peal, the banners wave on high, 195
And dark rocks ring to shouts of liberty!
Now, soldier, lift thy loud acclaiming voice!
Children of high-souled sentiment, rejoice!
Round the scathed tree, upon the desert plain,
Dance o'er the victims of the village slain! 200
Thou who dost smiling sit, as fancy flings
Her hues unreal o'er created things,
And as the scenes in gay distemper shine,
Dost wondering cry, How sweet a world is mine!
Ah! see the shades, receding, that disclose
The direst spectacle of living woes!
And ye who, all enlightened, all sublime,
Pant in indignant thraldom till the time
When man, bursting his fetters, proud and free,
The wildest savage of the wilds shall be; 210
Artful instructors of our feeble kind,
Illumined leaders of the lost and blind,
Behold the destined glories of your reign!
Behold yon flaming sheds, yon outcast train!
Hark! hollow moaning on the fitful blast,
Methought, Rousseau, thy troubled spirit passed;
His ravaged country his dim eyes survey.
Are these the fruits, he said, or seemed to say,
Of those high energies of raptured thought,
That proud philosophy my precepts taught? 220
Then shrouding his sad visage from the sight,
Flew o'er the cloud-dressed Alps to solitude and night.
Thou too, whilst pondering History's vast plan,
Didst sit by the clear waters of Lausanne,[191]
(What time Imperial Rome rose to thy view,
And thy bold hand her mighty image drew),
Thou too, methinks, as the sad wrecks extend, 227
Dost seem in sorrow o'er the scene to bend.
With steady eye and penetrating mind,
Thou hast surveyed the toil of human kind;
Hast marked Ambition's march and fiery car,
And thousands shouting in the fields of war.
But direr woes might ne'er a sigh demand,
Than those of hapless, injured Switzerland!
Oh, may they teach, whatever feelings start,
One awful truth, that here we know in part:
Whatever darkness round his ark may rest,
There is a God, who knows what is best.
Submissive, still adoring may we stand
Beneath the terrors of his chastening hand! 240
And though the clouds of carnage dim the sun,
Bend to the earth and say, Thy will be done!

DONHEAD, 1801.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 188: Insc