WHO is the happy Warrior? Who is he
That every man in arms should wish to be?
-It is the generous spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Upon the plan that pleased his boyish
thought:

Whose high endeavours are an inward light
That makes the path before him always bright;
Who, with a natural instinct to discern

What knowledge can perform, is diligent to learn ;

Abides by this resolve, and stops not there,

But makes his moral being his prime care;

More skilful in self-knowledge, even more pure,

As tempted more; more able to endure,
As more exposed to suffering and distress;
Thence, also, more alive to tenderness.
-'Tis he whose law is reason; who depends
Upon that law as on the best of friends;
Whence, in a state where men are tempted
still

To evil for a guard against worse ill,
And what in quality or act is best
Doth seldom on a right foundation rest,
He labours good on good to fix, and owes
To virtue every triumph that he knows:
-Who, if he rise to station of command,
Rises by open means; and there will stand
On honourable terms, or else retire,
And in himself possess his own desire;
Who comprehends his trust, and to the same
Keeps faithful with a singleness of aim;
And therefore does not stoop, nor lie in wait
For wealth, or honours, or for worldly state:
Whom they must follow; on whose head must
fall,

Like showers of manna, if they come at all: Whose powers shed round him in the common strife,

Or mild concerns of ordinary life,

A constant influence, a peculiar grace;
But who, if he be called upon to face

Some awful moment to which Heaven has joined

Great issues, good or bad for human kind,
Is happy as a lover; and attired

With sudden brightness, like a man inspired:

And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw; Or if an unexpected call succeed,

Come when it will, is equal to the need:
-He who, though thus endued as with a sense
And faculty for storm and turbulence,

Is yet a soul whose master-bias leans
To homefelt pleasures and to gentle scenes;
Sweet images! which, wheresoe'er he be,
Are at his heart: and such fidelity

It is his darling passion to approve;
More brave for this, that he hath much to
love:

-'Tis, finally, the man, who, lifted high,
Conspicuous object in a nation's eye,
Or left unthought of in obscurity,-
Who, with a toward or untoward lot,
Prosperous or adverse, to his wish or not-
Plays, in the many games of life, that one,
Where what he most doth value must be won;
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay,
Nor thought of tender happiness betray;
Who, not content that former worth stand fast,
Looks forward, persevering to the last.
From well to better, daily self-surpassed:
Who, whether praise of him must walk the
earth

For ever, and to noble deeds give birth,
Or he must fall, to sleep without his fame,
And leave a dead, unprofitable name,—
Finds comfort in himself and in his cause;
And, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws
His breath in confidence of Heaven's applause:
This is the happy Warrior; this is he

That every man in arms should wish to be.

When vapours, rolling down the valleys, made
A lonely scene more lonesome; among woods
At noon; and 'mid the calm of summer nights,
When, by the margin of the trembling lake.
Beneath the gloomy hills, I homeward went
In solitude, such intercourse was mine:
'Twas mine among the fields both day and
night,

And by the waters, all the summer long,
And in the frosty season, when the sun
Was set, and, visible for many a mile,

The cottage windows through the twilight

blazed,

I heeded not the summons;-happy time
It was indeed for all of us; for me

It was a time of rapture!-Clear and loud
The village clock tolled six-I wheeled about,

Proud and exulting, like an untired horse
That cares not for its home.-All shod with
steel,

We hissed along the polished ice, in games
Confederate, imitative of the chase

And woodland pleasures,-the resounding horn,

The pack loud-bellowing, and the hunted hare.

So through the darkness and the cold we flew,

And not a voice was idle: with the din
Meanwhile the precipices rang aloud;
The leafless trees and every icy crag
Tingled like iron; while the distant hills
Into the tumult sent an alien sound

Of melancholy, not unnoticed, while the stars,
Eastward, were sparkling clear, and in the

west

The orange sky of evening died away.

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them; who, in love and truth,

Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:

Glad hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
O! if through confidence misplaced,

They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

Through no disturbance of my soul,

Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;

But in the quietness of thought;
Me this unchartered freedom tires;

I feel the weight of chance-desires :
My hopes no more must change their name,

I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face;
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through thee,
are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!

I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour:
O, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give:

And, in the light of truth, thy bondman let me

live!

I.

HAIL, orient conqueror of gloomy Night!
Thou that canst shed the bliss of gratitude
On hearts howe'er insensible or rude;
Whether thy punctual visitations smite
The haughty towers where monarchs dwell;
Or thou, impartial sun, with presence bright
Cheer'st the low threshold of the peasant's
cell!

