 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
120
It is Sweet to Perceive.
1831.
It is sweet to perceive the first efforts of Spring;
To watch the buds tenderly, timidly ope;
To feel at one's heart the pure freshness they bring,
Till the languid heart leaps to the promise of Hope!
Of spring talks yon blue sky, of spring this green land,
Of spring the gay warblings these valleys that fill—
Sweet proof that the Mighty Artificer's hand
Impels the machine of the universe still!
To watch the buds tenderly, timidly ope;
To feel at one's heart the pure freshness they bring,
Till the languid heart leaps to the promise of Hope!
Of spring talks yon blue sky, of spring this green land,
Of spring the gay warblings these valleys that fill—
Sweet proof that the Mighty Artificer's hand
Impels the machine of the universe still!
God! dost thou not rule in the armies of heaven?
Thy impulse the stars in their courses obey;
The lightnings themselves, when the dark cloud is riven,
Flash fate as thou biddest, or harmlessly play!
And hast thou relinquished the curb and control
Of man? Hath thy government ceased from the world?
Then whence this unquietness, madness of soul?
And why are those ensigns of battle unfurled?
Thy impulse the stars in their courses obey;
The lightnings themselves, when the dark cloud is riven,
Flash fate as thou biddest, or harmlessly play!
And hast thou relinquished the curb and control
Of man? Hath thy government ceased from the world?
Then whence this unquietness, madness of soul?
And why are those ensigns of battle unfurled?
O! with the strong voice that can still the wild sea,
Speak peace to the hearts and the passions of men!
With the power that hath bidden the winter-clouds flee,
Let the sunshine of joy gild their dwellings again!
And with the soft breath that awakens the spring,
Breathe over the mind of the nations, O Lord!
That genuine freedom which comes not from king,
Nor is won, or destroyed, by the conqueror's sword!
Speak peace to the hearts and the passions of men!
With the power that hath bidden the winter-clouds flee,
Let the sunshine of joy gild their dwellings again!
121
Breathe over the mind of the nations, O Lord!
That genuine freedom which comes not from king,
Nor is won, or destroyed, by the conqueror's sword!
But if, for some purpose inscrutable, Thou
Wilt see over Europe wild Anarchy burst,
O! let not my country her honoured neck bow
To the yoke of that Despot—the vilest—the worst!
Give wisdom to guard our old strengths that have stood
The beatings of time, as her rocks the rude sea,
And Albion shall ever o'erlook the blue flood,
The first of the nations—the Isle of the Free!
Wilt see over Europe wild Anarchy burst,
O! let not my country her honoured neck bow
To the yoke of that Despot—the vilest—the worst!
Give wisdom to guard our old strengths that have stood
The beatings of time, as her rocks the rude sea,
And Albion shall ever o'erlook the blue flood,
The first of the nations—the Isle of the Free!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |