Where good and evil interchange their

names,

And thirst for bloody spoils abroad is paired With vice at home. We added dearest themes

Man and his noble nature, as it is

The gift which God has placed within his power,

His blind desires and steady faculties
Capable of clear truth, the one to break
Bondage, the other to build liberty
On firm foundations, making social life,
Through knowledge spreading and imper-
ishable,

As just in regulation, and as pure
As individual in the wise and good.

We summoned up the honorable deeds Of ancient Story, thought of each bright spot,

That would be found in all recorded time, Of truth preserved and error passed away; Of single spirits that catch the flame from Heaven,

And how the multitudes of men will feed And fan each other; thought of sects, how keen

They are to put the appropriate nature on, Triumphant over every obstacle

Of custom, language, country, love, or hate, And what they do and suffer for their creed; How far they travel, and how long endure; How quickly mighty Nations have been formed,

From least beginnings; how, together locked
By new opinions, scattered tribes have made
One body, spreading wide as clouds in
heaven.

To aspirations then of our own minds
Did we appeal; and, finally, beheld
A living confirmation of the whole
Before us, in a people from the depth
Of shameful imbecility uprisen,
Fresh as the morning star. Elate we looked
Upon their virtues; saw, in rudest men,
Self-sacrifice the firmest; generous love,
And continence of mind, and sense of right,
Uppermost in the midst of fiercest strife.

Oh, sweet it is, in academic groves, Or such retirement, Friend! as we have known

In the green dales beside our Rotha's stream,
Greta, or Derwent, or some nameless rill,
To ruminate, with interchange of talk,
On rational liberty, and hope in man,
Justice and peace. But far more sweet such
toil-

Toil, say I, for it leads to thoughts ab

struse

If nature then be standing on the brink
Of some great trial, and we hear the voice
Of one devoted,-one whom circumstance
Hath called upon to embody his deep sense
In action, give it outwardly a shape,
And that of benediction, to the world.
Then doubt is not, and truth is more than
truth,-

A hope it is, and a desire; a creed
Of zeal, by an authority Divine
Sanctioned, of danger, difficulty, or death.
Such conversation, under Attic shades,
Did Dion hold with Plato; ripened thus
For a deliverer's glorious task,—and such
He, on that ministry already bound,
Held with Eudemus and Timonides,
Surrounded by adventurers in arms,
When those two vessels with their daring
freight,

For the Sicilian Tyrant's overthrow,
Sailed from Zacynthus,-philosophie war,
Led by Philosophers. With harder fate,
Though like ambition, such was he, O

Friend!

Of whom I speak. So BEAUPUY (let the

name

Stand near the worthiest of Antiquity) Fashioned his life; and many a long dis

course,

With like persuasion honored, we maintained:

He, on his part, accoutered for the worst, He perished fighting, in supreme command, Upon the borders of the unhappy Loire, For liberty, against deluded men,

His fellow country-men; and yet most blessed

In this, that he the fate of later times
Lived not to see, nor what we now behold,
Who have as ardent hearts as he had then.

Along that very Loire, with festal mirth Resounding at all hours, and innocent yet Of civil slaughter, was our frequent walk; Or in wide forests of continuous shade, Lofty and over-arched, with open space Beneath the trees, clear footing many a mile

A solemn region. Oft amid those haunts, From earnest dialogues I slipped in thought, And let remembrance steal to other times, When o'er those interwoven roots, moss

clad,

And smooth as marble or a waveless sea, Some Hermit, from his cell forth-strayed, might pace

Joust underneath the trees, that as in storm Rocked high above their heads; anon, the din

Of boisterous merriment, and music's roar,
In sudden proclamation, burst from haunt
Of Satyrs in some viewless glade, with
dance

Rejoicing o'er a female in the midst,
A mortal beauty, their unhappy thrall.
The width of those huge forests, unto me
A novel scene, did often in this way
Master my fancy while I wandered on
With that revered companion. And some-
times-

When to a convent in a meadow green,
By a brook-side, we came, a roofless pile,
And not by reverential touch of Time
Dismantled, but by violence abrupt-
In spite of those heart-bracing colloquies,
In spite of real fervor, and of that
Less genuine and wrought up within my-
self-

I could not but bewail a wrong so harsh,
And for the Matin-bell to sound no more
Grieved, and the twilight taper, and the

cross

High on the topmost pinnacle, a sign (How welcome to the weary traveler's eyes!)

Of hospitality and peaceful rest.

