 | Poems |  |
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ALFRED.
I
Ah! why should Song, enchanting Song,Her vot'ries lead thro' Error's maze?
Why Flattery, poisoning future days,
Give pride those laurels that to truth belong?
Avaunt, thou bard of ancient time!
I hate the base insidious Lyre,
That bids the dazzled crowds retire,
While tyrants sit as gods sublime.
II
I love the man of generous frame,Who teems with love of human kind,
Who leaves the vulgar great behind,
And scorns the splendid treach'ries of a name.
212
Hatch'd by Ambition's baneful ray;
Conqu'rors, high-mail'd in war array,
Have reel'd, mere dæmons, drunk with blood.
III
Where Discord holds her torch on high,Recount the warrior Romans dead,
The blood of generous Britons shed,
O'er vassal sons hear humbled Gallia sigh:
How streams the Rhine with German gore!
Let Cæsar mount the victor's car;—
And Rome, amid the spoils of war,
Her conqu'ror, and the world's, adore.
IV
Ah! vain the pomp, th' imperial sway!When Justice takes her watchful stand,
213
Nor will she rashly throw her palms away.
She spurns the mad heroic race!—
And oft, while pæans rend the skies,
While altars breathing incense rise,
The conqu'ror marks for long disgrace.
V
Yet, Fame, thy fair Elysium raise,And Genius, cull thy wreathe of flowers,
And, seated in unfading bowers,
Alfred, ennobled shine through endless days!
I see, I scale the mount sublime!
Lost in the beams of heavenly light,
I see 'mid streams, as crystal bright,
The bards, who rais'd the lofty rhyme.
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VI
“Blest, Alfred, be thy honour'd name,“(A people's voice of praise is sweet)
“And sweet the songs, his ear that greet,
“The Prince, whose bosom glows with Freedom's flame.
“Still blossom, 'mid the lapse of years,
“The laurels wreath'd on Virtue's brow;
“In richer pride her honours blow,
“And age her memory but endears.
VII
“See Britain rising from her seat,“Proud of her rights, and equal laws,
“Ardent in Freedom's sacred cause:—
She found thee wise, and has proclaim'd thee great.
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“They pant the thirsty lance to wield:
“They rush impetuous to the field;
“And Freedom sees her foes expire.”
VIII
They ceas'd—and cease the lyric strain:—For Alfred lives to bless no more;
Though still, its day of splendor o'er,
Downward the sun but sinks to rise again.
Thus Alfred shines in deathless fame,
And darting golden glories high,
Still marches stately through the sky,
While gazing nations bless his name.
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