OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD.
SPIRIT, who sitt'st in solitude, unseen, Watching the change of nations, as they roll Their fated round, beneath the wing of Time, That ever with it's swift and ceaseless strokes Brings manifest alteration; now a gleam Of joyous sun-shine pouring, and e'en now Plunging in total darkness man and all His vaunted powers: Spirit, who hast seen This awful change, as down oblivion's gulf With swelling sail, full tide, and surges high We fated speed, give ear unto my song! Meanwhile, if strength possessing, from the grasp Of dire Oppression it essays to sing
Man's proud deliverance, when the' assembled chiefs Woke Europe into arms, and pour'd their might Upon the Asian Continent, as thick
As are the locust-armies in the breeze; What time Christ's Sepulchre from Paynim hands They strove to liberate, and their toilsome way Unto the Holy Land fervid they bent.
Time was, o'er Europe's desolated plain
Her ebon wand and cowl of sable hue
Grim Superstition spread. Oppression then Frown'd from his feudal castle, and with heel Contemptuous spurn'd the vassal croud below. Oh, 'twas a time of darkness! for the spirit Of man was humbled, and he plenteous drank The bitter draught of slavery: he had not A pleasant home of quietude and rest, A peaceful dwelling in the tufted woods And vocal waters bosom'd; but he heard Instead of the soft music of the vale, Soft music from oat-pipe, or pastoral reed, Far other notes, and sounds of sadder tone. Unceasing gall'd the fetter, and the scourge Tore every throbbing vein: then, quite subdue'd And plung'd in such calamitous constraint, Himself of heaven descended, and of earth A freeman, he forgot ;-till his mind sunk, And with the body's bondage felt it's own. -So was it darkness in the land, and all Lay wrapt in lethargy: blind Ignorance wav'd His leaden sceptre, and with cold, dull touch Spread wide his clustering mildew. Spring arose And op'd her flowers in vain; in vain around Her roses Summer strew'd;-for none were there To taste their breathing sweet: the purple brow Of Autumn glow'd; and not a cheerful sound, And not a merry carol hail'd him in. Seasons return'd; but not to man return'd Hope or deliverance; with the herds he held Sad, painful sojourn, and his lapsed powers Almost forgot:-so farewell hope! farewell All noble enterprize! on every gale
The shrieks of anguish came; unceasing howl'd The fiends of famine, and the dogs of death.
But who is he?-yon Eremite ?-that cries To all the sons of Europe," Rouse to war?" Bare is his head, and with unshrinking foot He mocks the pointed flint; while on his cheek Glows love of enterprize, and his quick eye Darts forth unusual fervour. Bolder now Blows he the blast of terror: at the sound The Soldan sinks recoiling, and in vain To Alla weeps. Obedient Europe hears The call; the fetters from her armed hands Drop; and in adamant and complete steel She waves the crimson banner. Thither flock Myriads of gathering people; for, all lov'd The pleasing sorcery, and could not choose But join the throng. Forth from his midnight cave, Where late the secret work of death he ply'd, The daring robber creeps; the peasant wields The scythe, now raging in the ranks of war. Here croud the knights, their rich retinue led, Their grooms and coursers; here the baron waves His gorgeous Oriflamme; kings, prelates, here Pour to the holy standard: thick they seem'd As those embodied forces which at Thebes Or Ilium conquer'd, or those numerous bands Headed by Charlemagne. Ambition's sons Came flocking here, and here the scoundrel train Of Avarice, all their bestial views conceal'd Under Religion's garb for, Fancy play'd In thousand orient hues, and lov❜d to build Her gorgeous imagery, their fond hopes belying With sweet delusion. Thus, not few entic'd The mines of gold and jasper, the sweet groves Of balm and myrrh and nard, where every gale Drops perfume from it's wings; and not a few
The black-eye'd Maids of Paradise, who wave Amid the myrtle bowers their raven locks, And, as they weave the choral dance, instruct The look to languish, and the breath to sigh.
Now was it busy in the land; now glow'd The martial phrenzy: (as the ceaseless hum Of the home-coming bees at even-tide, When the sun sinks, and from the quiet cot The light blue smoke ascends :) in every gale Bray'd the loud clarion, to the noon-day sun Emblazon'd armour flash'd, the pennons broad Flutter'd their streaming points, and wav'd traverse On their high standard glittering: to the Cross All bow'd in adoration, and all call'd Upon the living God to lead them on.
-And on they went, panting with eager hope, Ill-starr'd and ill-conducted, on they went.
Yet were they flush'd with slaughter, yet they were Laden with booty large of gold and gem And radiant purple, till they' almost forgot God's business, and with paramount step and pride Their haughty rod of desolation shook On every foe. They went like the tall ship Of some rich burgher, to the Venetian bound Beyond the Southern Cape, in proud career Above the green wave tilting. Yet their pomp, Their pride, and all their garniture of war, And gay habiliments, (vain hopes and weak !) Their coursers champing the rich curb, and swift Their hawks that mock'd the winds, and dogs that
The Echo sleeping on the breast of Morn,
All could not save. Alas! how chang'd, how fallen From former pomp and pride.-So was that change
In Eden, when his form of cherub grace, His orient hues, and wings bedropt with gold, Satan had doff'd, and bade each nobler limb Shrink in the reptile's form: oh! such a sight War now appear'd; and as he sail'd aloof, With talon sheath'd, his long expected feast The famish'd raven snuff'd. While on they mov'd, 130 With difficulty and labour, cursing oft Their journey unfortunate: for, not now O'er sunny uplands pass'd they, or rich vales, Or flowery meadows; but the hot, hot sand Stretch'd like the ocean's line, and not a breeze Play'd on their throbbing temples, but they drank The simoom's purple breath, and every plague Infectious. Shadowing o'er the fainting van Pale Famine rear'd his hideous form, and howl'd Unto his brother Thirst, who vampire-like Sate panting in the rear, with iron gripe His daily victim seizing, and each fount,
Each chrystal spring, that might have slak'd the lip Of parched myriads, and the blood-shot eye Reviv'd, drove deep into their gelid beds. Oh, it was foul to see them! for, they lay Lean skeletons along, dug here and there By the wild vulture, and their bones were strewn Upon the shore, and whiten'd all the plain.
Sons of Ambition, how your crest is fallen! Was this your pomp? was this, that to the sun The flashing cymbal play'd, the clarion blew. It's clear, full swell, and streaming in the breeze The crimson banner wav'd? Those mighty shouts, The preparation, and the pomp of war, Taunts of the tongue, and menace of the eye, Was it for this? Alas, I know you not!
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