Open thine eye of fire from some uncertain cloud! Hark! how wide Nature joins her groans below! VII. Not yet enslaved, not wholly vile, Or sacked thy towers, or stained thy fields with gore. VIII. Abandoned of Heaven! mad Avarice thy guide, At cowardly distance, yet kindling with pride— 'Mid thy herds and thy corn-fields secure thou hast stood, And joined the wild yelling of Famine and Blood! The nations curse thee ! IX. Away, my soul, away! In vain, in vain the birds of warning sing— I, unpartaking of the evil thing, Have wailed my country with a loud lament. Now I recentre my immortal mind In the deep sabbath of meek self-content; Cleansed from the vaporous passions that bedim God's image, sister of the seraphim. |