And when the partner of those varied walks
Pointed upon occasion to the site
Of Romorentin, home of ancient kings,
To the imperial edifice of Blois,

Or to that rural castle, name now slipped
From my remembrance, where a lady lodged,
By the first Francis wooed, and bound to
him

In chains of mutual passion, from the tower, As a tradition of the country tells, Practiced to commune with her royal knight

By cressets and love-beacons, intercourse "Twixt her high-seated residence and his Far off at Chambord on the plain beneath; Even here, though less than, with the peaceful house

Religious, 'mid those frequent monuments Of Kings, their vices and their better deeds, Imagination, potent to inflame

At times with virtuous wrath and noble

scorn,

Did also often mitigate the force

Of civic prejudice, the bigotry,

So call it, of a youthful patriot's mind; And on these spots with many gleams I looked

Of chivalrous delight. Yet not the less,
Hatred of absolute rule, where will of one
Is law for all, and of that barren pride
In them who, by immunities unjust,
Between the sovereign and the people stand,
His helper and not theirs, laid stronger hold
Daily upon me, mixed with pity too

And love; for where hope is, there love will be

For the abject multitude. And when we chanced

One day to meet a hunger-bitten girl,
Who crept along fitting her languid gait
Unto a heifer's motion, by a cord

Tied to her arm, and picking thus from the lane

Its sustenance, while the girl with pallid hands

Was busy knitting in a heartless mood
Of solitude, and at the sight my friend
In agitation said, ""Tis against that
That we are fighting," I with him believed
That a benignant spirit was abroad
Which might not be withstood, that poverty
Abject as this would in a little time

Be found no more, that we should see the earth

Unthwarted in her wish to recompense
The meek, the lowly, patient child of toil,
All institutes forever blotted out
That legalized exclusion, empty pomp
Abolished, sensual state and cruel power,
Whether by edict of the one or few;
And finally, as sum and crown of all,
Should see the people having a strong hand
In framing their own laws; whence better
days

To all mankind. But, these things set apart,
Was not this single confidence enough
To animate the mind that ever turned
A thought to human welfare,-that, hence-
forth

Captivity by mandate without law

Should cease; and open accusation lead
To sentence in the hearing of the world,
And open punishment, if not the air
Be free to breathe in, and the heart of man
Dread nothing? From this height I shall
not stoop

To humbler matter that detained us oft
In thought or conversation, public acts,
And public persons, and emotions wrought
Within the breast, as ever-varying winds
Of record or report swept over us;
But I might here, instead, repeat a tale
Told by my Patriot friend, of sad events,
That prove to what low depth had struck
the roots,

How widely spread the boughs, of that old tree

Which, as a deadly mischief, and a ful And black dishonor, France was weary of. [Book IX, lines 262-552.]

3. Disappointment and Restoration

To abide in the great City, where I found
The general air still busy with the stir
Of that first memorable onset made
By a strong levy of humanity
Upon the traffickers in Negro blood;
Effort which, though defeated, had recalled
To notice old forgotten principles,
And through the nation spread a novel heat
Of virtuous feeling. For myself, I own
That this particular strife had wanted power
To rivet my affections; nor did now
Its unsuccessful issue much excite
My sorrow; for I brought with me the faith
That, if France prospered, good men would
not long

Pay fruitless worship to humanity,

And this most rotten branch of human shame,

Object, so seemed it, of superfluous pains, Would fall together with its parent tree. What, then, were my emotions, when in

arms

Britain put forth her freeborn strength in league,

Oh, pity and shame! with those confederate
Powers!

Not in my single self alone I found,
But in the minds of all ingenuous youth,
Change and subversion from that hour. No
shock

Given to my moral nature had I known
Down to that very moment; neither lapse
Nor turn of sentiment that might be named
A revolution, save at this one time;
All else was progress on the self-same path
On which, with a diversity of pace,

I had been traveling: this a stride at once
Into another region. As a light
And pliant harebell, swinging in the breeze
On some gray rock-its birthplace so had I
Wantoned, fast rooted on the ancient tower
Of my beloved country, wishing not

A happier fortune than to wither there:
Now was I from that pleasant station torn
And tossed about in whirlwind. I rejoiced,
Yea, afterwards-truth most painful to

When, in the congregation bending all То their great Father, prayers offered up,

were

Or praises for our country's victories;
And, 'mid the simple worshipers, perchance
I only, like an uninvited guest

Whom no one owned, sate silent, shall I add,

Fed on the day of vengeance yet to come.

Oh! much have they to account for, who could tear,

By violence, at one decisive rent,

From the best youth in England their dear pride,

Their joy, in England; this, too, at a time
In which worst losses easily might wear
The best of names, when patriotic love
Did of itself in modesty give way,
Like the Precursor when the Deity
Is come Whose harbinger he was; a time
In which apostasy from ancient faith
Seemed but conversion to a higher creed;
Withal a season dangerous and wild,
A time when sage Experience would have
snatched

Flowers out of any hedge-row to compose
A chaplet in contempt of his gray locks.

When the proud fleet that bears the redcross flag

In that unworthy service was prepared
To mingle, I beheld the vessels lie,

A brood of gallant creatures, on the deep;
I saw them in their rest, a sojourner
Through a whole month of calm and glassy
days

In that delightful island which protects
Their place of convocation-there I heard,
Each evening, pacing by the still seashore,
A monitory sound that never failed,—
The sunset cannon. While the orb went
down

In the tranquillity of nature, came
That voice, ill requiem! seldom heard by me
Without a spirit overcast by dark
Imaginations, sense of woes to come,
Sorrow for human kind, and pain of heart.

