"And what," I said, "though Blasphemy's loud scream 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 soothe my soul, that hoped and trembled, The dissonance ceas'd, and all seem'd calm and bright; When France her front deep-scarr'd and gory Conceal'd with clustering wreaths of glory; When, insupportably advancing, Her arm made mockery of the warrior's tramp, 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, Shall France compel the nations to be free, Till Love and Joy look round, and call the earth their own." IV. Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams! I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament, From bleak Helvetia's icy cavern sent,-- I hear thy groans upon her blood-stain'd streams! Heroes, that for your peaceful country perish'd, And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain-snows With bleeding wounds, forgive me, that I cherish'd One thought that ever bless'd your cruel foes! To scatter rage, and traitorous guilt, Where Peace her jealous home had built; A patriot-race to disinherit Of all that made their stormy wilds so dear, And with inexpiable spirit To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer,-- O France, that mockest Heaven, adulterous, blind, And patriot only in pernicious toils, Are these thy boasts, champion of human kind? To mix with kings in the low lust of sway, Yell in the hunt, and share the murderous prey; To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils From freemen torn; to tempt and to betray? V.