France: an Ode by Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Read

I. Ye Clouds! that far above me float and pause, / Whose pathless march no mortal may controul! / Ye Ocean-Waves! that, wheresoe'er ye roll, / Yield homage only to eternal laws! / Ye Woods! that listen to the night-birds' singing, / Midway the smooth and perilous slope reclined, / Save when your own imperious branches swinging, / Have made a solemn music of the wind! / Where, like a man beloved of God, / Through glooms, which never woodman trod, / How oft, pursuing fancies holy, / My moonlight way o'er flowering weeds I wound, / Inspired, beyond the guess of folly, / By each rude shape and wild unconquerable sound! / O ye loud Waves! and O ye Forests high! / And O ye Clouds that far above me soared! / Thou rising Sun! thou blue rejoicing Sky! / Yea, every thing that is and will be free! / Bear witness for me, wheresoe'er ye be, / With what deep worship I have still adored / The spirit of divinest Liberty.

II. When France in wrath her giant-limbs upreared, / And with that oath, which smote air, earth, and sea, / Stamped her strong foot and said she would be free, / Bear witness for me, how I hoped and feared! / With what a joy my lofty gratulation / Unawed I sang, amid a slavish band: / And when to whelm the disenchanted nation, / Like fiends embattled by a wizard's wand, / The Monarchs marched in evil day, / And Britain join'd the dire array; / Though dear her shores and circling ocean, / Though many friendships, many youthful loves / Had swoln the patriot emotion / And flung a magic light o'er all her hills and groves; / Yet still my voice, unaltered, sang defeat / To all that braved the tyrant-quelling lance, / And shame too long delay'd and vain retreat! / For ne'er, O Liberty! with partial aim / I dimmed thy light or damped thy holy flame; / But blessed the paeans of delivered France, / And hung my head and wept at Britain's name.