's unalter'd plan:
Nor, tracing back the Child, forget that I am Man.

Ode Vii: On Liberty

Hail! more refulgent than the morning star,
Gay queen of bliss, fair daughter of the sky,
I woo thee, Freedom! May I hope from far
To catch the brightness of thy raptur'd eye?
While not unseemly streams thy zoneless vest,
Thy wild locks dancing to the frolic wind;
And, borne on flying feet, thou scorn'st to rest,
Save where meek truth her modest seat may find.
Hail! radiant from divine, blest Liberty!
Where'er thou deign'st to rove, oh! let me rove with thee.

Say, dost thou choose to tread the mountain's brow,
Or haunt meand'ring stream, or wanton plain?
Up the steep mountain's height with thee I'll go;
Or wake by river's brink the merry strain:
Or o'er the laughing plain I'll trip along,
A simple swain, 'midst hinds and virgins gay;
And still will chant to thee the even-song,
Unwearied with the raptures of the day.
And e'en when lock'd in sleep's soft arms I lie,
Still flatt'ring dreams shall wake the midnight ecstasy.

Or dost thou choose to wear the sober veil
Of mild philosophy, and walk unseen,
Serenely grave, along the cloister pale,
Or in the pensive grove, or shaven green:
Then will I tend thee on thy secret way,
And from thy musing catch the patriot flame,
Gentle and clear, as the sun's smiling ray
At dawn, yet warm, as his meridian beam,
When wond'ring nations feel the piercing rays,
And think they view their God, and kindle into praise.

Such wast thou seen by Isis' silver flood,
In converse sweet with Locke, immortal sage;
Such too by Cam with him, whose bosom glow'd
With thy sweet raptures, and the muses rage.
Nor less with him, who bore to distant climes
His country's love, and o'er her mis'ries sigh'd;
Brave injur'd patriot he, in evil times
Who nobly liv'd, and not ignobly died.
Whol nobly liv'd, whose name shall ever live,
While zeal in Britain glows, while freedom shall survive.

With Jebb and Price thou pass'dst the studious hour,
And stor'dst with gen'rous truths their ample mind;
Thou bad'st them glow, with patriot zeal; and more,
Thou bad'st them glow with low of human kind.
And oh! fair queen, still think for Albion's weal!
Still with our Parrs and Masons, still abide!
Still may those gen'rous friends thine influence feel,
Alike in manners' and; in worth allied.
When civil broils an injur'd nation rend,
Be thou fair learning's pride, the muse's constant friend.

So shall my Disney still thy call obey,
And deck the patriot's tomb with wreathes of fame;
And still o'er classic fields shall Porson stray,
And Aikin still adore his Howard's name:
May Fitzroy too the gen'rous transport share;
And rais'd by love of thee and love of truth,
View Liberty's long lustre mild and clear,
Till its full orb illume Britannia's youth.
And I, the meanest of the tuneful throng,
On Cam's fair banks will chant to thee the grateful song.

Or dost thou from Columbus' blissful plains,
Invite thy Paine, to rouse the languid hearts
Of Albion's foes, and through their feeble veins
Dart the electric fire, which quick imparts
Passions, which make them wonder, while they feel.
Auspicious queen! still shew thy beauteous face,
Till Britons kindle into rapture—

Or dost thou, sweet enthusiast! choose to warm
With more than manly fire the female breast?
And urge thy Wollstonecraft to break the charm,
Where beauty lies in durance vile opprest
Then will I from my Jebb's fair pages prove,
That female minds might teach a patriot throng,
Or 'on the Loire's sweet banks' with Williams rove;
Or hear thee warble in Laetitia's song;
Or see thee weep in Charlotte's melting page;
And from Macaulay learn to scourge a venal age.

Or dost thou, near Maria's early tomb,
Clad like the muse of sorrow, dropp a tear.
Oh! I will kiss that sacred drop, and roam
To strew the cypress on Maria's bier.
Or I will hear thee, fair Melpomene,
In my own Charlotte's pensive notes complain.
Faithful to thee, though pensive—

Or art thou wont to couch with lion pride
Near Britons genius, slumb'ring as in ire;
Waiting what time thy children shall abide
Thy noblest form, and glow with purest fire?
Sweet slumb'rer rest! yet shall the times be found,
When Britain's bards shall wake no venal strain,
Her prophets give no more a double sound;
No more her patriots thirst for sordid gain:
And lawless zeal shall fink to endless shame,
Nor longer keep thy seat, nor bear thy sacred name

But shouldst thou scorn at length Britannia's isle,
Then would I pass with Penn the dang'rous sea
Yes! I would hasten to some happier soil,
Where tyrants hold no rule, no slaves obey.
There would I woo thee, goddess, heav'nly fair;
Sing my wild notes to thee, where'er I roam;
Britons no more the muse's praise should share,
Tyrants abroad, and miscreants at home—
E'en Britain's friend would publish Britain's shame;
While barb'rous tribes should hear, and scorn a Briton's name—

But shouldst thou e'en from Britain speed thy way,
On Gallia's plains still linger with delight;
And while her patriots hail this sacred day ,
Oh! aid their counsels, end their battles fight;
May tyrants ne'er, those murd'rers of the world,
Austria's proud Lord, and Prussia's faithless king,
Their blood-stain'd banners to the air unfurl'd,
O'er freedom's sons the note of triumph sing;
Still with the great resolve the Polish heroes fire,
To live in thine embrace, or at thy feet expire.