The heart then struggled with repining thought
With feelings that almost
Arraign’d the inscrutable decree,
Embittered by a sense
Of that which might have been.
5.
This grief hath no repining; all is well,
What hath been, and what is.
The Angel of Deliverance came
To one who full of years
Awaited her release.
6.
All that our fathers in their prayers desired,
When first their chosen Queen
Set on our shores her happy feet,
All by indulgent Heaven
Had largely been vouchsafed.
7.
At Court the Household Virtues had their place
Domestic Purity
Maintain’d her proper influence there:
The marriage bed was blest,
And length of days was given.
8.
No cause for sorrow then, but thankfulness;
Life’s business well perform’d,
When weary age full willingly
Resigns itself to sleep,
In sure and certain hope!
9.
Oh end to be desired, whene’er, as now,
Good works have gone before,
The seasonable fruit of Faith;
And good Report, and good
Example have survived.
10.
Her loft hand knew not of the ample alms
Which her right hand had done;
And therefore in the aweful hour,
The promises were hers
To secret bounty made.
11.
With more than royal honours to the tomb
Her bier is borne; with more
Than Pomp can claim, or Power bestow;
With blessings and with prayers
From many a grateful heart.
12.
Long, long then shall Queen Charlotte’s name be
dear;
And future Queens to her
As to their best examplar look;
Who imitates her best
May best deserve our love.
Keswick, 1818.
ODE FOR ST. GEORGE’S DAY.
1.
WILD were the tales which fabling monks of old
Devised to swell their hero’s holy fame,
When in the noble army they enroll’d
St. George’s doubtful name.
Of arrows and of spears they told
Which fell rebated from his mortal mould;
And how the burning fiery furnace blast
To him came tempered like a summer breeze,
When at the hour of evening it hath past
O’er gurgling tanks, and groves of lemon trees:
And how the reverential flame
Condensing like a garb of honour, play’d
In gorgeous folds around his glorious frame;
And how the Heathen in their frantic strife
With water then alike in vain, essay’d
His inextinguishable life.
2.
What marvel if the Christian Knight
Thus for his dear Redeemer’s sake
Defied the purpled Pagan’s might?
Such boldness well might he partake,
For he beside the Libyan lake
Silence, with the Infernal King
Had eoped in actual fight.
The old Dragon on terrific wing
Assail’d him there with Stygian sting
And arrowy tongue, and potent breath
Exhaling pestilence and death.
Dauntless in faith the Champion stood,
Opposed against the rage of Hell
The Red-Cross shield, and wielding well
His sword, the strife pursued;
First with a wide and rending wound
Brought the maim’d monster to the ground,
Then pressing with victorious heel
Upon his scaly neck subdued,
Plunged and replunged the searching steel;
Till from the shameful overthrow
Howling the incarnate Demon fled,
And left that form untenanted,
And hid in Hell his humbled head,
Still trembling in the realm below,
At thought of that tremendous foe.
3.
Such tales monastic fablers taught;
Their kindred strain the minstrels caught;
A web of finer texture they
Wrought in the rich romantic lay;
Of magic caves and woods they sung,
Where Kalyb nursed the boy divine,
And how those woods and caverns rung
With cries from many a demon tongue,
When breaking from the witch’s cell,
He bound her in her own strong spell.
And of the bowers of Ormandine
Where thrall’d by art, St. David lay
Sleeping inglorious years away,
Till our St. George, with happier arm
Released him, and dissolved the charm.
But most the minstrels loved to tell
Of that portentous day,
When Sabra at the stake was bound,
Her brow with sweetest garlands crown’d
The Egyptian Dragon’s prey;
And how for her the English Knight,
Invincible at such a sight,
Engaged that fiendish beast in fight,
And o’er the monster, triple-scaled,
The good sword Askalon prevail’d.
4.
Such legends monks and minstrels feign’d.
And easily the wondrous tales obtain’d,
In those dark days, belief;
Shrines to the Saint were rear’d, and temples rose
And states and kingdoms for their patron chose
The Cappadoeian Chief.
Full soon his sainted name hath won
In fields of war a wide renown;
Spain saw the Moors confounded fly,
Before the well known slaughter cry,
St. George for Aragon!
