And what of England—Is she steeped so low In poverty, crest-fallen, and palsied so, That we must sit much wroth, but timorous more, With murder knocking at our neighbour’s door!— Not murder masked and cloaked with hidden knife, Whose owner owes the gallows life for life; But _Public Murder!_—that with pomp and gaud, And royal scorn of Justice walks abroad To wring more tears and blood than e’er were wrung By all the culprits Justice ever hung! We read the diademed Assassin’s vaunt, And wince, and wish we had not hearts to pant With useless indignation—sigh, and frown, But have not hearts to throw the gauntlet down. If but a doubt hung o’er the grounds of fray, Or trivial rapine stopped the world’s highway; Were this some common strife of States embroiled;— Britannia on the spoiler and the spoiled Might calmly look, and, asking time to breathe, Still honourably wear her olive wreath But this is Darkness combating with Light: Earth’s adverse Principles for empire fight: Oppression, that has belted half the globe, Far as his knout could reach or dagger probe, Holds reeking o’er our brother freemen slain That dagger—shakes it at us in disdain; Talks big to Freedom’s states of Poland’s thrall, And, trampling one, contemns them one and all. My Country! colours not thy once proud brow At this effront?—Hast thou not fleets enow With Glory’s streamer, lofty as the lark, Gay fluttering o’er each thunder-bearing bark, To warm th’ Insulter’s seas with barb’rous blood, And interdict his flag from Ocean’s flood? E’en now far off the sea-cliff, where I sing, I see, my Country, and my Patriot King! Your ensign glad the deep. Becalmed and slow A war-ship rides; while Heaven’s prismatic bow Uprisen behind her on th’ horizon’s base, } Shines flushing through the tackle, shrouds, and stays, } And wraps her giant form in one majestic blaze. } My soul accepts the omen; Fancy’s eye Has sometimes a veracious augury: The Rainbow types Heaven’s promise to my sight; The Ship, Britannia’s interposing Might!