How does it stand? [To a Recording Angel] Open and chant the page Thou'st lately writ, that sums these happenings, In brief reminder of their instant points Slighted by us amid our converse here. RECORDING ANGEL [from a book, in recitative] Now mellow-eyed Peace is made captive, And Vengeance is chartered To deal forth its dooms on the Peoples With sword and with spear. Men's musings are busy with forecasts Of muster and battle, And visions of shock and disaster Rise red on the year. The easternmost ruler sits wistful, And tense he to midward; The King to the west mans his borders In front and in rear. While one they eye, flushed from his crowning, Ranks legions around him To shake the enisled neighbour nation And close her career! SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS [aerial music] O woven-winged squadrons of Toulon And fellows of Rochefort, Wait, wait for a wind, and draw westward Ere Nelson be near! For he reads not your force, or your freightage Of warriors fell-handed, Or when they will join for the onset, Or whither they steer! SEMICHORUS II O Nelson, so zealous a watcher Through months-long of cruizing, Thy foes may elide thee a moment, Put forth, and get clear; And rendezvous westerly straightway With Spain's aiding navies, And hasten to head violation Of Albion's frontier! SPIRIT OF THE YEARS Methinks too much assurance thrills your note On secrets in my locker, gentle sprites; But it may serve.--Our thought being now reflexed To forces operant on this English isle, Behoves it us to enter scene by scene, And watch the spectacle of Europe's moves In her embroil, as they were self-ordained According to the naive and liberal creed Of our great-hearted young Compassionates, Forgetting the Prime Mover of the gear, As puppet-watchers him who pulls the strings.-- You'll mark the twitchings of this Bonaparte As he with other figures foots his reel, Until he twitch him into his lonely grave: Also regard the frail ones that his flings Have made gyrate like animalcula In tepid pools.--Hence to the precinct, then, And count as framework to the stagery Yon architraves of sunbeam-smitten cloud.-- So may ye judge Earth's jackaclocks to be No fugled by one Will, but function-free.