What if our numbers barely could defy The arithmetic of babes, must foreign hordes, Slaves, vile as ever were befooled by words, Striking through English breasts the anarchy Of Terror, bear us to the ground, and tie 5 Our hands behind our backs with felon cords? Yields every thing to discipline of swords? Is man as good as man, none low, none high?-- Nor discipline nor valour can withstand The shock, nor quell[163] the inevitable rout, 10 When in some great extremity breaks out A people, on their own beloved Land Risen, like one man, to combat in the sight Of a just God for liberty and right. [163] 1837. … nor stem … C. A NIGHT THOUGHT Composed 1837.--Published 1837 [These verses were thrown off extempore upon leaving Mrs. Luff’s house at Fox Ghyll one evening. The good woman is not disposed to look at the bright side of things, and there happened to be present certain ladies who had reached the point of life where _youth_ is ended, and who seemed to contend with each other in expressing their dislike of the country and climate. One of them had been heard to say she could not endure a country where there was “neither sunshine nor cavaliers.”--I.F.] This poem was first published in _The Tribute, a Collection of Miscellaneous unpublished Poems by various Authors, edited by Lord Northampton_, in 1837, “for the benefit of the widow and family of the Rev. Edward Smedley.” (The same volume contained a poem by Southey on Brough Bells.) It next found a place in “Poems chiefly of Early and Late Years” (1842). A stanza given in _The Tribute_, No. 2 (see below), was omitted afterwards.--ED. Lo! where the Moon along the sky Sails with her happy destiny;[164] Oft is she hid from mortal eye Or dimly seen, But when the clouds asunder fly 5 How bright her mien![165] Far different we--a froward race,[166] Thousands though rich in Fortune’s grace With cherished sullenness of pace Their way pursue, 10 Ingrates who wear a smileless face The whole year through. If kindred humours e’er would make[167] My spirit droop for drooping’s sake, From Fancy following in thy wake, 15 Bright ship of heaven! A counter impulse let me take And be forgiven.[168] [164] 1842. The moon that sails along the sky Moves with a happy destiny, 1837. [165] 1837. Not flagging when the winds all sleep, Not hurried onward, when they sweep The bosom of th’ ethereal deep, Not turned aside, She knows an even course to keep, Whate’er betide. In the text of 1837 only. [166] 1842. Perverse are we--a froward race; 1837. [167] 1842. If kindred humour e’er should make 1837.