War wakes not now that tumult loud, Ye Wardens of the Coast, Though looming large, through dawn's dim cloud, Like an invading host The Barks of France are bearing down, One crowd of sails, while high Above the misty morning's frown Their streamers light the sky. Up!--greet for once the Tricolor, For once the lilied flag! Forth with gay barge and gilded oar, While fast the volley'd salvoes roar From batteried line, and echoing shore, And gun-engirdled crag! Forth--greet with ardent hearts and eyes, The GUEST those galleys bring; In Wisdom's walks the more than Wise-- 'Mid Kings the more than King! No nobler visitant e'er sought The Mighty's white-cliff'd isle, Where ALFRED ruled, where BACON thought, Where AVON'S waters smile: Hail to the tempest-vexed Man! Hail to the Sovereign-Sage! A wearier pilgrimage who ran Than the immortal Ithacan, Since first his great career began, Ulysses of our age! A more than regal welcome give, Ye thousands crowding round; Shout for the once lorn Fugitive, Whose soul no solace found Save in that SELF-RELIANCE--match For adverse worlds, alone-- Which cheer'd the Tutor's humble thatch, Nor left him on the throne. The WANDERER MULLER'S sails they furl-- The Wave-encounterer, who, When Freedom leagued with Crime to hurl Up earth's foundations, from the whirl Where vortex'd Empires raged, the pearl Of matchless Prudence drew. V. Shout for the Husband and the Sire, Whose children, train'd to truth, Repaid in feeling, grace, and fire, The lessons taught their youth. Recall his grief when bent above His rose-zoned daughter's clay, Beside whose marble, lifeless, Love, And Art, and Genius lay.[44] And his be homage still more dread, From our mute spirits won, For tears of heart-wrung anguish shed, When with that gray "discrowned head," On foot he follow'd to the dead His gallant, princely son. VI. Shout for the Hero and the King In soul serene--alike, If suppliant States the sceptre bring, Or banded traitors strike! Oh, if at times a thrall too strong Round Freedom's form be laid, Where Faction works by wrath and wrong His pardon be display'd. Be his this praise--unspoil'd by power His course benignly ran, A MONARCH, mindful of the hour He felt misfortune's wintry shower, A MAN, from hall to peasant's bower, The common friend of Man. VII.