 | The King |  |
3
THE KING.
For war and conquest and the Regent's days
Let others urge the graceful arts of praise,
Revive the pomp of arms on land and main,
Awake the martial symphonies of Spain,
Bid all the Regent's splendour blaze anew,
And all His trophies crowd upon His view;
Make London's turrets hail with all their chimes
Magnific guests, the Brave of many climes;
Call Prussia from his amber throne afar,
And thaw the gelid sleep that binds the Czar;
And let the war-worn visitants repose
Beneath the canopy of England's Rose.
Let others urge the graceful arts of praise,
Revive the pomp of arms on land and main,
Awake the martial symphonies of Spain,
Bid all the Regent's splendour blaze anew,
And all His trophies crowd upon His view;
Make London's turrets hail with all their chimes
Magnific guests, the Brave of many climes;
Call Prussia from his amber throne afar,
And thaw the gelid sleep that binds the Czar;
And let the war-worn visitants repose
Beneath the canopy of England's Rose.
Proud were those days; yet they, with all their pride
And all the glare of Waterloo beside,
Seem but dim heralds to the brighter day
That glorifies The King's pacific sway.
And all the glare of Waterloo beside,
Seem but dim heralds to the brighter day
That glorifies The King's pacific sway.
Of warlike honour fickle is the boast;
The newest armour ever glitters most;
No banners charm the multitude like those
Which last were fiercely wrench'd from stubborn foes.
The wreath of Cressy was but freshly made
When Poictiers' laurels threw it into shade.
Both Cressy's Victor and his dark-mail'd Son
Were overtopt when Agincourt was won.
Fame, ever loving exploits that are new,
As Blenheim once, now trumpets Waterloo,
Whose one day's toil a richer harvest yields
Than all the labours of a hundred fields.
A few short lustres hence, in strong relief,
On fortune's fore-ground stands some other Chief;
Behind him Churchill's, ay, and Wellesley's, Shades
In vain exalt their visionary blades.
The favour'd god of those that worship strife
Must move before them in substantial life:
And war's deciduous laurel only springs
For living heroes and existing kings.
The newest armour ever glitters most;
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Which last were fiercely wrench'd from stubborn foes.
The wreath of Cressy was but freshly made
When Poictiers' laurels threw it into shade.
Both Cressy's Victor and his dark-mail'd Son
Were overtopt when Agincourt was won.
Fame, ever loving exploits that are new,
As Blenheim once, now trumpets Waterloo,
Whose one day's toil a richer harvest yields
Than all the labours of a hundred fields.
A few short lustres hence, in strong relief,
On fortune's fore-ground stands some other Chief;
Behind him Churchill's, ay, and Wellesley's, Shades
In vain exalt their visionary blades.
The favour'd god of those that worship strife
Must move before them in substantial life:
And war's deciduous laurel only springs
For living heroes and existing kings.
There is for Kings a fame that never dies,
A sunlike glory which itself supplies,
The light that emanates from grateful minds,
Defying Envy, whom its lustre blinds.
There is, for ever flowing and to flow,
For Him who turns to joy his people's woe,
A stream of love unwearied in its course,
A nation's heart its warm and salient source.
Through loyal veins, devolved from sires to sons,
From age to age the faithful current runs,
And bears for ever on in just renown
The buoyant name that dignified a crown.
One Patriot King has earn'd this meed of fame,
And Ireland's voice will vindicate His claim.
A sunlike glory which itself supplies,
The light that emanates from grateful minds,
Defying Envy, whom its lustre blinds.
There is, for ever flowing and to flow,
For Him who turns to joy his people's woe,
A stream of love unwearied in its course,
A nation's heart its warm and salient source.
Through loyal veins, devolved from sires to sons,
From age to age the faithful current runs,
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The buoyant name that dignified a crown.
One Patriot King has earn'd this meed of fame,
And Ireland's voice will vindicate His claim.
