XC. The fool of false dominion-and a kind XCI. And came-and saw-and conquer'd! But the man Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van, Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, At what can he avouch or answer what he claim'd? XCII. And would be all or nothing-nor could wait Without an ark for wretched man's abode, And ebbs but to reflow!--Renew thy rainbow, God! хоп. What from this barren being do we reap? Life short, and truth a gem which loves the deep, Mantles the earth with darkness, until right And wrong are accidents, and men grow pale Lest their own judgments should become too bright, And their free thoughts be crimes, and earth have too much light. XCIV. And thus they plod in sluggish misery, To the new race of inborn slaves, who wage Within the same arena where they see XCV. I speak not of men's creeds-they rest between The edict of Earth's rulers, who are grown And shook them from their slumbers on the throne; Too glorious, were this all his mighty arm had done. XCVI. Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be, And Freedom find no champion and no child Such as Columbia saw arise when she Sprung forth a Pallas, arm'd and undefiled? Or must such minds be nourish'd in the wild, Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled On infant Washington? Has Earth no more Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore ? XCVII. But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime, To Freedom's cause, in every age and clime; Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst-his second fall. XCVIII. Yet, Freedom! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind ; Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, The loudest still the tempest leaves behind; Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, Chopp'd by the axe, looks rough and little worth, But the sap lasts,-and still the seed we find Sown deep, even in the bosom of the North; So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth. XCIX. There is a stern round tower of other days,59 The green leaves over all by time o'erthrown ;What was this tower of strength? within its cave What treasure lay so lock'd, so hid?-A woman's grave. C. But who was she, the lady of the dead, Tomb'd in a palace? Was she chaste and fair? How lived, how loved, how died she? Was she not Where meaner relics must not dare to rot, Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot? CI. Was she as those who love their lords, or they To the soft side of the heart, or wisely bar Love from amongst her griefs ?-for such the affections are. |