In bitter bonds a people to oppress, Who stepped between thee and death's bitterness; Would that the Turk were at thy walls again! · That Kara Mustapha once more were raging on the plain! Ah! this were needless, for the time has flown Thy haughty nobles might have dared his power, Thy broad lands desolate, thine armies slain, And thy black eagle trampled on the plain. Furnish a clan of no inferior mind. Look at her warriors,-Sobieski stands Not solitary in his country's bands; That noble patriot, Kosciusko, shines A stem triumphant 'mid her forest pines; Sometimes the sea heaves gently, as a child Sped swiftly from his bow whom Homer sung,- Until, exhausted with its airy flight, It seeks again the bosom of the deep. And ever and anon a sudden change Comes over sea and sky, which makes to shrink Darkens, contracts; the sea turns black as ink; The windows of th' aerial vault are sealed By Him who said unto the raging storm, "Peace, be thou still!" and straight it sank to rest. Then the fierce Spirit of the Hurricane, In storm and darkness, rushes booming on, And crushing down, with sheer tremendous power, The dashing, howling ridges of the deep, Into one level plain of foaming sea. Thus those proud powers, beneath whose subtle wiles Though now they bask beneath the sunny smiles And rear a proud, unblushing front on high, And blazon forth their guilt without remorse, Shall meet the hour, that even now is nigh To burst upon them with appalling force. Which guilty nations all must know. Jehovah's thunders in his hands; Then Poland's wrongs must meet their due, Be expiated with the world to view. Thus spake the Spirit of the Stream, From out my mind this wondrous spell; And, as I pondered on the sight My wond'ring fancy saw that night, Some remedy, ere Poland dies. But would the Muse impartial view the scene, She must recount, in numbering Poland's woes, 'Twas Discord's hateful sway That shook her power, And left her a defenceless prey To those who, in her fatal hour, Seized on her ancient realms, and swept them all away. O Anarchy, thou desolating power, And, as some proud but undermined tower, Enthralled, diseased, ay, petrified, by vice. And, having snared and crushed and torn thy prey, Thou laugh'st to see the mangled carcase lie; Then spread'st thy scaly wings, and soar'st away, To seek fresh victims 'neath another sky. In the glitt'ring seas of the western main, Where the spice groves sweetly surcharge the breeze; Where "the vexed Bermoothes" frown among Cærulean isles, a resplendent throng; Where the glorious planet Venus gleams With all her most enchanting beams, |