The appeal of Poland An ode. Written on the commencement of the late campaign. By W. S. Walker |
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REFLECTION, IN THE MANNER OF LORD BYRON. |
 | The appeal of Poland |  |
16
REFLECTION, IN THE MANNER OF LORD BYRON.
How sweet it were, methinks, awhile
To quit this weary load of clay,
To wanton in the summer smile,
Tenants of air and boundless day!
How sweet, how passing sweet, to rise
Afar from grief, afar from care,
And sail at will the fleecy skies,
Light as the cloud that hovers there!
To quit this weary load of clay,
To wanton in the summer smile,
Tenants of air and boundless day!
How sweet, how passing sweet, to rise
Afar from grief, afar from care,
And sail at will the fleecy skies,
Light as the cloud that hovers there!
Vain wish! would guilt, would passion fly,
When the free spirit soar'd above?
Would grief melt in the sunny sky,
Or winds disperse the vapour love?
No, no—the soul's its native place,
Its own unrivall'd lord or slave:
No spot can elevate the base—
No change depress the truly brave!
When the free spirit soar'd above?
Would grief melt in the sunny sky,
Or winds disperse the vapour love?
No, no—the soul's its native place,
Its own unrivall'd lord or slave:
No spot can elevate the base—
No change depress the truly brave!
| The appeal of Poland | |