Classic Poem

What native Genius taught the Britons bold
To guard their sea-girt cliffs of old?
'Twas Liberty: she taught disdain
Of death, of Rome's imperial chain.
She bade the druid harp to battle sound,
In tones prophetic through the gloom profound
Of forests hoar, with holy foliage hung;
From grove to grove the pealing prelude rung;
Belinus call'd his painted tribes around,
And, rough with many a veteran scar,
Swept the pale legions with the scythed car,
While baffled Caesar fled to gain
An easier triumph on Pharsalia's plain;
And left the stubborn isle to stand elate
Amidst a conquer'd world, in lone majestic state!

A kindred spirit soon to Britain's shore
The sons of Saxon Elva bore;
Fraught with the' unconquerable soul,
Who died, to drain the warrior-bowl,
In that bright Hall, where Odin's gothic throne
With the broad blaze of brandish'd falchions shone;
Where the long roofs rebounded to the din
Of spectre chiefs, who feasted far within:
Yet, not intent on deathful deeds alone,
They felt the fires of social zeal,
The peaceful wisdom of the public weal;
Though nurs'd in arms and hardy strife,
They knew to frame the plans of temper'd life;
The king's, the people's, balanc'd claims to found
On one eternal base, indissolubly bound.
Sudden, to shake the Saxons' mild domain,
Rush'd in rude swarms the robber Dane,
From frozen wastes, and cavern's wild,
To genial England's scenes beguil'd;
And in his clamorous van exulting came
The demons foul of Famine and of Flame:
Witness the sheep-clad summits, roughly crown'd
With many a frowning foss and airy mound,
Which yet his desultory march proclaim! —
Nor ceas'd the tide of gore to flow,
Till Alfred's laws allur'd the' intestine foe;
And Harold calm'd his headlong rage
To brave achievement, and to counsel sage;
For oft in savage breasts the buried seeds
Of brooding virtue live, and freedom's fairest deeds!

But see, triumphant o'er the southern wave,
The Norman sweeps! — Though first he gave
New grace to Britain's naked plain,
With Arts and Manners in his train;
And many a fane he rear'd, that still sublime
In massy pomp has mock'd the stealth of time;
And castle fair, that, stript of half its tow'rs,
From some broad steep in shatter'd glory low'rs:
Yet brought he slavery from a softer clime;
Each eve, the curfeu's notes severe
(That now but soothes the musing poet's ear)
At the new tyrant's stern command,
Warn'd to unwelcome rest a wakeful land;
While proud Oppression o'er the ravish'd field
High rais'd his armed hand, and shook the feudal shield.

Stoop'd then that Freedom to despotic sway,
For which in many a fierce affray,
The Britons bold, the Saxons bled,
His Danish Javelins Leswin led
O'er Hastings' plain, to stay the Norman yoke?
She felt, but to resist, the sudden stroke:
The tyrant-baron grasp'd the patriot steel,
And taught the tyrant-king its force to feel;
And quick revenge the regal bondage broke.
And still, unchang'd and uncontroll'd,
Its rescued rights shall the dread empire hold;
For lo, revering Britain's cause,
A King new lustre lends to native laws,
The sacred Sovereign of this festal day
On Albion's old renown refiects a kindred ray!