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COMPOSED WHILE THE AUTHOR WAS ENGAGED IN WRITING A TRACT, OCCASIONED BY THE CONVENTION OF CINTRA, 1808.
NOT 'mid the World's vain objects that enslave
The free-born Soul,-that world whose vaunted skill
In selfish interest perverts the will,
Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave;
Not there! but in dark wood and rocky cave,
And hollow vale which foaming torrents fill
With omnipresent murmur as they rave
Down their steep beds that never shall be still:
Here, mighty Nature!—in this school sublime
I weigh the hopes and fears of suffering Spain:
For her consult the auguries of time,
And through the human heart explore my way,
And look and listen, gathering where I may,
Triumph, and thoughts no bondage can restrain.
COMPOSED AT THE SAME TIME AND ON THE SAME OCCASION.
I DROPPED my pen; and listened to the wind
That sang of trees up-torn and vessels tost;
-A midnight harmony, and wholly lost
To the general sense of men by chains confined
Of business, care, or pleasure, or resigned
To timely sleep.-Thought I, the impassioned strain,
Which, without aid of numbers, I sustain,
Like acceptation from the World will find.
Yet some with apprehensive ear shall drink
A dirge devoutly breathed o'er sorrows past,
And to the attendant promise will give heed,
The prophecy,—like that of this wild blast,
Which, while it makes the heart with sadness shrink,
Tells also of bright calms that shall succeed.
OF mortal Parents is the Hero born
By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led?
Or is it Tell's great Spirit, from the dead
Returned to animate an age forlorn?
He comes like Phoebus through the gates of morn
When dreary darkness is discomfited:
Yet mark his modest state! - upon his head,
That simple crest a heron's plume is worn.
O Liberty! they stagger at the shock;
'The Murderers are aghast; they strive to flee
And half their Host is buried: - rock on rock
Descends: - beneath this godlike Warrior, see!
Hills, Torrents, Woods, embodied to bemock
The Tyrant, and confound his cruelty.
ADVANCE come forth from thy Tyrolean ground
Dear Liberty!-stern Nymph of soul untamed,
Sweet Nymph, Oh! rightly of the mountains named!
Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound
And o'er the eternal snows, like Echo, bound, –
Like Echo, when the Hunter-train at dawn
Have rouzed her from her sleep: and forest-lawn,
Cliffs, woods, and caves her viewless steps resound
And babble of her pastime!— On, dread Power,
With such invisible motion speed thy flight,
Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to
Through the green vales and through the Herdsman's bower,
That all the Alps may gladden in thy might,
Here, there, and in all places at one hour.
FEELINGS OF THE TYROLESE.
THE Land we from our Fathers had in trust,
And to our Children will transmit, or die:
This is our maxim, this our piety;
And God and Nature say that it is just.
That which we would perform in arms —
We read the dictate in the Infant's eye;
In the Wife's smile; and in the placid sky;
And, at our feet, amid the silent dust
Of them that were before us.
Sing aloud Old Songs, the precious music of the heart!
Give, Herds and Flocks! your voices to the wind!
While we go forth, a self-devoted crowd,
With weapons in the fearless hand, to assert
Our virtue, and to vindicate mankind.