VII. A people's voice! we are a people yet. Tho' all men else their nobler dreams forget, Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers; Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set His Briton in blown seas and storming showers, We have a voice, with which to pay the debt Of boundless love and reverence and regret To those great men who fought, and kept it ours. And keep it ours, O God, from brute control; O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul Of Europe, keep our noble England whole, And save the one true seed of freedom sown Betwixt a people and their ancient throne, That sober freedom out of which there springs Our loyal passion for our temperate kings; For, saving that, ye help to save mankind Till public wrong be crumbled into dust, And drill the raw world for the march of mind, Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be just. But wink no more in slothful overtrust. Remember him who led your hosts; He bad you guard the sacred coasts. Your cannons moulder on the seaward wall; His voice is silent in your council-hall He spoke among you, and the Man who spoke ; Who never sold the truth to serve the hour, Nor palter'd with Eternal God for power; Who let the turbid streams of rumour flow Thro' either babbling world of high and low; Whose life was work, whose language rife With rugged maxims hewn from life; All great self-seekers trampling on the right: Truth-teller was our England's Alfred named; Truth-lover was our English Duke; Whatever record leap to light He never shall be shamed. VIII. Lo, the leader in these glorious wars The path of duty was the way to glory : For the right, and learns to deaden S 258 ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. Whom we see not we revere ; We revere, and we refrain From talk of battles loud and vain, And brawling memories all too free As befits a solemn fane : We revere, and while we hear Uplifted high in heart and hope are we, For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill roll Round us, each with different powers, trust. Hush, the Dead March wails in the people's ears: The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears: The black earth yawns: the mortal disappears; Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; He is gone who seem'd so great.— And in the vast cathedral leave him. 1852. If you be fearful, then must we be bold. Our Britain cannot salve a tyrant o'er. Better the waste Atlantic roll'd On her and us and ours for evermore. What! have we fought for Freedom from our prime, At last to dodge and palter with a public crime? Shall we fear him? our own we never fear'd. From our first Charles by force we wrung our claims. Prick'd by the Papal spur, we rear'd, James. I say, we never feared! and as for these, We broke them on the land, we drove them on the seas. And you, my Lords, you make the people muse In doubt if you be of our Barons' breedWere those your sires who fought at Lewes ? Is this the manly strain of Runnymede? O fall'n nobility, that, overawed, Would lisp in honey'd whispers of this monstrous fraud ! We feel, at least, that silence here were sin, Not ours the fault if we have feeble hosts If easy patrons of their kin Have left the last free race with naked coasts! They knew the precious things they had to guard : For us, we will not spare the tyrant one hard word. Tho' niggard throats of Manchester may bawl, What England was, shall her true sons forget? We are not cotton-spinners all, But some love England and her honour yet. And these in our Thermopyle shall stand, And hold against the world this honour of the land. |