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Of sight, and worthless in the trader's eyes, The only remnant to a father left Of all his children; he the best beloved, Because most helpless, yet no prayer will move The felon merchant to admit the child To share the fetters, which his father bind. And now he gains upon the sounding oars, That guide his following course ; and now the side Eager he grasps ; and though still pushed away, Still he returns, till frequent on his hands He feels the bruising blow; then down he sinks, Nor makes one faint endeavour for his life. O God! how large a portion of the ills Of humankind, derives itself from man !

Grahame.

ODE FROM THE FRENCH.

I.

We do not curse thee, Waterloo !

Though freedom's blood thy plain bedew;
There 'twas shed, but is not sunk-
Rising from each gory trunk,
Like the water-spout from ocean,
With a strong and growing motion

It soars and mingles in the air,
With that of lost Labedoyere-
With that of him whose honoured

grave
Contains the bravest of the brave.'
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder-
Never yet was heard such thunder
As then shall shake the world with wonder
Never yet was seen such lightning
As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning!
Like the wormwood star foretold
By the sainted seer of old,
Showering down a fiery flood,
Turning rivers into blood.

II.

The chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo !
When the soldier citizen
Swayed not o'er his fellow men-
Save in deeds that led them on
Where glory smiled on freedom's son-
Who, of all the despots banded,

With that youthful chief competed ?

Who could boast of France defeated, Till lone tyranny commanded ?

Till, goaded by ambition's sting,
The hero sunk into the king ?
Then he fell ;-So perish all
Who would men by man enthral.

IlI. And thou too of the snow-white plume ! Whose realm refused thee even a tomb ; Better hadst thou still been leading France o'er bosts of hirelings bleeding, Than sold thyself to death and shame For a meanly royal name; Such as he of Naples wears, Who thy blood-bought title bears, Little didst thou deem, when dashing

On thy war borse through the ranks,

Like a stream which burst its banks, While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, Shone and shivered fast around thee, Of the fate at last which found thee ! Was that haughty plume laid low By a slave's dishonest blow ? Once as the moon sways o'er the tide, It rolled in air, the warrior's guide ; Through the smoke-created night Of the black and sulphurous fight,

The soldier raised bis seekings eyes
To catch that crest's ascendency,..
And, as it onward rolling rose,
So moved his heart upon our foesa : -
There, where death's brief pang was quickest,
And the battle's wreck lay thickesty
Strewed beneath the advancing banner

Of the eagle's burning crest
(There with thunder clouds to fan her,

Who could then ber wing arrest

Victory beaming from her breast ?)
While the broken line enlarging

Fell or fled along the plain ;
There be sure was Murat charging I

There he ne'er shall charge again!

IV.

O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps triumph o'er each levelled arch,
But let freedom rejoices
With her heart in her voice ;,
But, her band on her sword, .
Doubly shall she be adored ;
France has twice too well been taught :
The moral lesson' dearly bought us
Her safety sits not on a thronelikvere
With Capet or Napoleon !

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But in equal rights and laws,
Hearts and hands in one great cause
Freedom, such as God hath given
Unto all beneath his heaven,
With their breath, and from their birth,
Though guilt would sweep it from the earth,
With a fierce and lavish hand
Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter !

V.

But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind,
Shall arise in communion-
And who shall resist that proud union ?
The time is passed when swords subdued-
Man
may

die—the soul's renewed :
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir ;
Millions breathe but to inherit
Her for ever-bounding spirit-
When once more her hosts assemble,
Tyrants shall believe and tremble-
Smile they at this idle threat ?
Crimson tears would follow yet.

Byrı

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