Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert ... Excepting those on botany and natural history. With additions and corrections by the author |
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 | Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert |  |
189
ODE FOR THE WAR ARISING OUT OF THE PEACE OF AMIENS.
1804.
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The metre of this ode is Tuscan, not strictly Petrarchesque; for I have neglected the punctuation between the piedi, and have made the last line in the first correspond with the first line in the second, which Petrarca never did, when they consisted, as in these stanzas, of three lines each. I have scrupulously observed the punctuation between the piedi and sirima, and the law, most sacred to Italians, which forbids the occurrence of a similar rhyme in two stanzas of the same ode; but I have in two instances admitted the same word differently inflected, to which their strictest critics would object. The conclusion of the ode (which the Italians call ripresa or comiato) corresponds in form (as was customary) with the sirima or last part of the stanzas.
O Freedom, (if the unpolluted bays,
Which British hands entwine
Around thine honor'd brows, have charms to please
In thy distemper'd years) undaunted seize
War's trumpet from the shrine
Of thine high temple, which our sires did raise!
In these degenerate days
Thou needs must sound a strain most fierce and loud,
Ere the distemper'd sleep of sloth be broken,
And Europe's sufferings wroken;
For Truth and Honor rest beneath their shroud,
And Peace hath like a treacherous seamaid sung
To lure her listeners with pernicious tongue.
Which British hands entwine
Around thine honor'd brows, have charms to please
In thy distemper'd years) undaunted seize
War's trumpet from the shrine
Of thine high temple, which our sires did raise!
In these degenerate days
Thou needs must sound a strain most fierce and loud,
Ere the distemper'd sleep of sloth be broken,
And Europe's sufferings wroken;
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And Peace hath like a treacherous seamaid sung
To lure her listeners with pernicious tongue.
But as who, dreaming from his feverish side
In hour of troubled rest
His spouse torn shrieking by the savage arm
Of ruffian outrage, starts in wild alarm;
And to his throbbing breast
With wondering rapture clasps the sleeping bride:
So Britain's goodly pride,
(Which lay awhile oppress'd in horrid trance,
Deeming the breath of freeborn honor stifled,
And all her glories rifled
Beneath the culminating star of France)
Started to arms amain, when late she heard
Thy warning, for her fame too long deferr'd.
In hour of troubled rest
His spouse torn shrieking by the savage arm
Of ruffian outrage, starts in wild alarm;
And to his throbbing breast
With wondering rapture clasps the sleeping bride:
So Britain's goodly pride,
(Which lay awhile oppress'd in horrid trance,
Deeming the breath of freeborn honor stifled,
And all her glories rifled
Beneath the culminating star of France)
Started to arms amain, when late she heard
Thy warning, for her fame too long deferr'd.
Disarm'd hath Europe bow'd; on every shore,
Where late the battle roar'd
Tumultuous, Force hath rung sweet Freedom's knell,
And Death and silent Desolation dwell:
But Britain's stubborn sword
Still guards the honors, which our fathers wore.
So when with wild uproar
The banded winds some woody steep assail,
The deep sound murmurs, the whole mountain quakes;
The crashing timber breaks,
And the rent fragments load the rushing gale:
The scathed oak groans beneath the thunderous shock,
But still unbent o'ershades its native rock.
Where late the battle roar'd
Tumultuous, Force hath rung sweet Freedom's knell,
And Death and silent Desolation dwell:
But Britain's stubborn sword
Still guards the honors, which our fathers wore.
So when with wild uproar
The banded winds some woody steep assail,
The deep sound murmurs, the whole mountain quakes;
The crashing timber breaks,
And the rent fragments load the rushing gale:
The scathed oak groans beneath the thunderous shock,
But still unbent o'ershades its native rock.
191
O God of battles! if thine hallow'd will
Ordain, that Britain fall,
And her proud towers be humbled in the dust:
Thy will is law to us, thy laws are just!
When thy dread heralds call,
Her sons undaunted will their fates fulfil!
But, if thy right-hand still
Uphold us, sooner shall yon vaulted sky
Be rent, and winds upheave this solid earth,
Than England's ancient worth
Beneath a proud assailant vanquish'd lie!
That honest valor, which hath made her great,
Unharm'd shall save her mid the wrecks of fate.
Ordain, that Britain fall,
And her proud towers be humbled in the dust:
Thy will is law to us, thy laws are just!
When thy dread heralds call,
Her sons undaunted will their fates fulfil!
But, if thy right-hand still
Uphold us, sooner shall yon vaulted sky
Be rent, and winds upheave this solid earth,
Than England's ancient worth
Beneath a proud assailant vanquish'd lie!
That honest valor, which hath made her great,
Unharm'd shall save her mid the wrecks of fate.
Thou, whose immortal reign is stretch'd above
The everlasting stars;
Whose wrath in tempest sends Thy spirits forth;
Whose fiery lances hurtling in the North
Forbode disasterous wars,
When kings conflicting to destruction move;
Thou, whose all-kindling love
More wonderous, fills each breast with holy awe;
Who givest the night its phantoms, scattering dread,
To bend the guilty head
With horror, and enforce Thy glorious law:
Thou, Lord, shalt hold before us in the fight
Thy shield of virtue and Thy sword of right!
The everlasting stars;
Whose wrath in tempest sends Thy spirits forth;
Whose fiery lances hurtling in the North
Forbode disasterous wars,
When kings conflicting to destruction move;
Thou, whose all-kindling love
More wonderous, fills each breast with holy awe;
Who givest the night its phantoms, scattering dread,
To bend the guilty head
With horror, and enforce Thy glorious law:
Thou, Lord, shalt hold before us in the fight
Thy shield of virtue and Thy sword of right!
Nor ever do the tempests rage in vain,
When fatal whirlwinds speed
To do Thy bidding! Thou art our right-hand,
Our glory and salvation! Thy command
Has oft in Britain's need
Roused the blown waves to guard her ancient reign!
Witness the stormy main
Laden with wrecks of that huge armament,
Which erst the arch-fiend in wrath from proud Castile,
To light the funeral pile
Of pure Religion with Hell's torches sent:
Thou spakest in anger; at the sound the waves
Shook, and Hell trembled in its deepest caves.
When fatal whirlwinds speed
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Our glory and salvation! Thy command
Has oft in Britain's need
Roused the blown waves to guard her ancient reign!
Witness the stormy main
Laden with wrecks of that huge armament,
Which erst the arch-fiend in wrath from proud Castile,
To light the funeral pile
Of pure Religion with Hell's torches sent:
Thou spakest in anger; at the sound the waves
Shook, and Hell trembled in its deepest caves.
Not chance, I deem, on
Christ's all-hallow'd day
Blew that tremendous blast,
Which waking, as the foe with impious boast
Pour'd forth his navy, unto Ireland's coast
Wing'd with thy vengeance pass'd
Curling the billows o'er the watery way.
Thine arm with strange dismay,
Thy terror scatter'd them! The shaft of Heaven
Smites not more swiftly, or the burning death
From Simoom's fiery breath,
Than dread assail'd them by Thy tempest driven;
As wrapt in smoke the doubtful lights of war
Flash'd horrible, and battle roar'd afar.
Blew that tremendous blast,
Which waking, as the foe with impious boast
Pour'd forth his navy, unto Ireland's coast
Wing'd with thy vengeance pass'd
Curling the billows o'er the watery way.
Thine arm with strange dismay,
Thy terror scatter'd them! The shaft of Heaven
Smites not more swiftly, or the burning death
From Simoom's fiery breath,
Than dread assail'd them by Thy tempest driven;
As wrapt in smoke the doubtful lights of war
Flash'd horrible, and battle roar'd afar.
While Freedom watches, never foe shall slake
His rage in Britain's shame
Victorious; never hath her Genius quail'd,
When whole she met the tempest that assail'd,
And mindful of her fame
Roused all her sons, and bade her might awake.
But thou, sweet Freedom, take
That charmed trump to thy resistless hands,
Whose strain can well inspire with living force
The pale and breathless corse;
And ever and anon her slothful bands
Stir with a lengthen'd peal, whose warlike thunder
Of fatal sleep may rend the bonds asunder.
His rage in Britain's shame
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When whole she met the tempest that assail'd,
And mindful of her fame
Roused all her sons, and bade her might awake.
But thou, sweet Freedom, take
That charmed trump to thy resistless hands,
Whose strain can well inspire with living force
The pale and breathless corse;
And ever and anon her slothful bands
Stir with a lengthen'd peal, whose warlike thunder
Of fatal sleep may rend the bonds asunder.
Go boldly forth, my song,
Though rear'd in peaceful shades; and (if the foe
Ask, why the virgin Muse war's clarion sound)
On unpolluted ground
Say thou wert born, where bloodless rivers flow;
But add,—The guardian sword, ere Britain yield,
Her matrons and her tenderest maids shall wield.
Though rear'd in peaceful shades; and (if the foe
Ask, why the virgin Muse war's clarion sound)
On unpolluted ground
Say thou wert born, where bloodless rivers flow;
But add,—The guardian sword, ere Britain yield,
Her matrons and her tenderest maids shall wield.
| Works of the Hon. and Very Rev. William Herbert | |