16
PRIZE POEMS.
Push'd from its base his idol Victory falls,
Unbodied furies howl along the walls,
Empurpled Ocean glows with slaughter dyed,
And hoary Thames beneath his glassy tide,
Unseen before, his shadowy towers displays,
And wrecks of palaces of former days;
As if some nation once that rose sublime,
Once proud like Rome, and deep like her in crime,
Would lift its head and break its long repose
To warn the tyrant of impending woes.
O sinking Albion, yet again arise,
Rear thy fair front, and lift thy gladden'd eyes;
Feel all a mother's joy thy sons to see
Grasp the red blade for freedom and for thee.
Pour'd from the pathless glen, the forest's gloom,
Fierce as their native bands of wolves they come;
Dark-frowning chiefs, and shaggy forms appear,
Burning for blood, and shake the thirsty spear
While 'mid the throng, like whiten'd foam that laves
The restless ocean's darkly-rolling waves,
The hoary Bards and white-robed Druids fling
The song of battle from the trembling string.
But why above the throng observant strains
Each eager gaze o'er all the crowded plains?
'Tis she!—above the countless thousands seen
Lifts her exalted form, the Warrior-Queen:
Her lofty forehead mark'd with high command,
And stamp'd with majesty by Nature's hand;
Indignant Freedom glows upon her cheeks,
But on her front no milder passion speaks,
Severe and stern;—not her's the gentler grace,
The melting eye, the fascinating face,
The charms that o'er each speaking feature rove,
And fix the gaze, and steal the soul to love;
No—would'st thou view fair Woman's softer mould?
Then by her side those sister forms behold;
Unbodied furies howl along the walls,
Empurpled Ocean glows with slaughter dyed,
And hoary Thames beneath his glassy tide,
Unseen before, his shadowy towers displays,
And wrecks of palaces of former days;
As if some nation once that rose sublime,
Once proud like Rome, and deep like her in crime,
Would lift its head and break its long repose
To warn the tyrant of impending woes.
O sinking Albion, yet again arise,
Rear thy fair front, and lift thy gladden'd eyes;
Feel all a mother's joy thy sons to see
Grasp the red blade for freedom and for thee.
Pour'd from the pathless glen, the forest's gloom,
Fierce as their native bands of wolves they come;
Dark-frowning chiefs, and shaggy forms appear,
Burning for blood, and shake the thirsty spear
While 'mid the throng, like whiten'd foam that laves
The restless ocean's darkly-rolling waves,
The hoary Bards and white-robed Druids fling
The song of battle from the trembling string.
But why above the throng observant strains
Each eager gaze o'er all the crowded plains?
'Tis she!—above the countless thousands seen
Lifts her exalted form, the Warrior-Queen:
Her lofty forehead mark'd with high command,
And stamp'd with majesty by Nature's hand;
Indignant Freedom glows upon her cheeks,
But on her front no milder passion speaks,
Severe and stern;—not her's the gentler grace,
The melting eye, the fascinating face,
The charms that o'er each speaking feature rove,
And fix the gaze, and steal the soul to love;
No—would'st thou view fair Woman's softer mould?
Then by her side those sister forms behold;