The Lusian where delightful Minho glides
May drown his wrongs in its oblivious tides ,
Forget the Prince that saved his land of vines
And scared the Gaul from his polluted shrines;
The Spaniard, stung with disingenuous shame,
May loathe the staff that propt his tottering frame,
Or, lull'd by pride's strong opiate, fondly dream
His own the glory, his Ally's a gleam:
Recording Echoes from the Belgian Plain
May thunder in Batavia's ears in vain,
Nor move her placid sense of cold repose
To one warm retrospect of friends and foes:
France may not heed what Royal Neighbour's bower
Preserved her lily from the spoiler's power,
What generous hand, in season due, again
Enthroned the stately plant beside the Seine:
All may disclaim, dissemble, or forget,
Not so will fervid Erin cancel debt.
May drown his wrongs in its oblivious tides ,
Forget the Prince that saved his land of vines
And scared the Gaul from his polluted shrines;
The Spaniard, stung with disingenuous shame,
May loathe the staff that propt his tottering frame,
Or, lull'd by pride's strong opiate, fondly dream
His own the glory, his Ally's a gleam:
Recording Echoes from the Belgian Plain
May thunder in Batavia's ears in vain,
Nor move her placid sense of cold repose
To one warm retrospect of friends and foes:
France may not heed what Royal Neighbour's bower
Preserved her lily from the spoiler's power,
What generous hand, in season due, again
Enthroned the stately plant beside the Seine:
All may disclaim, dissemble, or forget,
Not so will fervid Erin cancel debt.
In yon green Isle, which statutes cease to gyve,
If only there, will gratitude survive.
The sceptred Hand that changed her fate to-day
Her heart's affections through all time shall sway.
The King shall be the theme of fluent tongues,
His praise the spirit of a nation's songs,
Commanding sweeter tones from willing strings
Than Erin's Harp gave all her ancient Kings.
If only there, will gratitude survive.
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Her heart's affections through all time shall sway.
The King shall be the theme of fluent tongues,
His praise the spirit of a nation's songs,
Commanding sweeter tones from willing strings
Than Erin's Harp gave all her ancient Kings.
For This (will future generations say)
Was He who struck our fathers' chains away;
Could trust to Christian faith, though unconfined,
And dared have subjects of unshackled mind.
This goodly Isle, till his auspicious time,
Was one wide stage of anarchy and crime;
With stern religious jealousy insane,
Its natives seem'd the progeny of Cain,
Relentless fratricides, with hearts of gall
For various worship of the GOD of all.
At last appeared this King of power benign,
The Fourth, on England's Throne of Brunswick's Line,
The First of England's Potentates who bore
The bough of olive to the Irish shore.
He came! they gazed, as if with rapture dumb;
They felt that their Deliverer was come:
Then rose the storm of joy! The wildest sea
That ever on that coast kept jubilee
Ne'er made the crags of Howth so loudly ring
As did that Irish Welcome to Their King!
Pleased Liffey trembled to her mountain source;
The clamorous joy made Wicklow's Echoes hoarse;
Grattan's Dark Glen the Pæans lengthen'd out,
(Perhaps his own glad spirit gave a shout)
O'er the deep passes of that sylvan glen
The loaded branches were alive with men,
Who, while below their Prince's chariot wound,
With shouts unwearied made the rocks resound;
The woods were vocal as Dodona's Oak,
And CEAD MILE FAILTEAGH were the words they spoke.
Was He who struck our fathers' chains away;
Could trust to Christian faith, though unconfined,
And dared have subjects of unshackled mind.
This goodly Isle, till his auspicious time,
Was one wide stage of anarchy and crime;
With stern religious jealousy insane,
Its natives seem'd the progeny of Cain,
Relentless fratricides, with hearts of gall
For various worship of the GOD of all.
At last appeared this King of power benign,
The Fourth, on England's Throne of Brunswick's Line,
The First of England's Potentates who bore
The bough of olive to the Irish shore.
