To every ill, but not to shame resign’d,
All sufferings, all calamities she bore.
She bade the people call to mind
Their heroes of the days of yore,
Pelayo and the Campeador,
With all who once in battle strong,
Lived still in story and in song.
Against the Moor, age after age,
Their stubborn warfare did they wage;
Age after age, from sire to son,
The hallowed sword was handed down;
Nor did they from that warfare cease,
And sheathe that hallowed sword in peace,
Until the work was done.
IX.
Thus, in the famous days of yore,
Their fathers triumph’d o’er the Moor.
They gloried in his overthrow,
But touch’d not with reproach his gallant name;
For fairly, and with hostile aim profest,
The Moor had rear’d his haughty crest,
An open, honourable foe;
But as a friend the treacherous Frenchman came,
And Spain received him as a guest.
Think what your fathers were! she cried,
Think what ye are, in sufferings tried;
And think of what your sons must be..
Even as ye make them.. slaves or free!
X.
Strains such as these from Spain’s three seas,
And from the farthest Pyrenees,
Rung through the region. Vengeance was the word;
One impulse to all hearts at once was given;
From every voice the sacred cry was heard,
And borne abroad by all the winds of Heaven.
Heaven too, to whom the Spaniards look’d for aid,
A spirit equal to the hour bestow’d;
And gloriously the debt they paid,
Which to their valiant ancestors they owed;
And gloriously against the power of France
Maintain’d their children’s proud inheritance.
Their steady purpose no defeat could move,
No horrors could abate their constant mind;
Hope had its source and resting place above,
And they, to loss of all on earth resign’d,
Suffer’d, to save their country, and mankind.
What strain heroic might suffice to tell,
How Zaragoza stood, and how she fell?
Ne’er since yon sun began his daily round,
Was higher virtue, holier valour, found,
Than on that consecrated ground.
XI.
Alone the noble Nation stood,
When from Coruna, in the main,
The star of England set in blood.
Ere long on Talavera’s plain,
That star resplendent rose again;
And though that day was doom’d to be
A day of frustrate victory,
Not vainly bled the brave;
For French and Spaniard there might see
That England’s arm was strong to save;
Fair promise there the Wellesley gave,
And well in sight of Earth and Heaven,
Did he redeem the pledge which there was given.
XII.
Lord of Conquest, heir of Fame,
From rescued Portugal he came.
Rodrigo’s walls in vain oppose;
In vain thy bulwarks, Badajoz;
And Salamanca’s heights proclaim
The Conqueror’s praise, the Wellesley’s name.
Oh, had the sun stood still that hour,
When Marmont and his broken power
Fled from their field of shame!
Spain felt through all her realms the electric blow;
Cadiz in peace expands her gates again;
And Betis, who to bondage long resign’d,
Flow’d mournfully along the silent plain,
Into her joyful bosom unconfined,
Receives once more the treasures of the main.
XIII.
What now shall check the Wellesley, when at length
Onward he goes, rejoicing in his strength?
From Douro, from Castille’s extended plain,
The foe, a numerous band,
Retire; amid the heights which overhang
Dark Ebro’s bed, they think to make their stand.
He reads their purpose, and prevents their speed;
And still as they recede,
Impetuously he presses on their way;
Till by Vittoria’s walls they stood at bay,
And drew their battle up in fair array.
XIV.
Vain their array, their valour vain:
There did the practised Frenchman find
A master arm, a master mind!
Behold his veteran army driven
Like dust before the breath of Heaven,
Like leaves before the autumnal wind!
Now, Britain, now thy brow with laurels bind;
Raise now the song of joy for rescued Spain!
And Europe, take thou up the awakening strain..
Glory to God! Deliverance for mankind!
XV.
From Spain the living spark went forth:
The flame hath caught, the flame is spread!
It warms,.. it fires the farthest North.
Behold! the awaken’d Moscovite
Meets the Tyrant in his might;
The Brandenburg, at Freedom’s call,
Rises more glorious from his fall;
And Frederic, best and greatest of the name,
Treads in the path of duty and of fame.
See Austria from her painful trance awake!
The breath of God goes forth,.. the dry bones shake!
Up Germany!.. with all thy nations rise!
Land of the virtuous and the wise,
No longer let that free, that mighty mind,
Endure its shame! She rose as from the dead,
She broke her chains upon the oppressor’s head..
Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!
XVI.
Open thy gates, O Hanover! display
Thy loyal banners to the day;
Receive thy old illustrious line once more!
Beneath an Upstart’s yoke opprest,
Long hath it been thy fortune to deplore
That line, whose fostering and paternal sway
So many an age thy grateful children blest.