And when the Catalans pursued
Their vengeful way with fire and blood,
The Turk and treacherous Greek were dearly taught
That all-appalling shout,
For them with rage and ruin fraught
In many a dolorous rout.
Twas in this heavenly Guardian’s trusted strength.
That Malta’s old heroic knights defied
The Ottoman in all his power and pride.
Repulsed from her immortal walls at length
The baffled Misbeliever turn’d with shame;
And when in after years in dreams he heard
That all-too-well remembered battle-word,
Woke starting at St. George’s dreadful name.
And felt cold sweats of fear suffuse his trembling frame.
5.
But thou, O England! to that sainted name
Hast given its proudest praise, its loftiest fame.
Witness the field of Cressy, on that day,
When vollying thunders roll’d unheard on high,
For in that memorable fray.
Broken, confused, and scatter’d in dismay,
France had ears only for the Conqueror’s cry,
St. George, St. George for England! St. George and Victory!
Bear witness Poietiers! where again the foe
From that same hand received his overthrow.
In vain essay’d, Mont Joye St. Denis rang
From many a boastful tongue,
And many a hopeful heart in onset brave;
Their courage in the shock of battle quail’d
His dread response, when sable Edward gave,
And England and St. George again prevail’d.
Bear witness Agincourt, where once again
The bannered lilies on the ensanguin’
d plain
Were trampled by the fierce pursuers’ feet;
And France, doora’d ever to defeat
Against that foe, beheld her myriads fly
Before the withering cry,
St. George, St. George for England! St. George and Victory!
6.
That cry in many a field of Fame
Through glorious ages held its high renown;
Nor less hath Britain proved the sacred name
Auspicious to her crown.
Troubled too oft her course of fortune ran,
Till when the Georges came
Her happiest age began.
Beneath their just and liberal sway,
Old feuds and factions died away;
One feeling through her realms was known,
One interest of the Nation and the Throne.
Ring, then, ye bells upon St. George’s Day,
From every tower in glad accordance ring;
And let all instruments full, strong, or sweet,
With touch of modulated string,
And soft or swelling breath, and sonorous beat,
The happy name repeat,
While heart and voice their joyous tribute bring
And speak the People’s love for George their King.
Keswick, 1820.
ODE WRITTEN AFTER THE KING’S VISIT TO IRELAND.
1.
How long, O Ireland, from thy guilty ground
Shall innocent blood
Arraign the inefficient arm of Power ?
How long shall Murder there^
Leading his banded ruffians thro’ the land.
Range unrepress’d?
How long shall Night
Bring to thy harmless dwellers, in the stead
Of natural rest, the feverish sleep of fear.
Midnight alarms.
Horrible dreams, and worse realities?
How long shall darkness cover, and the eye
Of Morning open upon deeds of death ?
2.
In vain art thou by liberal Nature’s dower
Exuberantly blest ;
The Seasons in their course
Shed o’er thy hills and vales
The bounties of a genial clime, in vain ;
Heaven hath m vain bestowed
Well-tempered liberty,
(Its last and largest boon to social man,)
If the brute Multitude from age to age.
Wild as their savage ancestors,
Go irreclaim’d the while,
From sire to son transmitting still
In undisturb’d descent,
(A sad inheritance!)
Their errors, and their crimes.
3.
Green Island of the West!
Thy Sister Kingdom fear’d not this
When thine exultant shores
Rung far and wide of late,
And grateful Dublin first beheld her King,
First of thy Sovereigns he
Who visited thy shores in peace and joy.
4.
Oh what a joy was there!
In loud huzzahs prolong’d,
Surge after surge the tide
Of popular welcome rose;
And in the intervals alone
Of that tumultuous sound of glad acclaim,
Could the deep cannon’s voice
Of duteous gratulation, though it spake
In thunder, reach the ear.
From every tower the merry bells rung round,
Peal hurrying upon peal,
Till with the still reverberating din
The walls and solid pavement seem’d to shake,
And every bosom with the tremulous air
Inhaled a dizzy joy.
5.
Age that came forth to gaze,
That memorable day
Felt in its quicken’d veins a pulse like youth;
And lisping babes were taught to bless their King;
And grandsircs bade the children treasure up
The precious sight, for it would be a tale
The which in their old age
Would make their children’s children gather round
Intent, all ears to hear.
