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O blind to honour, and to interest blind,

When thus in abject servitude resign'd
To this barbarian upstart, thou couldst brave
God's justice, and the heart of humankind !
Madly thou thoughtest to enslave the world,

Thyself the while a miserable slave; Behold the flag of vengeance is unfurld! The dreadful armies of the North advance ; While England, Portugal, and Spain combined

Give their triumphant banners to the wind,
And stand victorious in the fields of France.

7. One man hath been for ten long wretched years The cause of all this blood and all these tears ;

One man in this most aweful point of time Draws on thy danger, as he caused thy crime.

Wait not too long the event,
For now whole Europe comes against thee bent ;
His wiles and their own strength the nations know;
Wise from past wrongs, on future peace intent,

The People and the Princes, with one mind,
From all parts move against the general foe:
One act of justice, one atoning blow,

One execrable head laid low,
Even yet, O France! averts thy punishment :
Open thine eyes! too long hast thou been blind ;
Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind!

8.
France! if thou lov'st thine ancient fame,

Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame!
By the bones that bleach on Jaffa's. beach ;

By the blood which on Domingo's shore

Hath clogg'd the carrion-birds with gore ;
By the flesh that gorged the wolves of Spain,
Or stiffen'd on the snowy plain

Of frozen Muscovy;

By the bodies that lie all open to the sky,
Tracking from Elbe to Rhine the Tyrant's flight;

By the widow's and the orphan's cry,

By the childless parent's misery,
By the lives which he hath shed,

By the ruin he hath spread,
By the prayers that rise for curses on his head,

Redeem, O France! thine ancient fame,

Revenge thy sufferings and thy shame;
Open thine eyes! . . too long hast thou been blind;

Take vengeance for thyself, and for mankind !

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9.
By those horrors which the night
Witness'd, when the torches' light
To the assembled murderers show'd
Where the blood of Condé flow'd ;

By thy murder'd Pichegru's fame ;
By murder'd Wright, . . an English name ;
By murder'd Palm's atrocious doom ;

By murder'd Hofer's martyrdom ;
Oh! by the virtuous blood thus vilely spilt,

The Villain's own peculiar private guilt,
Open thine eyes ! too long hast thou been blind!

Take vengeance for thyself and for mankind !

FUNERAL ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE

In its summer pride array'd,
Low our Tree of Hope is laid !
Low it lies :. in evil hour,
Visiting the bridal bower,
Death hath levell’d root and flower.
Windsor, in thy sacred shade,
(This the end of pomp and power!)
Have the rites of death been paid :
Windsor, in thy sacred shade
Is the Flower of Brunswick laid!

Ye whose relics rest around,
Tenants of this funeral ground!
Know ye, Spirits, who is come,
By immitigable doom
Summond to the untimely tomb ?
Late with youth and splendour crown'd,
Late in beauty's vernal bloom,
Late with love and joyaunce blest;
Never more lamented guest
Was in Windsor laid to rest.

Henry, thou of saintly worth,
Thou, to whom thy Windsor gave
Nativity and name, and grave;
Thou art in this hallowed earth
Cradled for the immortal birth!
Heavily upon his head
Ancestral crimes were visited :
He, in spirit like a child,
Meek of heart and undefiled,
Patiently his crown resign'd,
And fix'd on heaven his heavenly mind,
Blessing, while he kiss'd the rod,
His Redeemer and his God.
Now may he in realms of bliss
Greet a soul as pure as his.

Passive as that humble spirit,
Lies his bold dethroner too ;
A dreadful debt did he inherit
To his injured lineage due ;
Ill-starr'd prince, whose martial merit
His own England long might rue!
Mournful was that Edward's fame,
Won in fields contested well,
While he sought his rightful claim :
Witness Aire's unhappy water,
Where the ruthless Clifford fell ;
And when Wharfe ran red with slaughter,

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On the day of Towton's field,
Gathering, in its guilty flood,
The carnage and the ill-spilt blood
That forty thousand lives could yield.
Cressy was to this but sport,-
Poictiers but

pageant vain;
And the victory of Spain
Seem'd a strife for pastime meant,
And the work of Agincourt
Only like a tournament ;
Half the blood which there was spent
Had sufficed again to gain
Anjou and ill-yielded Maine,
Normandy and Aquitaine ;
And Our Lady's Ancient towers,
Maugre all the Valois' powers,
Had a second time been ours. -
A gentle daughter of thy line,
Edward, lays her dust with thine.

Thou, Elizabeth, art here; Thou to whom all griefs were known ; Who wert placed upon the bier In happier hour than on the throne. Fatal daughter, fatal mother, Raised to that ill-omen'd station, Father, uncle, sons, and brother, Mourn'd in blood her elevation ! Woodville, in the realms of bliss, To thine offspring thou may'st say, Early death is happiness; And favour'd in their lot are they Who are not left to learn below That length of life is length of woe. Lightly let this ground be prest; A broken heart is here at rest.

But thou, Seymour, with a greeting, Such as sisters use at meeting, Joy, and sympathy, and love, Wilt hail her in the seats above.

Like in loveliness were ye,
By a like lamented doom,
Hurried to an early tomb.
While together, spirits blest,
Here your earthly relics rest,
Fellow angels shall ye be
In the angelic company.

Henry, too, hath here his part; At the gentle Seymour's side, With his best beloved bride, Cold and quiet, here are laid The ashes of that fiery heart. Not with his tyrannic spirit Shall our Charlotte's soul inherit; No, by Fisher's hoary head, By More, the learned and the good, By Katharine's wrongs and Boleyn's blood, By the life so basely shed Of the pride of Norfolk's line, By the axe so often red, By the fire with martyrs fed, Hateful Henry, not with thee May her happy spirit be!

And here lies one whose tragic name A reverential thought may claim ; That murder'd Monarch, whom the grave, Revealing its long secret, gave Again to sight, that we might spy His comely face and waking eye! There, thrice fifty years, it lay, Exempt from natural decay, Unclosed and bright, as if to say, A plague, of bloodier, baser birth, Than that beneath whose rage he bled, Was loose upon our guilty earth ;Such aweful warning from the dead, Was given by that portentous eye; Then it closed eternally.

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