Poems on different occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Fair Normandy, illustrious land of old,
Fruitful of hardy knights and barons bold,
Whose race their high dominion dar'd to found
In Albion's shore, that waves and rocks surround;
Whose sons afar, by brave adventure born,
Calabrian and Sicilian crowns have worn;
Ah, what avails thee of an early age
Thy praise recorded in historic page,
That to green Albion's isle, beyond the wave,
Thy realm its princes and its nobles gave,
That in Sicilia's distant shore, thy race,
And in Calabria's seats, their thrones could place,

102

When in thy cities fair and fruitful land
Despotic kings now hold their dread command,
Before whose throne, their ancient fame decay'd,
Thy nobles bow with slavish awe dismay'd,
Beneath whose sway thy hapless swains complain
That the rich bounty of thy fields is vain.

O Norman William! of this land the boast,
Proud conqueror in Albion's sea-beat coast;
Thou, whose ambition, in a servile chain,
Aspir'd the strength of England to detain,
And far above her ancient fame to raise
Of thy own Normandy the pride and praise;
If yet of mortal things the sense or care,
Withdrawn from mortal scenes, thy spirit share,
Behold how vain and impotent and blind,
Have been the counsels of thy haughty mind.
In Albion's happy land, beyond the waves,
Where thy fierce sway ordain'd a race of slaves,
Her Genius soon, with noble pride enflam'd,
Breaking the shackles which thy hands had fram'd,

103

Fair Liberty her chosen seat maintains,
Diffusing gladness thro' the green isle's plains;
And holy laws their sacred empire found,
Thrice holy laws, that guard this fav'rite ground
From foul oppression, yet on thrones of gold
The British princes, patriot kings, uphold;
Whilst hapless Normandy, that boasts in vain
Her triumphs past, now drags the servile chain,
Decreed with blind submission to fulfill
The haughty mandate of despotic will.

O youths of Albion! ye whose steps have worn
With mine the path beside the winding Orne;
Who as ye visit this fam'd land, which gave
To the proud conqueror his birth and grave,
Musing recall, how with a tyrant's rage,
He sway'd your country in an hapless age;
O let your hearts with grateful transports beat,
That in your native land, the blissful seat
Ye now behold, where Freedom has reveal'd
Her heavenly form from fairer climes conceal'd.

104

Yet whilst the thought of Albion, from the sway
Of tyrants rescu'd, as ye musing stray
On foreign shores, delights your bosoms most,
O may ye not in careless pleasures lost,
Think that no power remains, whose secret hate
May work new evils to her prosperous state.
The cold earth in her bosom the remains
Of the proud Norman conqueror retains ;
These lofty towers with rev'rend sculpture grac'd,
Near winding Orne thro' rolling ages plac'd;
Where superstition lends her aid to frame
A pile to consecrate the Conqueror's name;
With unavailing pomp, that narrow bound
Where William sleeps, e'en proud in death, surround.
But near the tomb-stone oft that hides his dust,
Awake, and to her hero's memory just,

105

With stately tread, and eye of proud disdain,
Her purple garment, mark'd with bloody stain,
Stalks Despotism, mighty queen! and waves
Her sword that awes the nations into slaves.
She, tyrant fierce, whom half the globe obeys,
With look indignant, Albion's isle surveys,
That built amidst the waves, too long disdains
Her wide dominion, and derides her chains;
And oft from Gallia's strand the haughty queen
Impatient eyes that ample space between,
Where the blue ocean, with his rolling sides,
Fair Albion from her dread domain divides;
And oft the tyrant, by ambition fir'd,
Unsated yet with conquest, has aspir'd
Across the deep her triumph to pursue,
And to her yoke wide Britain to subdue.

Ye sons of Albion, whom to Albion's shore
The circling days and months shall soon restore,
O, to repel despotic terrors bold,
And conscious of the mighty rights ye hold,
Revere that fabric which of old time stands
Built on your isle by Freedom's sacred hands,

106

Call forth the patriot virtues to surround
The stately pile, and guard from hostile wound;
Controul strong luxury, beneath whose sway
The virtues of a sliding age decay;
From the foul torrent of corruption save,
That thro' the land rolls deep her poisonous wave.
The haughty looks of shameless vice confound,
On furious faction fix the deadly wound;
With the wild tumult of licentious rage,
That braves due discipline, the battle wage;
Bid holy manners with just laws conspire
To call again times incorrupt, entire.
So shall ye, tho' your high descent ye trace,
From antient ancestry of Norman race,
Of Normandy long miss the evil day,
That dooms her land to stern despotic sway:
So shall ye visit not amiss the ground
Where Norman William's dust intomb'd is found,
Nor shall in vain your wand'ring steps have worn
The grassy path beside the streams of Orne.

William the Conquerer is interred in a magnificent abbey in Caen, in Normandy. Caen is washed by the river Orne.