The yoke is broken now:.. A mightier hand
Hath dash’d,.. in pieces dash’d,.. the iron rod.
To meet her Princes, the deliver’d land
Pours her rejoicing multitudes abroad;
The happy bells, from every town and tower,
Roll their glad peals upon the joyful wind;
And from all hearts and tongues, with one consent,
The high thanksgiving strain to heaven is sent,..
Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!
XVII.
Egmont and Horn, heard ye that holy cry,
Martyrs of Freedom, from your seats in Heaven?
And William the Deliverer, doth thine eye
Regard from yon empyreal realm the land
For which thy blood was given?
What ills hath that poor Country suffer’d long!
Deceived, despised, and plunder’d, and oppress’d,
Mockery and insult aggravating wrong!
Severely she her errors hath atoned,
And long in anguish groan’d,
Wearing the patient semblance of despair,
While fervent curses rose with every prayer,
In mercy Heaven at length its ear inclined;
The avenging armies of the North draw nigh,
Joy for the injured Hollander!.. the cry
Of Orange rends the sky!
All hearts are now in one good cause combined,.
Once more that flag triumphant floats on
high,..
Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!
XVIII.
When shall the Dove go forth? Oh when
Shall Peace return among the Sons of Men?
Hasten benignant Heaven the blessed day!
Justice must go before,
And Retribution must make plain the way;
Force must be crushed by Force,
The power of Evil by the power of Good,
Ere Order bless the suffering world once more,
Or Peace return again.
Hold then right on in your auspicious course,
Ye Princes, and ye People, hold right on!
Your task not yet is done:
Pursue the blow,.. ye know your foe,..
Complete the happy work so well begun.
Hold on, and be your aim with all your strength
Loudly proclaim’d and steadily pursued;
So shall this fatal Tyranny at length
Before the arms of Freedom fall subdued.
Then, when the waters of the flood abate,
The Dove her resting-place secure may find:
And France restored, and shaking off her chain,
Shall join the Avengers in the joyful strain,
Glory to God! Deliverance for Mankind!
ODES
CONTENTS
ODE, WRITTEN DURING THE NEGOTIATIONS WITH BONAPARTE, IN JANUARY, 1814.
ODE, WRITTEN DURING THE WAR WITH AMERICA 1814.
CARMINA AULICA
ODE TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE REGENT OF THE UNITED KINGDOM OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND.
ODE TO HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY, ALEXANDER THE FIRST, EMPEROR OF ALL THE RUSSIAS.
ODE TO HIS MAJESTY, FREDERICK WILLIAM THE FOURTH, KING OF PRUSSIA.
ODE. THE BATTLE OF ALGIERS.
ODE ON THE DEATH OF QUEEN CHARLOTTE.
ODE FOR ST. GEORGE’S DAY.
ODE WRITTEN AFTER THE KING’S VISIT TO IRELAND.
ODE WRITTEN AFTER THE KING’S VISIT TO SCOTLAND.
THE WARNING VOICE. ODE I.
THE WARNING VOICE. ODE II.
ODE ON THE PORTRAIT OF BISHOP HEBER.
EPISTLE TO ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
OP EENE VERZAMELING VAN MIJNE
Southey, following his appointment as Poet Laureate
ODE, WRITTEN DURING THE NEGOTIATIONS WITH BONAPARTE, IN JANUARY, 1814.
WHO counsels peace at this momentous hour,
When God hath given deliverance to the oppress’d,
And to the injured power?
Who counsels peace, when vengeance, like a flood,
Rolls on, no longer now to be repress’d;
When innocent blood
From the four corners of the world cries out
For justice upon one accursed head;
When freedom hath her holy banners spread
Over all nations, now in one just cause
United; when, with one sublime accord,
Europe throws off the yoke abhorr’d,
And loyalty, and faith, and ancient laws
Follow the avenging sword!
Wo, wo to England! wo and endless shame,
If this heroic land,
False to her feelings and unspotted fame,
Hold out the olive to the tyrant’s hand!
Wo to the world, if Bonaparte’s throne
Be suffer’d still to stand!
For by what name shall right and wrong be known, —
What new and courtly phrases must we feign
For falsehood, murder, and all monstrous crimes,
If that perfidious Corsican maintain
Still his detested reign,
And France, who yearns even now to break her chain,
Beneath his iron rule be left to groan?
No! by the innumerable dead,
Whose blood hath for his lust of power been shed,
Death only can for his foul deeds atone;
That peace which death and judgment can bestow,
That peace be Bonaparte’s, — that alone!
