Classic Poem

I

Ye clouds, that far above me float and pause,
Whose pathless march no mortal may control!
Ye ocean waves, that, wheresoe'er ye roll,
Yield homage only to eternal laws!
Ye woods, that listen to the night-bird's singing,
Midway the smooth and perilous steep reclined;
Save when your own imperious branches swinging
Have made a solemn music of the wind!
Where, like a man beloved of God,
Through glooms which never woodman trod,
How oft, pursuing fancies holy,
My moonlight way o'er flow'ring weeds I wound,
Inspired beyond the guess of folly
By each rude shape, and wild unconquerable sound!
Oh ye loud waves, and oh ye forests high,
And oh ye clouds, that far above me soared!
Thou rising sun! Thou blue rejoicing sky!
Yea, every thing that is and will be free,
Bear witness for me wheresoe'er ye be,
With what deep worship I have still adored
The spirit of divinest liberty.

II

When France in wrath her giant limbs upreared,
And with that oath which smote earth, air, and sea,
Stamped her strong foot and said she would be free,
Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared!
With what a joy, my lofty gratulation
Unawed, I sung amid a slavish band;
And when to whelm the disenchanted nation,
Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand,
The monarchs marched in evil day,
And Britain joined the dire array —
Though dear her shores, and circling ocean,
Though many friendships, many youthful loves
Had swoln the patriot emotion,
And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves;
Yet still my voice unaltered sang defeat
To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance,
And shame too long delayed, and vain retreat!
For ne'er, oh Liberty! with partial aim
I dimmed thy light, or damped thy holy flame;
But blessed the paeans of delivered France,
And hung my head, and wept at Britain's name!

III

" And what", I said, " though blasphemy's loud scream
With that sweet music of deliv'rance strove;
Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove
A dance more wild than ever maniac's dream;
Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled,
The sun was rising, though ye hid his light!"
And when to soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled,
The dissonance ceased, and all seemed calm and bright;
When France, her front deep-scarred and gory,
Concealed with clust'ring wreaths of glory;
When insupportably advancing,
Her arm made mock'ry of the warrior's ramp,
While, timid looks of fury glancing,
Domestic treason, crushed beneath her fatal stamp,
Writhed like a wounded dragon in his gore —
Then I reproached my fears that would not flee,
" And soon", I said, " shall wisdom teach her lore
In the low huts of them that toil and groan!
And conqu'ring by her happiness alone,
Shall France compel the nations to be free,
Till love and joy look round, and call the earth their own!"

IV

Forgive me, Freedom! Oh forgive these dreams!
I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament,
From bleak Helvetia's icy caverns sent —
I hear thy groans upon her bloodstained streams!
Heroes, that for your peaceful country perished,
And ye, that fleeing spot the mountain snows
With bleeding wounds — forgive me, that I cherished
One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes!
To scatter rage and trait'rous guilt
Where Peace her jealous home had built;
A patriot race to disinherit
Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear,
And with inexpiable spirit
To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer.
Oh France! that mockest heav'n, adult'rous, blind,
And patriot only in pernicious toils!
Are these thy boasts, champion of humankind?
To mix with kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell in the hunt, and share the murd'rous prey;
T' insult the shrine of liberty with spoils
From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray!

V

The sensual and the dark rebel in vain,
Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game
They burst their manacles, and wear the name
Of freedom graven on a heavier chain!
Oh Liberty! with profitless endeavour
Have I pursued thee many a weary hour:
But thou nor swellst the victor's strain, nor ever
Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human pow'r.
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee
(Nor pray'r, nor boastful name delays thee),
Alike from priesthood's harpy minions
And factious blasphemy's obscener slaves,
Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions,
To live amid the winds, and move upon the waves!
And then I felt thee on the sea-cliff's verge,
Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above,
Had made one murmur with the distant surge!
Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare,
And shot my being through earth, sea, and air,
Possessing all things with intensest love,
Oh Liberty, my spirit felt thee there!