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For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim:
I dimm'd thy light or damp'd thy holy flame;
But blest the pæans of deliver'd France,
And hung my head and wept at Britain's name.
III.
With that sweet music of deliverance strove?
Though all the fierce and drunken passions wove
A dance more wild than e'er was maniac's dream?
Ye storms, that round the dawning east assembled,
The Sun was rising, though ye hid his light!"
And when, to sooth my soul, that hoped and trembled,
The dissonance ceas'd, and all seem'd calm and bright;
When France her front deep-scar'd and gory
Conceal'd with clustering wreaths of glory;
When, insupportably advancing,
Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp;
While timid looks of fury glancing,
Domestic treason, crush'd beneath her fatal stamp,
Writh'd like a wounded dragon in his gore;
Then I reproach'd my fears that would not flee;
"And soon," I said, "shall Wisdom teach her lore
In the low huts of them that toil and groan!
And, conquering by her happiness alone,