For sooner shall the Ethiop change his skin,
Or from the leopard shall her spots depart,
Than this man change his old, flagitious heart.
Have ye not seen him in the balance weigh’d,
And there found wanting? On the stage of blood
Foremost the resolute adventurer stood;
And when, by many a battle won,
He placed upon his brow the crown,
Curbing delirious France beneath his sway,
Then, like Octavius in old time,
Fair name might he have handed down,
Efacing many a stain of former crime.
Fool! should he cast away that bright renown!
Fool! the redemption proffer’d should he lose!
When Heaven sach grace vouchsafed him that the way
To good and evil lay
Before him, which to choose.
But evil was his good,
For all too long in blood had he been nursed,
And ne’er was earth with verier tyrant cursed.
Bold man and bad,
Remorseless, godless, full of fraud and lies,
And black with murders and with perjuries,
Himself in hell’s whole panoply he clad;
No law but his own headstrong will he knew,
No counsellor but his own wicked heart.
From evil thus portentous strength he drew,
And trampled under foot all human ties,
All holy laws, all natural charities.
O France! beneath this fierce barbarian’s sway
Disgraced thou art to all succeeding times;
Rapine, and blood, and fire have mark’d thy way,
All loathsome, all unutterable crimes.
A curse is on thee, France! from far and wide
It hath gone up to heaven. All lands have cried
For vengeance upon thy detested head!
All nations curse thee, France! for wheresoe’er,
In peace or war, thy banner hath been spread,
All forms of human woe have follow’d there.
The living and the dead
Cry out alike against thee! They who bear,
Crouching beneath its weight, thine iron yoke,
Join in the bitterness of secret prayer
The voice of that innumerable throng,
Whose slaughter’d spirits day and night invoke
The everlasting Judge of right and wrong,
How long, O Lord! Holy and Just, how long!
A merciless oppressor hast thou been,
Thyself remorselessly oppress’d meantime;
Greedy of war, when all that thou couldst gain
Was but to dye thy soul with deeper crime,
And rivet faster round thyself the chain.
Oh! blind to honour, and to interest blind,
When thus in abject servitude resign’d
To this barbarian upstart, thou couldst brave
God’s justice, and the heart of human-kind!
Madly thou thoughtest to enslave the world,
Thyself the while a miserable slave.
Behold, the flag of vengeance is unfurl’d!
The dreadful armies of the North advance;
While England, Portugal, and Spain combined,
Give their triumphant banners to the wind,
And stand victorious in the fields of France.
One man hath been for ten long, wretched years
The cause of all this blood and all these tears;
One man in this most awful point of time
Draws on thy danger, as he caused thy crime.
Wait not too long the event,
For now whole Europe comes against thee bent:
His wiles and their own strength the nations know:
Wise from past wrongs, on future peace intent,
The people and the princes, with one mind,
From all parts move agains
t the general foe;
One act of justice, one atoning blow,
One execrable head laid low,
Even yet, O France! averts thy punishment.
Open thine eyes! — too long hast thou been blind
Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind!
France! if thou lovest thine ancient fame,
Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame!
By the bones which bleach on Jaffa’s beach;
By the blood which on Domingo’s shore
Hath clogg’d the carrion-birds with gore;
By the flesh which gorged the wolves of Spain,
Or stiffen’d on the snowy plain
Of frozen Moscovy;
By the bodies, which lie all open to the sky,
Tracking from Elbe to Rhine the tyrant’s flight;
By the widow’s and the orphan’s cry;
By the childless parent’s misery;
By the lives which he hath shed;
By the ruin he hath spread;
By the prayers which rise for curses on his head, —
Redeem, O France! thine ancient fame,
Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame,
Open thine eyes! — too long hast thou been blind;
Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind!
By those horrors which the night
Witness’d when the torches’ light
To the assembled murderers show’d
Where the blood of Conde flow’d;
By thy murder’d Pichegru’s fame;
By murder’d Wright — an English name;
By murder’d Palm’s atrocious doom;
By murder’d Hofer’s martyrdom, —
Oh! by the virtuous blood thus vilely spilt,
The villain’s own peculiar, private guilt,
Open thine eyes! — too long hast thou been blind;
Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind!
ODE, WRITTEN DURING THE WAR WITH AMERICA 1814.
1.
WHEN shall the Island Queen of Ocean lay
The thunderbolt aside,
And, twining olives with her laurel crown.
Rest in the Bower of Peace
2.
Not long may this unnatural strife endure
Beyond the Atlantic deep;
Not long may men, with vain ambition crunk.
And insolent in wrong.
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 50