2.

As Spring to the fields, or as dew to the flow'r,

To the Earth parch'd with heat as the soft dropping

show'r,

As health to the wretch who lies languid and wan,

Or as rest to the weary-is Freedom to man.
Where Freedom the light of her countenance gives,
There only he revels, there only he lives.

Seize then the glad moment, and hail the decree
That bids millions rejoice, and a Nation be free.

3.

France! we share in the rapture thy bosom that fills, Whilst the spirit of Liberty bounds o'er thine hills; Redundant henceforth may thy purple juice flow, Prouder wave thy green woods, and thine olive trees

grow.

For thy brows may the hand of Philosophy twine, Blest emblems, the Myrtle, the Olive and Vine; And Heav'n, thro' all ages, confirm the decree, That tears off thy chains, and bids millions be free!

THE DIRGE OF BELGIUM,

OCTOBER 1799.

AN ODE.

1.

HEARD you the strain from yonder sky
On Albion burst in choral majesty?

See his throne great Ocean leave;

The deities, who round him wait,

Attendant on his state;

The firm earth shakes, the billows heave;

And from the deep Tritonian shell

Slow, solemn-breathing notes o'er Belgium pause and

swell!

2.

From thy awful rock serene,

Holy FREEDOM, hear and bend;

Thine the heroes, thine the scene,

Thine the cause; great Pow'r, descend:

On raven plumes, involving all,
Brooding Death unfolds the pall!

3.

'Tis not Superstition's groan,
Frantic yell, or sullen moan;
Philip's gloom and Alva's frown,

Call thy righteous vengeance down;
Godless monsters stalk around :

Hear, and guard this fated ground.

4.

Lo! beyond the eastern gate,
Britain bold confirms thy state ;
By Aurora's earliest beam,

By the proud and mystic stream,
O'er the prostrate tyrant's * sway.
India hails thy opening day.

5.

See, arous'd in Virtue's cause,

Sacred rights and equal laws,

Armed nations pour the pray'r :

Bid the avenging Eagle bear

Thy thunders from the realms of Paul:

Rise, and crush the monster Gaul!

6.

By Andraste's radiant throne,

By the sphere and wizard stone,
By old Mador's Druid lyre,

Struck with more than Grecian fire,

Thy words of potency infuse,

Breathing o'er the patriot Muse.

7.

Ling'ring on the Belgian shore,
Hallow'd tears see Albion pour

O'er the grave where warriors sleep,

Victors of the subject deep;

There Honour, Virtue, Justice mourn,

Clasping sad their rostral urn.

8.

Holy goddess, hear and spare;

Give thy chosen heroes rest;

Though steep'd in crimson streams of war,

Soon be the sword in Olive drest.

Valour triumphs ;-yet they die!

Lift the recording tablet high,

And hail the champion sons of Truth and Liberty.

ODE

ΤΟ

THE POPPY.

NOT for the promise of the labour'd field,
Not for the good the yellow harvests yield,
I bend at Ceres' shrine;

For dull to humid eyes appear

The golden glories of the year;

Alas! a melancholy worship's mine!

I hail the goddess for her scarlet flow'r.

Thou brilliant weed

That dost so far exceed

The richest gift gay Flora can bestow;

Heedless I pass'd thee in Life's morning hour (Thou comforter of woe)

"Till Sorrow taught me to confess thy pow'r. In early days, when Fancy cheats,

A various wreath I wove

Of laughing Spring's luxuriant sweets,

To deck ungrateful Love;