Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/83

 For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim: I dimm'd thy light or damp'd thy holy flame;
 * But blest the pæans of deliver'd France,

And hung my head and wept at Britain's name.

"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 sooth my soul, that hoped and trembled,

The dissonance ceas'd, and all seem'd calm and bright;
 * When France her front deep-scar'd and gory
 * Conceal'd with clustering wreaths of glory;
 * When, insupportably advancing,
 * Her arm made mockery of the warrior's ramp;
 * 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,