Twice had the trees let fall Their leaves, as often Winter had put on His hoary crown, since I had seen the surge Beat against Albion's shore, [O] since ear of mine Had caught the accents of my native speech 240 Upon our native country's sacred ground. A patriot of the world, how could I glide Into communion with her sylvan shades, Erewhile my tuneful haunt? It pleased me more To abide in the great City, [P] where I found 245 The general air still busy with the stir Of that first memorable onset made By a strong levy of humanity Upon the traffickers in Negro blood; [Q] Effort which, though defeated, had recalled 250 To notice old forgotten principles, And through the nation spread a novel heat Of virtuous feeling. For myself, I own That this particular strife had wanted power To rivet my affections; nor did now 255 Its unsuccessful issue much excite My sorrow; for I brought with me the faith That, if France prospered, good men would not long Pay fruitless worship to humanity, And this most rotten branch of human shame, 260 Object, so seemed it, of superfluous pains, Would fall together with its parent tree. What, then, were my emotions, when in arms Britain put forth her free-born strength in league, Oh, pity and shame! with those confederate Powers! 265 Not in my single self alone I found, But in the minds of all ingenuous youth, Change and subversion from that hour. No shock Given to my moral nature had I known Down to that very moment; neither lapse 270 Nor turn of sentiment that might be named A revolution, save at this one time; All else was progress on the self-same path On which, with a diversity of pace, I had been travelling: this a stride at once 275 Into another region. As a light And pliant harebell, swinging in the breeze On some grey rock--its birth-place--so had I Wantoned, fast rooted on the ancient tower Of my beloved country, wishing not 280 A happier fortune than to wither there: Now was I from that pleasant station torn And tossed about in whirlwind. I rejoiced, Yea, afterwards--truth most painful to record!-- Exulted, in the triumph of my soul, 285 When Englishmen by thousands were o'erthrown, Left without glory on the field, or driven, Brave hearts! to shameful flight. It was a grief,-- Grief call it not, 'twas anything but that,-- A conflict of sensations without name, 290 Of which _he_ only, who may love the sight Of a village steeple, as I do, can judge, When, in the congregation bending all To their great Father, prayers were offered up, Or praises for our country's victories; 295