And what of England — is she steeped so low
In poverty, crest-fallen, and palsied so,
That we must sit much wroth, but timorous more,
With Murder knocking at our neighbor's door? -
Not Murder masked and cloaked, with hidden knife,
Whose owner owes the gallows life for life;
But Public Murder! - that with pomp and gaud,
And royal scorn of Justice, walks abroad
To wring more tears and blood than e'er were wrung
By all the culprits Justice ever hung!
We read the diademed Assassin's vaunt,
And wince, and wish we had not hearts to pant
With useless indignation - sigh and frown,
But have not hearts to throw the gauntlet down.
If but a doubt hung o'er the grounds of fray,
Or trivial rapine stopped the world's highway;
Were this some common strife of states embroiled;
Britannia on the spoiler and the spoiled
Might calmly look, and, asking time to breathe,
Still honorably wear her olive wreath.
But this is Darkness combating with Light;
Earth's adverse Principles for empire fight:
Oppression, that has belted half the globe,
Far as his knout could reach or dagger probe,
Holds reeking o'er our brother-freemen slain
That dagger shakes it at us in disdain;
Talks big to Freedom's states of Poland's thrall,
And, trampling one, contemns them one and all.
My country! colors not thy once proud brow
At this affront? -- Hast thou not fleets enow
With Glory's streamer, lofty as the lark,
Gay fluttering o'er each thunder-bearing bark,
To warm the insulter's seas with barbarous blood,
And interdict his flag from Ocean's flood?
Even now far off the sea-cliff, where I sing,
I see, my Country, and my Patriot King!
Your ensign glad the deep. Becalmed and slow
A war-ship rides; while Heaven's prismatic bow,
Uprisen behind her on the horizon's base,
Shines flushing through the tackle, shrouds and stays,
And wraps her giant form in one majestic blaze.
My soul acepts the omen; Fancy's eye
Has sometimes a veracious augury :
The Rainbow types Heaven's promise to my sight;
The Ship, Britannia's interposing Might!
But if there should be none to aid you, Poles,
Ye'll but to prouder pitch wind up your souls,
Above example, pity, praise or blame,
To sow and reap a boundless field of Fame.
Ask aid no more from Nations that forget
Your championship - old Europe's mighty debt.
Though Poland, Lazarus-like, has burst the gloom,
She rises not a beggar from the tomb:
In Fortune's frown, on Danger's giddiest brink,
Despair and Poland's name must never link.
All ills have bounds-plague, whirlwind, fire, and flood:
Even power can spill but bounded sums of blood.
States caring not what Freedom's price may be,
May late or soon, but must at last, be free;
For body-killing tyrants cannot kill
The public soul- the hereditary will,
A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR.
That downward, as from sire to son it goes,
By shifting bosoms more intensely glows:
Its heir-loom is the heart, and slaughtered men
Fight fiercer in their orphans o'er again.
Poland recasts though rich in heroes old
Her men in more and more heroic mould:
Her eagle-ensign best among mankind
Becomes, and types her eagle-strength of mind:
Her praise upon my faltering lips expires;
Resume it, younger bards, and nobler lyres!
A THOUGHT SUGGESTED BY THE NEW YEAR.
THE more we live, more brief appear
Our life's succeeding stages:
A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals, lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.
But, as the care-worn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Ye stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?
When joys have lost their bloom and breath,
And life itself is vapid,
Why, as we reach the Falls of death,
Feel we its tide more rapid?
It may be strange-yet who would change
Time's course to slower speeding;
When one by one our friends have gone,
And left our bosoms bleeding?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
Indemnifying fleetness;
And those of Youth, a seeming length,
Proportioned to their sweetness.
How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at Love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!
Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing,
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.
Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries;
Longest stays when sorest chidden;
Laughs and flies, when pressed and bidden.
Bind the sea to slumber stilly,
Bind its odor to the lily,
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,
Then bind Love to last forever!
Love's a fire that needs renewal
Of fresh beauty for its fuel;
Love's wing moults when caged and captured,
Only free, he soars enraptured.
Can you keep the bee from ranging,
Or the ringdove's neck from changing?
No! nor fettered Love from dying
In the knot there's no untying.
MARGARET AND DORA.
MARGARET's beauteous - Grecian arts
Ne'er drew form completer,
Yet why, in my heart of hearts,
Hold I Dora's sweeter?
Dora's eyes of heavenly blue
Pass all painting's reach,
Ringdoves' notes are discord to
The music of her speech.
Artists! Margaret's smile receive,
And on canvas show it;
But for perfect worship leave
Dora to her poet.
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