 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
237
The Isles are Awake!
1834.
[_]
[These lines were first published in the Standard of December 10, 1834, and were thence transferred to the pages of every Conservative newspaper in the three kingdoms. During the General Election of 1835, they were again brought out, and again they made the tour of the periodical press. In South Lancashire, in particular, many thousand copies of them were circulated; and having been hitherto printed anonymously, they were now attributed to the Earl of Ellesmere— (then Lord Francis Egerton)—one of the successful candidates for the representation of that district. His lordship's disclaimer of the authorship was made in a way highly gratifying to the real writer, and led to the dedication of a collection of my poems to his lordship]
Hark! heard ye that sound as it passed in the gale?
And saw ye not yonder Destructive turn pale?
'Twas the heart-shout of Loyalty, fervent and true,
'Twas the death-knell of Hope to himself and his crew;
O waft it, ye breezes, and far let it ring,
That the Isles are awake at the voice of the King!
And saw ye not yonder Destructive turn pale?
'Twas the heart-shout of Loyalty, fervent and true,
'Twas the death-knell of Hope to himself and his crew;
O waft it, ye breezes, and far let it ring,
That the Isles are awake at the voice of the King!
Long years have passed over, in which, with a sigh,
The good man looked on as the wicked sat high;
And half he forgot, in the depth of his grief,
That the joy of the bad hath the date of a leaf;
Thank God, it is blighted! and true men may sing,
Since the Isles are awake at the voice of the King!
The good man looked on as the wicked sat high;
And half he forgot, in the depth of his grief,
That the joy of the bad hath the date of a leaf;
Thank God, it is blighted! and true men may sing,
Since the Isles are awake at the voice of the King!
238
The tide of our love never ebbs. We loved on,
When the gloom of ill counsels o'ershadowed his throne;
We loved, when the sun of our Monarch grew dim;
We sorrowed, yet not for ourselves, but for him;
And Self hath small part in the raptures that spring
To see the Isles wake at the Voice of the King!
When the gloom of ill counsels o'ershadowed his throne;
We loved, when the sun of our Monarch grew dim;
We sorrowed, yet not for ourselves, but for him;
And Self hath small part in the raptures that spring
To see the Isles wake at the Voice of the King!
He hath spoke like his father—“The Altar shall stand!”
Which England re-echoes from mountain to strand;
The dark heaths of Scotia the burden prolong,
And the green dales of Erin burst out into song;
For her harpies of strife and of blood have ta'en wing,
And the Isles are awake at the voice of the King!
Which England re-echoes from mountain to strand;
The dark heaths of Scotia the burden prolong,
And the green dales of Erin burst out into song;
For her harpies of strife and of blood have ta'en wing,
And the Isles are awake at the voice of the King!
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