He came! they gazed, as if with rapture dumb;
They felt that their Deliverer was come:
Then rose the storm of joy! The wildest sea
That ever on that coast kept jubilee
Ne'er made the crags of Howth so loudly ring
As did that Irish Welcome to Their King!
Pleased Liffey trembled to her mountain source;
The clamorous joy made Wicklow's Echoes hoarse;
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(Perhaps his own glad spirit gave a shout)
O'er the deep passes of that sylvan glen
The loaded branches were alive with men,
Who, while below their Prince's chariot wound,
With shouts unwearied made the rocks resound;
The woods were vocal as Dodona's Oak,
And CEAD MILE FAILTEAGH were the words they spoke.
Warm was the greeting, fond was the farewell,
From crowded roofs and casements blessings fell:
Ten Thousands on Dunleary's stony marge
With straining vision watched his parting barge:
He vanish'd; and, that brief exitement o'er,
The clouded land was darker than before.
From crowded roofs and casements blessings fell:
Ten Thousands on Dunleary's stony marge
With straining vision watched his parting barge:
He vanish'd; and, that brief exitement o'er,
The clouded land was darker than before.
Years past away; but 'twas no fickle smile
Of regal kindness that had cheer'd the Isle,
No phosphor-light whose transitory ray
Gleam'd on her hope to lure her heart astray.
Of regal kindness that had cheer'd the Isle,
No phosphor-light whose transitory ray
Gleam'd on her hope to lure her heart astray.
Oft was the distant King for Erin moved;
Her griefs were urgent, and her love was proved:
Yet when to grant her suit He well might doubt,
While not alone a stiff agrarian Rout
Perplexed Him with their terrors half sincere,
And cry of Penenden, The Wolf is near!
But nobler instruments were interposed
To keep the gates of grace on Erin closed.
There were not wanting of the empire's Best,
Whose grave alarms were honestly profess'd;
Nor men as pure of will, with more of wit,
Illustrious minds for highest councils fit,
Who gladly at Saint Stephen's portal saw
The lonely Skeleton of Penal Law,
The State's grim Sentinel, to scare away
Hibernian fangs and Roman beaks of prey.
So far could lively prejudice prevail
On worth and wisdom with a fairy tale;
And keenly piercing optics so delude
With second-sights of woe, and ruin's gorgon brood.
Her griefs were urgent, and her love was proved:
Yet when to grant her suit He well might doubt,
While not alone a stiff agrarian Rout
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And cry of Penenden, The Wolf is near!
But nobler instruments were interposed
To keep the gates of grace on Erin closed.
There were not wanting of the empire's Best,
Whose grave alarms were honestly profess'd;
Nor men as pure of will, with more of wit,
Illustrious minds for highest councils fit,
Who gladly at Saint Stephen's portal saw
The lonely Skeleton of Penal Law,
The State's grim Sentinel, to scare away
Hibernian fangs and Roman beaks of prey.
So far could lively prejudice prevail
On worth and wisdom with a fairy tale;
And keenly piercing optics so delude
With second-sights of woe, and ruin's gorgon brood.
Intrepid was His Heart, and bold His Hand,
Who signed the charter of that troubled Land.
His way at once through labyrinths he made,
Where all the Wilful, half the Wise had stray'd.
Who signed the charter of that troubled Land.
His way at once through labyrinths he made,
Where all the Wilful, half the Wise had stray'd.
Let not the symptom Ireland's Friend deceive,
If yet awhile her turbid bosom heave.
Not in a moment is the surf assuaged
When stormy elements so long have raged.
A froward child, though pleased at last, will steep
E'en joy in tears, and sob itself to sleep.
If yet awhile her turbid bosom heave.
Not in a moment is the surf assuaged
When stormy elements so long have raged.
A froward child, though pleased at last, will steep
E'en joy in tears, and sob itself to sleep.
What Caledonia was, a tragic scene
Of passions overstretch'd, has Erin been.
