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Let Europe see thee wipe away those stains,

Which blur thy honour and lay waste thy plains.


Take-take again the brave ones, harshly driven

Unhappy wanderers-from their native shore,

And in the fear of an avenging Heaven,

Learn to eschew, what all the world abhor--
The loath'd polution of a faithless core.
Then shall thy old—perhaps thy best ally—
Receive thee to her ports as heretofore.
Britain is far too generous and too high,
To balance betwixt self and sympathy!


Wouldst thou yet live rever'd in after story
'Midst faithful subjects-give them liberty.

That is the best and surest regal glory
Which has it source in public harmony.
"Tis not the time to say, "Arise-be free "

Good advice.

When rebels rage, and horrors once begin,

(E'en reason's o'erwhelm'd by anarchy).

A wise Prince. "Twere better far to vie with Meiningen1,
Who could the tempest waive-by wisdom win.


Anna Maria da Gloria.

Or wouldst thou do an act of justice still,
And close thy life in somewhat fair renown,
Bow to a Monarch's wish-a Brother's will,
And let the Royal Infant wear the crown.

Who but the most austere could trample down
That helpless innocent, whose gentle heart,

Though now repress'd beneath a blighting frown,

1 Nothing could be better adapted to preserve peace, happiness, and harmony in a state during turbulent times like the present, than the speech which was addressed by the Prince Saxe Meiningen to his subjects on the 12th October 1830, which was at once humane, liberal, and disinterested.

2 It must be understood that what is said of the King of Portugal in this Poem is altogether unconnected with his private character, which the Author believes, from good authority, to be amiable. It has but reference to his public conduct as a prince, as it appears in the face of Europe,—in the records of the times, and as it has been discussed in the House of Commons of England.

Late glow'd from all that kindness could impart,
Or courtesy bestow, to soothe the smart?


When, as they jocund rang'd proud Windsor's mead,
The twain sweet, artless, beauteous maidens strove,
By many a winning grace of word and deed,
To testify their young-their mutual love.
Brief joy, alas! the Trans-Atlantic Dove,
Foil'd by the subtle art which oft betrays,

Regain'd the parent wing-bless'd may she prove!
Victoria! what thy fate? Most glorious days!
So prays a nation!--so Fitz-Raymond prays!

The Rose of


Still rough revolt will wake, and horrors rage,

And ever have done since the world began ;


Not aye
quest of freedom-that were sage-
But often frenzy-fraught, without a plan,

Disgraceful acts of poor short-sighted man.


Greece, as was said of old, untutor'd sprang

From Nature's hand-that mighty artisan

A polish'd gem! till, as already sang,
She sank, all blighted, 'neath a tyrant's fang.



England! thou'st had thy share of civil broils,
Fought every inch to win thy lofty station;
How many bloody blocks (the heart recoils)

Hast thou beheld ere gain'd this elevation?

Thou brightest beacon to each trembling nationStill not untangible, we grieve to see,

To those curst fumes, which rise from fermentation

Pause for a moment, I entreat of thee,

And say, who's half so happy-half so free!


A patriot

A nation's shield.

Who governs thee? A Prince whom

A Prince whom you adore!
Who say'd us all from ruin and from shame!

That Hero-hail'd by many a grateful shore—

What need has Raymond to pronounce a name

Which Europe never breathes without acclaim !

Nor were it just or generous not to feel

The splendid talents and the patriot fame

Of him, who, conscious where he best could heal,

Made conquest of himself-our noble Peel!


Avaunt, ye ingrates, who would taunt the man
Who view'd with awe that venerable pile-
The work of ages, great in power and plan
The Briton's birthright, pride-his domicil.
May no uncautious, hurrying hand defile
The glorious structure, all so fitly fram'd,

So pois'd, that, move one precious prop the while,

It falls a shapeless ruin-shatter'd—maim'd—

What then? Why frightful anarchy 's proclaim'd!


We would not say, abstain at every point,

That were to march not with the lapse of time,


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