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VI..

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.

VII.
HOFFER.

Of mortal Parents is the Hero born

By whom the undaunted Tyrolese are led i

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.

VIII.

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 height,
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.

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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 must! 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.

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Alas! what boots the long, laborious quest
Of moral prudence, sought through good and ill,
Or pains abstruse, to elevate the will,
And lead us on to that transcendant rest
Where every passion shall the sway attest
Of Reason seated on her sovereign hill;—
What is it but a vain and curious skill,
If sapient Germany must lie deprest,
Beneath the brutal sword ?—Her haughty Schools
Shall blush; and may not we with sorrow say,
A few strong instincts and a few plain rules,
Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought
More for mankind at this unhappy day
Than all the pride of intellect and thought.

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