Who dreams of peril now in grim Glenco,
Or fiercer hands than immolate the roe?
Where now may thirsting pilgrim dip his shell
More safely than where Garry's waters swell?
What gaunt fanatics now affright the tide
Of arts and commerce from the Forth or Clyde?
Rude holds, impervious once to fire and sword,
Are now by curious luxury explored.
Through mountain depths a liquid road is free
Beneath Ben-nevis to the northern sea.
Cheer'd by relenting Nature's beckoning hand,
Right through the heart of that majestic land
The steam-bark glides, through shades that menaced death,
And twines with Alpine mist its curling breath;
While not a sterner sound the rover thrills
Than Fyers shouting to responsive hills.
Religious freedom gave that nation health
To work her share on science, art, and wealth.
What Albyn is Hibernia yet will be,
In honour of The King who made her free.
Of passions overstretch'd, has Erin been.
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Or fiercer hands than immolate the roe?
Where now may thirsting pilgrim dip his shell
More safely than where Garry's waters swell?
What gaunt fanatics now affright the tide
Of arts and commerce from the Forth or Clyde?
Rude holds, impervious once to fire and sword,
Are now by curious luxury explored.
Through mountain depths a liquid road is free
Beneath Ben-nevis to the northern sea.
Cheer'd by relenting Nature's beckoning hand,
Right through the heart of that majestic land
The steam-bark glides, through shades that menaced death,
And twines with Alpine mist its curling breath;
While not a sterner sound the rover thrills
Than Fyers shouting to responsive hills.
Religious freedom gave that nation health
To work her share on science, art, and wealth.
What Albyn is Hibernia yet will be,
In honour of The King who made her free.
Nor sole, though brightest, on that splendid leaf
Of golden History, shines the royal Chief:
There too is Wellington inscribed in light,
And Peel refulgent in detraction's spite.
Of golden History, shines the royal Chief:
There too is Wellington inscribed in light,
And Peel refulgent in detraction's spite.
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The Warrior Duke had wearied with his name
The hundred tongues of palpitating Fame.
She hoped for respite when his sword was sheathed;
Her tyrant roused her ere she well had breathed.
There yet remain'd, within his country's core,
The proudest mark for one achievement more.
Domestic peril scowl'd upon the State
From the dark Fortress of Religious Hate.
Charm'd seem'd the walls, which Pitt's attack could bide,
Which Fox, Burke, Wyndham, Sheridan defied,
Which Grattan's fire withstood and Canning's wit,
And shew'd no wound where iron balls were split.
Up to this Fort that held assault in scorn,
The Man of Conquests led the Hope Forlorn;
He scaled the surly walls with Oxford's Son,
And lo! th'enchanted citadel was won!
The hundred tongues of palpitating Fame.
She hoped for respite when his sword was sheathed;
Her tyrant roused her ere she well had breathed.
There yet remain'd, within his country's core,
The proudest mark for one achievement more.
Domestic peril scowl'd upon the State
From the dark Fortress of Religious Hate.
Charm'd seem'd the walls, which Pitt's attack could bide,
Which Fox, Burke, Wyndham, Sheridan defied,
Which Grattan's fire withstood and Canning's wit,
And shew'd no wound where iron balls were split.
Up to this Fort that held assault in scorn,
The Man of Conquests led the Hope Forlorn;
He scaled the surly walls with Oxford's Son,
And lo! th'enchanted citadel was won!
But Oxford proved a Stepdame, after all,
To Him whom she had joy'd her own to call.
Peel was her Darling while he duly bore
A filial reverence for maternal lore.
The learned Mother might exult indeed
A leading Spirit thus to seem to lead;
Seductive paths of eloquence who knew,
But rarely pass'd the line that judgment drew.
Versed in his country's laws, the chaff with pain
He winnow'd off in honour of the grain.
That salutary labour brought his eye
The mildew'd seed among the corn to spy,
And with a manly hand he flung it by.
