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And Earth hath spilt her blood for him, Who thus can hoard his own!
And Monarchs bow'd the trembling limb, And thank'd him for a throne!
Fair Freedom! we may hold thee dear,
Oh! ne'er may tyrant leave behind
Thine evil deeds are writ in gore,
Thy triumphs tell of fame no more,
If thou hadst died as honour dies,
Weigh'd in the balance, hero dust
Thy scales, Mortality! are just
To all that pass away;
But yet methought the living great
Some higher sparks should animate,
To dazzle and dismay ;
Nor deem'd Contempt could thus make mirth Of these, the Conquerors of the earth.
And she, proud Austria's mournful flower,
How bears her breast the torturing hour?
Still clings she to thy side?
Must she too bend, must she too share
If still she loves thee, hoard that gem,
Then haste thee to thy sullen Isle,
That Corinth's pedagogue hath now
Thou Timour! in his captive's cage (5)
All sense is with thy sceptre gone,
That spirit pour'd so widely forth-
Or like the thief of fire from heaven, (6)
Foredoom'd by God-by man accurst,
And, if a mortal, had as proudly died!
ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.
Note 1, page 40, line 16.
The rapture of the strife.
Certaminis gaudia, the expression of Attila in his harangue to his army, previous to the battle of Chalons, given in Cassiodorus.
Note 2, page 41, line 10.
Note 3, page 41, line 19.
The Roman, when his burning heart.
Note 4, page 42, line 6.
The Spaniard, when the lust of sway.
Note 5, page 45, line 1.
Thou Timour! in his captive's cage.
The cage of Bajazet, by order of Tamerlane.