6.
Were then the feelings of that generous time
Ephemeral as the joy?
Pass’d they away like summer clouds,
Like dreams of infancy,
Like glories of the evening firmament,
Which fade, and leave no trace?
Merciful Heaven, oh let not thou the hope
Be frustrate, that our Sister Isle may reap
From the good seed then sown
Full harvests of prosperity and peace;
That perfect union may derive its date
From that auspicious day,
And equitable ages thence
Their lasting course begin;
7.
Green Island of the West,
While frantic violence delays
That happier order, still must thou remain
In thine own baleful darkness wrapt;
As if the Eye divine,
That which beholdeth all, from thee alone
In wrath had turn’d away!
8.
But not for ever thus shalt thou endure,
To thy reproach, and ours,
Thy misery, and our shame!
For Mercy shall go forth
To stablish Order, with an arm’d right hand;
And firm Authority
With its all-present strength controul the bad
And with its all-sufficient shield
Protect the innocent:
The first great duty this of lawful Power
Which holds its delegated right from Heaven.
9.
The first great duty this; but this not all;
For more than conies within the scope
Of Power, is needed here;
More than to watch insidious discontent,
Curb, and keep curb’d the treasonable tongue,
And quell the madden’d multitude:
Labours of love remain;
To weed out noxious customs rooted deep
In a rank soil, and long left seeding there;
Pour balm into old wounds, and bind them up:
Remove remediable ills,
Improve the willing mind,
And win the generous heart.
Afflicted Country, from thyself
Must this redemption come;
And thou hast children able to perform
This work of faith and hope.
10.
O for a voice that might recall
To their deserted hearths
Thy truant sons! a voice
Whose virtuous cogency
Might with the strength of duty reach their souls;
A strength that should compel entire consent,
And to their glad obedience give
The impulse and the force of free good-will ‘
For who but they can knit
The severed links of that appointed chain,
Which when in just cohesion it unites
Order to order, rank to rank,
In mutual benefit,
So binding heart to heart,
It then connecteth Earth with Heaven, from whence
The golden links depend.
11.
Nor when the war is waged
With Error, and the brood
Of Darkness, will your aid
Be wanting in the cause of Light and Love,
Ye Ministers of that most holy Church
Whose firm foundations on the ruck
Of Scripture rest secure!
What though the Romanist in numbers strong,
In misdirected zeal
And bigotry’s blind force,
Assail your Fortress; though the sons of Schism
Join in insane alliance with that old
Inveterate enemy,
Weening thereby to wreak
Their covenanted hatred, and effect
Your utter overthrow;
What though the unbelieving crew,
For fouler purpose aid the unnatural league;
And Faction’s wolfish pack
Set up their fiercest yell, to augment
The uproar of assault;
Clad in your panoply will ye be found.
Wielding the spear of Reason, with the sword
Of Scripture girt; and from your shield of Truth
Such radiance shall go forth,
As when, unable to sustain its beams
On Arthur’s arm unveil’d,
Earth-born Orgoglio reel’d, as if with wine;
And from her many-headed beast cast down
Duessa fell, her cup of sorcery spilt,
Her three-crown’d mitre in the dust devolved,
And all her secret filthiness exposed.
12.
O thou fair Island, with thy Sister Isle
Indissolubly link’d for weal and woe;
Partaker of her present power,
Her everlasting fame;
Dear pledges hast thou render’d and received
Of that eternal union! Bedell’s grave
Is in thy keeping; and with thee-
Deposited, doth Taylor’s holy dust
Await the Archangel’s call.
O land profuse of genius and of worth,
Largely hast thou received, and largely given!
13.
Green Island of the West,
The example of unspotted Ormond’s faith
To thee we owe; to thee
Boyle’s venerable name:
Berkeley the wise, the good:
And that great Orator who first
Unmask’d the harlot sorceress Anarchy,
What time, in Freedom’s borrowed form profaned,
She to the nations round
Her draught of witchcraft gave:
And him who in the field
O’erthrow her giant offspring in his strength,
And brake the iron rod.
Proud of such debt,
Rich to be thus indebted, these,
Fair Island, Sister Queen
Of Ocean, Ireland, these to thee we owe.
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 53