Читать книгу Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 54, No. 334, August 1843 - Various - Страница 12

Where can Peace find a refuge?—whither, say,

Can Freedom turn?—lo, friend, before our view

The Century rends itself in storm away,

And, red with slaughter, dawns on earth the New.

The girdle of the lands is loosen'd;—hurl'd

To dust the forms old Custom deem'd divine,—

Safe from War's fury not the watery world;—

Safe not the Nile-God nor the antique Rhine.

Two mighty nations make the world their field,

Deaming the world is for their heirloom given—

Against the freedom of all lands they wield

This—Neptune's trident; that—the Thund'rer's levin.

Gold to their scales each region must afford;

And, as fierce Brennus in Gaul's early tale,

The Frank casts in the iron of his sword,

To poise the balance, where the right may fail—

Like some huge Polypus, with arms that roam

Outstretch'd for prey—the Briton spreads his reign;

And, as the Ocean were his household home,

Locks up the chambers of the liberal main.

Where on the Pole scarce gleams the faintest star,

Onward his restless course unbounded flies;

Tracks every isle and every coast afar,

And undiscover'd leaves but—Paradise!

Alas, in vain on earth's wide chart, I ween,

Thou seek'st that holy realm beneath the sky—

Where Freedom dwells in gardens ever green—

And blooms the Youth of fair Humanity!

O'er shores where sail ne'er rustled to the wind,

O'er the vast universe, may rove thy ken;

But in the universe thou canst not find

A space sufficing for ten happy men!

In the heart's holy stillness only beams

The shrine of refuge from life's stormy throng;

Freedom is only in the land of Dreams;

And only blooms the Beautiful in Song!