Before Thee, Homer's name, Ere Greece was named, went forth ; And, like a word of flame, Glared Alaric from the North. Methinks I hear thy voice, Prophetic, at this hour Where evil powers rejoice, A word of fatal tone, The blind shall hear and see; A word of fire unblown On them shall written be. Lo! things of earth combine, Bid God his power resign! And clench their fists at God. And dreadful art Thou, Lord, Thy words are dreadful then, When men make law a sword, The dust of patriots dead Hears then thy stillest tones; Pale tyrants, waxing red, Crouch frighted on their thrones; For wrongs go forth in might, When vengeance strikes for right, WRONG not the labouring poor by whom ye live! Wrong not your humble fellow-worms, ye proud! For God will not the poor man's wrongs forgive, But hear his plea, and have his plea allowed. O be not like the vapours, splendour roll'd, That, sprung from earth's green breast, usurp the sky, Then spread around contagion black and cold, No! imitate the bounteous clouds, that rise, Yes! emulate the mountain and the flood, That trade in blessings with the mighty deep; Till, sooth'd to peace, and satisfied with good, Man's heart be happy as a child asleep. LORD! not for vengeance rave the wrong'd, That scourged the proud of wretched Rome, To make all life a funeral. But not in vain thy millions call THE UNWRITTEN WORD. HAST thou not spoken, God, When wrongs unchain the slave; And slaves make every sod A slave's or tyrant's grave? Dost Thou not speak to all, When names, made bright by thee, Blaze comet-like, and fall From heaven to obloquy? How like a trumpet's blast, By thee in whirlwind blown, Thy stern Napoleon past Through shrieks of states o'erthrown! What crush'd him, disarray'd, When perish'd man and steed? Thy outraged laws of trade! They crush'd him, like a weed! A voice of many sighs, Woe's still small voice of doom, Whisper'd and seas and skies Sang, "Lo, the Island-Tomb!" For hosts, of many tongues, That voice array'd in might; A universe of wrongs Arm'd wrongers for the right. But cursed by battles won, What learn'd they, triumph-taught? That victory, self-undone, Hath lost the fight unfought. Napoleon could not shake When shall we hear again Thy still small whisper, God? If still thy name is love, Be Labour's sons thy care! Deaf reptiles! they devour EPITAPH. FOR A MONUMENT TO MAJOR CARTWRIGHT. HERE lies the man, for virtues only known, |