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Other support, not scrupulous whence it came,
And by what compromise it stood, not nice?
Enough if notions seemed to be high-pitched,
And qualities determined.--Ruling such,
And with such herding, I maintained a strife
Hopeless, and still more hopeless every hour ;
But, in the process, I began to feel
That, if the emancipation of the world
Were missed, I should at least secure my own,
And be in part compensated. For rights,
Widely-inveterately usurped upon,
I spake with vehemence; and promptly seized
Whate'er Abstraction furnished for

my

needs Or purposes; nor scrupled to proclaim, And propagate, by liberty of life, Those new persuasions. Not that I rejoiced, Or even found pleasure, in such vagrant course, For its own sake; but farthest from the walk Which I had trod in happiness and peace, Was most inviting to a troubled mind; That, in a struggling and distempered world, Beheld a cherished image of itself. Yet, mark the contradictions of which Man

Is still the sport! Here Nature was my guide,
The Nature of the dissolute; but Thee,
O fostering Nature! I rejected, smiled
At others' tears in pity; and in scorn
At those, which thy soft influence sometimes drew
From my unguarded heart. The tranquil shores
Of Britain circumscribed me ; else, perhaps,
I might have been entangled among deeds,
Which, now, as infamous, I should abhor-
Despise, as senseless : for I strangely relished
The exasperated spirit of that Land,
Which turned an angry beak against the down
Of its own breast; as if it hoped, thereby,
To disencumber its impatient wings.
-But all was quieted by iron bonds
Of military sway. The shifting aims,
The moral interests, the creative might,
The varied functions and high attributes
Of civil Action, yielded to a Power
Formal, and odious, and contemptible.
-In Britain, ruled a panic dread of change;
The weak were praised, rewarded, and advanced ;
And, from the impulse of a just disdain,

Once more did I retire into myself.
There feeling no contentment, I resolved
To fly, for safeguard, to some foreign shore,
Remote from Europe; from her blasted hopes ;
Her fields of carnage, and polluted air.

Fresh blew the wind, when o'er the Atlantic Main The Ship went gliding with her thoughtless crew: And who among them but an Exile, freed From discontent, indifferent, pleased to sit Among the busily-employed, not more With obligation charged, with service taxed, Than the loose pendant to the idle wind Upon the tall mast, streaming! But, ye Powers Of soul and sense-mysteriously allied, O, never let the Wretched, if a choice Be left him, trust the freight of his distress To a long voyage on the silent deep! For, like a Plague, will Memory break out, And, in the blank and solitude of things, Upon his Spirit, with a fever's strength, Will Conscience prey.-Feebly must They have felt Who, in old time, attired with snakes and whips

The vengeful Furies. Beautiful regards
Were turned on me--the face of her I loved :
The Wife and Mother, pitifully fixing
Tender reproaches, insupportable !
Where now that boasted liberty? No welcome
From unknown Objects I received ; and those,
Known and familiar, which the vaulted sky
Did, in the placid clearness of the night,
Disclose, had accusations to prefer
Against my peace. Within the cabin stood
That Volume-as a compass for the soul-
Revered among the Nations. I implored
Its guidance; but the infallible support
Of faith was wanting. Tell me, why refused
To One by storms annoyed and adverse winds,
Perplexed with currents, of his weakness sick,
Of vain endeavours tired, and by his own,
And by his Nature's ignorance, dismayed.

Long-wished-for sight, the Western World appeared; And, when the Ship was, moored, I leapt ashore Indignantly resolved to be a Man, Who, having o'er the past, no power, would live

No longer in subjection to the past,
With abject mind—from a tyrannic Lord
Inviting penance, fruitlessly endured.
So like a Fugitive, whose feet have cleared
Some boundary, which his Followers may not cross
In prosecution of their deadly chace,
Respiring I looked round.-How bright the Sun,
How promising the Breeze! Can aught produced
In the old World compare, thought I, for power
And majesty with this gigantic Stream,
Sprung from the Desart? And behold, a City
Fresh, youthful, and aspiring! What are these
To me, or I to them? As much at least
As He desires that they should be, whom winds
And waves have wasted to this distant shore,
In the condition of a damaged seed,
Whose fibres cannot, if they would take root.
Here may I roam at large ;-my business is,
Roaming at large, to observe, and not to feel ;
And, therefore, not to act-convinced that all
Which bears the name of action, howsoe’er
Beginning, ends in servitude still painful,
And mostly profitless. And, sooth to say,

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