In France, the men, who, for their desperate ends,

Had plucked up mercy by the roots, were glad

Of this new enemy. Tyrants, strong before In wicked pleas, were strong as demons

now;

And thus, on every side beset with foes,

The goaded land waxed mad; the crimes of few

Spread into madness of the many; blasts From hell came sanctified like airs from heaven.

The sternness of the just, the faith of those
Who doubted not that Providence had times
Of vengeful retribution, theirs who throned
The human Understanding paramount
And made of that their God, the hopes of

men

Who were content to barter short-lived pangs

For a paradise of ages, the blind rage
Of insolent tempers, the light vanity
Of intermeddlers, steady purposes

Of the suspicious, slips of the indiscreet,
And all the accidents of life-were pressed
Into one service, busy with one work.
The Senate stood aghast, her prudence
quenched,

Her wisdom stifled, and her justice scared,
Her frenzy only active to extol

Past outrages, and shape the way for new, Which no one dared to oppose or mitigate.

Domestic carnage now filled the whole year

With feast-days; old men from the chimney-nook,

The maiden from the bosom of her love, The mother from the cradle of her babe, The warrior from the field-all perished,

all

Friends, enemies, of all parties, ages, ranks, Head after head, and never heads enough For those that bade them fall. They found their joy,

They made it proudly, eager as a child,
(If like desires of innocent little ones
May with such heinous appetites be com-
pared),

Pleased in some open field to exercise
A toy that mimics with revolving wings
The motion of a wind-mill; though the air
Do of itself blow fresh, and make the vanes
Spin in his eyesight, that contents him not,
But, with the plaything at arm's length,
he sets

His front against the blast, and runs amain,
That it may whirl the faster.

Amid the depth Of those enormities, even thinking minds Forgot, at seasons, whence they had their being;

Forgot that such a sound was ever heard
As Liberty upon earth: yet all beneath

Her innocent authority was wrought,
Nor could have been, without her blessèd

name.

The illustrious wife of Roland, in the hour
Of her composure, felt that agony,
And gave it vent in her last words.1 0
Friend!

It was a lamentable time for man,

Whether a hope had e'er been his or not; A woeful time for them whose hopes survived

The shock; most woeful for those few who still

Were flattered, and had trust in human kind:

They had the deepest feeling of the grief. Meanwhile the Invaders fared as they deserved:

The Herculean Commonwealth had put forth her arms,

And throttled with an infant godhead's might

The snakes about her cradle; that was well,

And as it should be; yet no cure for them Whose souls were sick with pain of what would be

Hereafter brought in charge against mankind.

Most melancholy at that time, O Friend! Were my day-thoughts, my nights were miserable;

Through months, through years, long after the last beat

Of those atrocities, the hour of sleep
To me came rarely charged with natural
gifts,

Such ghastly visions had I of despair
And tyranny, and implements of death;
And innocent victims sinking under fear,
And momentary hope, and worn-out prayer,
Each in his separate cell, or penned in
crowds

For sacrifice, and struggling with fond mirth

And levity in dungeons, where the dust Was laid with tears. Then suddenly the

When I began in youth's delightful prime To yield myself to Nature, when that strong And holy passion overcame me first, Nor day nor night, evening or morn, was free

From its oppression. But, O Power Supreme!

Without Whose call this world would cease to breathe,

Who from the Fountain of Thy grace dost fill

The veins that branch through every frame of life,

Making man what he is, creature divine,
In single or in social eminence,
Above the rest raised infinite ascents
When reason that enables him to be

Is not sequestered-what a change is here!
How different ritual for this after-worship,
What countenance to promote this second
love!

The first was service paid to things which lie Guarded within the bosom of Thy will. Therefore to serve was high beatitude; Tumult was therefore gladness, and the fear

Ennobling, venerable; sleep secure,

And waking thoughts more rich than happiest dreams.

But as the ancient Prophets, borne aloft
In vision, yet constrained by natural laws
With them to take a troubled human heart,
Wanted not consolations, nor a creed
Of reconcilement, then when they de-
nounced,

On towns and cities, wallowing in the abyss
Of their offences, punishment to come;
Or saw, like other men, with bodily eyes,
Before them, in some desolated place,
The wrath consummate and the threat ful-
filled;

So, with devout humility be it said,
So, did a portion of that spirit fall
On me uplifted from the vantage-ground
Of pity and sorrow to a state of being
That through the time's exceeding fierceness

saw

Glimpses of retribution, terrible,
And in the order of sublime behests:
But, even if that were not, amid the awe
Of unintelligible chastisement,
Not only acquiescences of faith
Survived, but daring sympathies with
power,

Motions not treacherous or profane, else why

Within the folds of no ungentle breast