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XXXVI.

By Moscow self-devoted to a blaze
Of dreadful sacrifice; by Russian blood
Lavished in fight with desperate hardihood;
The unfeeling Elements no claim shall raise
To rob our Human-nature of just praise
For what she did and suffered. Pledges sure
Of a deliverance absolute and pure

She

gave, if Faith might tread the beaten ways Of Providence. But now did the Most High Exalt his still small Voice ;

to quell that Host

Gathered his Power, a manifest Ally;

He whose heaped waves confounded the proud boast

Of Pharaoh, said to Famine, Snow, and Frost,
Finish the strife by deadliest Victory!

XXXVII.

THE GERMANS ON THE HEIGHTS OF HOCKHEIM.

ABRUPTLY paused the Strife; -the field throughout
Resting upon his arms each Warrior stood,
Checked in the very act and deed of blood,
With breath suspended, like a listening Scout.
O Silence! thou wert Mother of a shout,

That through the texture of

yon azure dome

Cleaves its glad way, a cry of harvest home

Uttered to Heaven in ecstasy devout!

The barrier Rhine hath flashed, through battle-smoke,
On men who gaze heart-smitten by the view,
As if all Germany had felt the shock!

Fly, wretched Gauls! ere they the charge renew
Who have seen (themselves delivered from the yoke)
The unconquerable Stream his course pursue.

XXXVIII.

NOVEMBER, 1813.

Now that all hearts are glad, all faces bright,
Our aged Sovereign sits; to the ebb and flow
Of states and kingdoms, to their joy or woe,
Insensible; he sits deprived of sight,

And lamentably wrapt in twofold night,

Whom no weak hopes deceived; whose mind ensued,
Through perilous war, with regal fortitude,

Peace that should claim respect from lawless Might.
Dread King of Kings, vouchsafe a ray divine
To his forlorn condition! let thy grace
Upon his inner soul in mercy shine;

Permit his heart to kindle, and embrace

(Though were it only for a moment's space)

The triumphs of this hour; for they are THINE!

XXXIX.

ON THE DISINTERMENT OF THE REMAINS OF the duke d'enghien.

1

DEAR Reliques! from a pit of vilest mould
Uprisen to lodge among ancestral kings;
And to inflict shame's salutary stings
On the remorseless hearts of men grown old
In a blind worship; men perversely bold
Even to this hour; yet at this hour they quake;
And some their monstrous Idol shall forsake,
If, to the living, truth was ever told

By aught surrendered from the hollow grave:

O murdered Prince! meek, loyal, pious, brave!

The power of retribution once was given;

But 'tis a rueful thought that willow-bands
So often tie the thunder-wielding hands

Of Justice, sent to earth from highest Heaven!

XL.

OCCASIONED BY THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO,

(The last six lines intended for an Inscription.)
FEBRUARY, 1816.

INTREPID Sons of Albion! not by you
Is life despised; ah no, the spacious earth
Ne'er saw a race who held, by right of birth,
So many objects to which love is due:

Ye slight not life-to God and Nature true;
But death, becoming death, is dearer far,

When duty bids you bleed in open war:

Hence hath your prowess quelled that impious crew.
Heroes! for instant sacrifice prepared,

Yet filled with ardour, and on triumph bent,
Mid direst shocks of mortal accident,

To you who fell, and you whom slaughter spared,
To guard the fallen, and consummate the event,
Your Country rears this sacred Monument!

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