Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hall! more refulgent than the morning star,
Parent of bliss, for whom the nations sigh,
Thee, Liberty, I woo, and seem from far
To mark the brightness of thy raptur'd eye;
While, not to me unseemly, streams thy vest,
Thy locks wild-dancing to the frolic wind;
And, borne on flying feet, thou scorn'st to rest,
Save where meek Truth near thee her seat may find;
Soother of human life, blest Liberty!
Still range thro' nature's walks, and I will range with thee.

Say, dost thou love to climb the mountain's brow,
Or haunt meandring stream, or laughing plain?
Be mine with thee up mountain-heights to go,
Or wake by river's brink the pastoral strain;
Or tripping-light the flowery meads along,
A simple swain, 'mid hinds and virgins gay,
Pour forth to thee my merry evening song,
Unwearied with the raptures of the day;
And, when close-lock'd in Sleep's soft arms I lie,
Still flattering dreams shall wake the midnight ecstasy.

Or dost thou rather chuse to wear the veil
Of mild Philosophy, and walk unseen,
Serenely grave, along the cloister pale,
Or in the grove, or glen, or shaven green?
Oh! still be mine to tend thee on thy way;—
Like thee to feel,—to glow with all thy flame,

Gentle and clear, as the sun's smiling ray
At dawn, yet warm, as his meridian beam,
When wondering nations feel the piercing rays,
And think they view their god, and kindle into praise.

Such wast thou seen by Isis' silver flood,
In converse sweet with Locke, immortal sage;
Such too by Cam with him, whose bosom glow'd
With thy pure raptures, and the Muse's rage;
Nor less with him, who bore to distant climes
His country's love, and o'er her miseries sigh'd;
Brave injur'd patriot he, in evil times
Who nobly liv'd, and not ignobly died:
Who nobly liv'd, whose name shall ever live,
While zeal in Britain glows, while freedom shall survive.

But shouldst thou e'er from Britain speed thy way,
On happier plains still linger with delight;
And, while her patriots hail this sacred day,
Oh! aid their counsels, and their battles fight:
May tyrants ne'er, those murd'rers of the world,
Austria's proud lord, and Prussia's faithless king,
Their blood-stain'd banners to the air unfurl'd,
O'er Freedom's sons the note of triumph sing:
Still with the great resolve the Poles inspire,
To live in thy embrace, or at thy feet expire.

For me, should I grow thoughtless, and thy name
Forget; should I wax cold, nor feel thy power;
Then, too, may Fancy sleep, nor love of fame
Uplift my soul beyond the passing hour.

May beauty never smile upon my strain;
May I be curs'd to live, some tyrant's tool,
Whistle to his mean likings, and my gain
Be this, to hear Ambition call me fool;
Begin, and end, at Folly's call my lays,
Dread the world's sneer, and truckle for it's praise.