Not unrejoiced I see thee climb the sky
In naked splendour, clear from mist or haze,
Or cloud approaching to divert the rays
Which even in deepest winter testify

Thy power and majesty,

Dazzling the vision that presumes to gaze.
Well does thine aspect usher in this day;
As aptly suits therewith that modest pace,
Framed in subjection to the chains

That bind thee to the path which God ordains
That thou shalt trace,

Till, with the heavens and earth, thou pass

away!

Nor less the stillness of these frosty plains-
Their utter stillness,-and the silent grace
Of yon ethereal summits white with snow,
(Whose tranquil pomp, and spotless purity
Report of storms gone by
To us who tread below,)
Do with the service of the day accord.
-Divinest object which the uplifted eye
Of mortal man is suffered to behold;
Thou who upon yon snow-clad heights hast
poured

Meek lustre, nor forget'st the humble vale,
Thou who dost warm earth's universal mould,
And for thy bounty wert not unadored

By pious men of old;

Once more, heart-cheering sun, I bid thee hail! Bright be thy course to-day; let not this promise fail!

Mid the deep quiet of this morning hour,
All nature seems to hear me while I speak,
By feelings urged, that do not vainly seek
Apt language, ready as the tuneful notes
That stream in blithe succession from the
throats

Of birds in leafy bower,
Warbling a farewell to a vernal shower.
[There is a radiant though a short-lived flame,
That burns for Poets in the dawning east;
And oft my soul hath kindled at the same,
When the captivity of sleep had ceased;
But He who fixed immovably the frame

Of the round world, and built, by laws as strong,

A solid refuge for distress

The towers of righteousness:

He knows that from a holier altar came
The quickening spark of this day's sacrifice;
Knows that the source is nobler whence doth
rise

The current of this matin song,

That deeper far it lies

Than aught dependent on the fickle skies.]

Have we not conquered?-By the vengeful sword?

Ah, no!-by dint of magnanimity:

That curbed the baser passions, and left free
A loyal band to follow their liege lord
Close-sighted Honour, and his staid compeers,
Along a track of most unnatural years;
In execution of heroic deeds

Whose memory, spotless as the crystal beads
Of morning dew upon the untrodden meads,
Shall live enrolled above the starry spheres!
Who in concert with an earthly string

Of Britain's acts would sing,

He with enraptured voice will tell
Of One whose spirit no reverse could quell:
Of One that 'mid the failing never failed-
Who paints how Britain struggled and pre-
vailed,

Shall represent her labouring with an eye
Of circumspect humanity;
Shall show her clothed with strength and skill,
All martial duties to fulfil;

Firm as a rock in stationary flight;
In motion rapid as the lightning's gleam:
Fierce as a flood-gate bursting in the night
To rouse the wicked from their giddy dream-
Woe, woe to all that face her in the field!
Appalled she may not be, and cannot yield.
And thus is missed the sole true glory
That can belong to human story!
At which they only shall arrive
Who through the abyss of weakness dive.

The very humblest are too proud of heart;
And one brief day is rightly set apart
For Him who lifteth up and layeth low,
For that Almighty God to whom we owe-
Say not that we have vanquished—but that we
resolve.

Whate'er your means, whatever help ye claim, Bear through the world these tidings of delight! Hours, days, and months have borne them on the sight

Of mortals, travelling faster than the shower
That landward stretches from the sea,

The morning's splendour to devour :
But their appearance scattered ecstasy-
And heart-sick Europe blessed the healing
power.

'The shock is given, the adversaries bleed—
Lo, justice triumphs! Earth is freed!'
Such glad assurance suddenly went forth-
It pierced the caverns of the sluggish North;
It found no barrier on the ridge

Of Andes; frozen gulfs became its bridge;
The vast Pacific gladdens with the freight;
Upon the lakes of Asia 'tis bestowed;
The Arabian desert shapes a willing road
Across her burning breast,

For the refreshing incense from the West!

Tyrants exult to hear of kingdoms won, And slaves are pleased to learn that mighty feats are done!

Even the proud realm, from whose distracted borders

This messenger of good was launched in air, France, humbled France, amid her wild disorders

Feels, and hereafter shall the truth declare,
That she too lacks not reason to rejoice,
And utter England's name with sadly-plausive
voice.

The moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.

Now, whilst the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the

steep;

No more shall grief of mine the season wrong: