 | The bard, and minor poems |  |
128
POLAND
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO MY DEAR FRIEND, THOMAS CAMPBELL, Esq., “THE BARD OF POLAND AND OF HOPE.”
“In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few,
From rank to rank your volley'd thunders flew,
O, bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime.
Found not a generous hand, nor pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe;
Fell from her senseless grasp the shattered spear,
Closed her bright eye, and dimm'd her proud career;
Hope for a season bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shriek'd when Kosciusko fell!”
Campbell.
From rank to rank your volley'd thunders flew,
O, bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime.
Found not a generous hand, nor pitying foe,
Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe;
Fell from her senseless grasp the shattered spear,
Closed her bright eye, and dimm'd her proud career;
Hope for a season bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shriek'd when Kosciusko fell!”
Campbell.
I
What sound is that I hear?What wild convulsive breath
Of agony and death,
That breaks upon mine ear?
Poland shouts across the sea,
'Tis Poland shrieks aloud for life and liberty.
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II
'Tis freedom's frenzied groans!Freedom wailing o'er the dead,
To see the hideous vulture fed
On Poland's noblest sons:
To see each murder'd sire,
Each ravish'd maid in tears, 'round Poland's funeral pyre.
III
Her patriots' hopes are dead;Her halls, her peaceful solitudes,
Her fields, and pleasant woods,
Have felt the invader's tread.
Poland's wrongs, and Poland's woe,
Record to endless time that Russia was her foe!
IV
Awake, ye ancient kings,—Ye who trod the battle field
With helm and blazing shield!
Let Victory wave her wings.
Awake, awake each mighty name,
Till the Barbarian shrink from Poland's ancient fame.
V
France, get thee up—arise!Is there no spark remains
Of all thy former gains,
Thy valorous enterprise?
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Let Gaul's triumphant hosts array for liberty!
VI
England, where art thou?Where are now the notes of war,
That sounded high at Trafalgar
When Neptune wreath'd thy brow?
Where Cressy's fame—where Agincourt—
And Waterloo's fierce day, and laurels drench'd in gore?
VII
Freedom, bare thy bloody arm!Hie thee from Thermopylæ,
From the cities of the free,
And smite the ruffian swarm.
Hurl thy shafts along the sky—
Come forth—and all the earth shall listen to thy cry.
VIII
Poland, Poland is not dead,She shall revive—she shall be free—
She shall regain her liberty,
And lift to heaven her head.
God looks down upon her cause—
The Assyrian hosts shall fall, and Heaven maintain its laws!
These lines were to have been spoken by a friend at the dinner intended to be given to the Prince Czartoriski in 1833, in the arrangements of which Campbell the Poet took particular interest, along with the author, and others. On that occasion, Lord Mahon, the constant and indefatigable friend of Poland, consented to occupy the chair, but when the Prince Czartoriski was waited on by a deputation, he strongly solicited that the banquet might be postponed; and one or two of the parties having left London, the original intention was abandoned.
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