Calvert! it must not be unheard by them Who may respect my name that I to thee Ow'd many years of early liberty. This care was thine when sickness did condemn Thy youth to hopeless wasting, root and stem: That I, if frugal and severe, might stray Where'er I liked; and finally array My temples with the Muse's diadem. Hence, if in freedom I have lov'd the truth, If there be aught of pure, or good, or great, In my past verse; or shall be, in the lays Of higher mood, which now I meditate, It gladdens me, O worthy, short-lived Youth! To think how much of this will be thy praise. END OF THE FIRST PART. PART THE SECOND. SONNETS DEDICATED _TO LIBERTY_. 1. COMPOSED BY THE _SEA-SIDE, near CALAIS_, August, 1802. Fair Star of Evening, Splendor of the West, Star of my Country! on the horizon's brink Thou hangest, stooping, as might seem, to sink On England's bosom; yet well pleas'd to rest, Meanwhile, and be to her a glorious crest Conspicuous to the Nations. Thou, I think, Should'st be my Country's emblem; and should'st wink, Bright Star! with laughter on her banners, drest In thy fresh beauty. There! that dusky spot Beneath thee, it is England; there it lies. Blessings be on you both! one hope, one lot, One life, one glory! I, with many a fear For my dear Country, many heartfelt sighs, Among Men who do not love her linger here. 2. _CALAIS_, August, 1802. Is it a Reed that's shaken by the wind, Or what is it that ye go forth to see? Lords, Lawyers, Statesmen, Squires of low degree, Men known, and men unknown, Sick, Lame, and Blind, Post forward all, like Creatures of one kind, With first-fruit offerings crowd to bend the knee In France, before the new-born Majesty. 'Tis ever thus. Ye Men of prostrate mind! A seemly reverence may be paid to power; But that's a loyal virtue, never sown In haste, nor springing with a transient shower: When truth, when sense, when liberty were flown What hardship had it been to wait an hour? Shame on you, feeble Heads, to slavery prone! 3. TO A FRIEND, COMPOSED NEAR CALAIS, On the Road leading to Ardres, August 7th, 1802. Jones! when from Calais southward you and I Travell'd on foot together; then this Way, Which I am pacing now, was like the May With festivals of new-born Liberty: A homeless sound of joy was in the Sky; The antiquated Earth, as one might say, Beat like the heart of Man: songs, garlands, play, Banners, and happy faces, far and nigh! And now, sole register that these things were, Two solitary greetings have I heard, "_Good morrow, Citizen_!" a hollow word, As if a dead Man spake it! Yet despair I feel not: happy am I as a Bird: Fair seasons yet will come, and hopes as fair. 4.