France: An Ode

       Table of Contents

      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-birds singing,

       Midway the smooth and perilous slope 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 flowering weeds I wound,

       Inspired, beyond the guess of folly,

       By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound!

       O ye loud Waves! and O ye Forests high!

       And O 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 air, earth, 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 sang, 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, O 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 deliverance strove!

       Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove

       A dance more wild than e’er was 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-scarr’d and gory

       Concealed with clustering wreaths of glory;

       When, insupportably advancing,

       Her arm made mockery 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, conquering 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! O forgive those 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 your mountain-snows

       With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherished

       One thought that ever blessed your cruel foes!

       To scatter rage, and traitorous 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