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ID. QVANDO. ACCIDERIT. NON. SATIS. A VDEO EFFARI. SIQVIDEM. NON. CLARIVS. MIHI PER.SACROS. TRIPODES. CERTA. REFERT. DEVS
NEC. SERVAT. PENITVs. FIDEM
QVOD, SI. QVID. LICEAT. CREDERE. ADHVC.
NAM. LAEVVM.TONVIT. NON. FVERIT. PROCYL. QVAERENDVS. CELERI. QVI. PROPERET. GRADV
IT. GALLVM. REPRIMAT. FEROX
E U R O P E.
At that dread season when th' indignant north
Poured to vain wars her tardy numbers forth,
trode, And the far-distant fife that thrilled along the
road. Yes, sweet it seems across some watery dell
To catch the music of the pealing bell;
O, song of hope, too long delusive strain.
hill. 0, on that hill may no kind month renew The fertile rain, the sparkling summer dew. Accursed of God, may those bleak summits tell The field of anger where the mighty fell. There youthful Faith and high born Courage rest, And, red with slaughter, Freedom's humbled
crest, There Europe,soiled with blood her tresses gray, And ancient Honor's shield – all vilely thrown
away. Thus mused my soul, as in succession drear Rose each grim shape of Wrath and Doubt and
And Vengeance, bought with blood, and glori
ous Death the last. Then as my gaze their waving eagles met, And through the night each sparkling bayonet, Still memory told how Austria's evil hour Had felt on Praga’s field a Frederic's power, And Gallia's vaunting train, and Mosco's horde, Had fleshed the maiden steel of Brunswic's
sword. 0! yet, I deemed, that Fate, by Justice led, Might wreath once more the veteran's silver
head; That Europe's ancient pride would yet disdain The cumbrous sceptre of a single reign; That conscious right would tenfold strength af
ford, And heaven assist the patriot's holy sword, And look in mercy through th' auspicious sky, To bless the saviour host of Germany. And are they dreams, these bodings, such as
shed Their lonely comfort o'er the hermit's bed ? And are they dreams ? or can the Eternal Mind Care for a sparrow, yet neglect mankind ? Why, if the dubious battle own his power, And the red sabre, where he bids, devour, Why then can one the curse of worlds deride,
And millions weep a tyrant's single pride ?
Thus sadly musing, far my footsteps strayed, Rapt in the visions of the Aonian maid. It was not she, whose lonely voice I hear Fall in soft whispers on my love-lorn ear; My daily guest, who wont my steps to guide Through the green walks of scented even-tide, Or stretched with me in noonday ease along, To list the reaper's chaunt, or throstle's song: But she of loftier port, whose grave control Rules the fierce workings of the patriot's soul ; She, whose high presence, o'er the midnight oil, With fame's bright promise cheers the student's
That same was she, whose ancient lore refined