To Him whom she had joy'd her own to call.
Peel was her Darling while he duly bore
A filial reverence for maternal lore.
The learned Mother might exult indeed
A leading Spirit thus to seem to lead;
Seductive paths of eloquence who knew,
But rarely pass'd the line that judgment drew.
Versed in his country's laws, the chaff with pain
He winnow'd off in honour of the grain.
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The mildew'd seed among the corn to spy,
And with a manly hand he flung it by.
Then came his trying hour—on him were pour'd
All floods of passion; tempests round him roar'd;
Reproaches thunder'd at him; slanders raved;
And all the furies all their torches waved:
Indignant Isis bubbled up in wrath,
And reverend lips were white with holy froth;
Polemic horrors hiss'd from saintly stalls,
And ravens flapt the senatorial walls.
But warn'd, forsaken, threaten'd, bann'd, reviled,
With proud austere civility he smiled;
Fix'd as some lofty promontory stands
When gales are out and billows tear the sands,
On his calm brow he bore the beacon-light
Of Duty, steady through the raging night.
The state's true friends, thus resolutely wise,
Attest His wisdom by whose choice they rise.
But then a Prince (rejoins some cynic tongue)
So nobly served, should be as nobly sung.
He who pretends to celebrate The King
Should paint like Lawrence, or like Southey sing.
He who would hover o'er the solemn towers
Of Windsor, and its woods, the Muses' Bowers,
And there the strain prolong for Him who graced
That honour'd pile with all the powers of taste,
Adventures surely with too wild a hope
Where stately Denham sung and charming Pope;
(How exquisitely sung!) and where the growth
And spread of Greatness now might baffle both.
'Tis rash on pinions frail to tempt the skies;
Meridian splendours are for eagle-eyes.
All floods of passion; tempests round him roar'd;
Reproaches thunder'd at him; slanders raved;
And all the furies all their torches waved:
Indignant Isis bubbled up in wrath,
And reverend lips were white with holy froth;
Polemic horrors hiss'd from saintly stalls,
And ravens flapt the senatorial walls.
But warn'd, forsaken, threaten'd, bann'd, reviled,
With proud austere civility he smiled;
Fix'd as some lofty promontory stands
When gales are out and billows tear the sands,
On his calm brow he bore the beacon-light
Of Duty, steady through the raging night.
The state's true friends, thus resolutely wise,
Attest His wisdom by whose choice they rise.
But then a Prince (rejoins some cynic tongue)
So nobly served, should be as nobly sung.
He who pretends to celebrate The King
Should paint like Lawrence, or like Southey sing.
He who would hover o'er the solemn towers
Of Windsor, and its woods, the Muses' Bowers,
And there the strain prolong for Him who graced
That honour'd pile with all the powers of taste,
12
Where stately Denham sung and charming Pope;
(How exquisitely sung!) and where the growth
And spread of Greatness now might baffle both.
'Tis rash on pinions frail to tempt the skies;
Meridian splendours are for eagle-eyes.
Yes: but to travel to the solar throne
Is not an eagle's privilege alone;
Aloft with indefatigable flight
The lark bears tribute duly to the light;
Wherefore should I then fear to soar and sing,
The dark cloud gone whose gloom depress'd my wing?
Is not an eagle's privilege alone;
Aloft with indefatigable flight
The lark bears tribute duly to the light;
Wherefore should I then fear to soar and sing,
The dark cloud gone whose gloom depress'd my wing?
If with the skill those features are design'd
Some happier plume could trace the lines of mind,
The Poet might the Painter's art outdo,
And show the nobler Portrait of the two.
Some happier plume could trace the lines of mind,
The Poet might the Painter's art outdo,
And show the nobler Portrait of the two.
The Roman soldiers were so charmed with the North of Portugal, where the Minho flows out of Spain into the sea, that it was said that river was their Lethe, which had made them forget their own country.
| The King | |