Like aged men stand waiting on the shore,

And watch the setting sun, and hear th' Atlantic roar.

III.

Then onward, where th' Iberian mountain gale

O'er many a deep monastic vale,

O'er many a golden river loves to fling

His gatherings from the thymy lap of spring.
Ask wide waters proudly spann'd,

Towers upheav'd by War's strong hand,

Oaks upon their mountains rent,

Where th' avenging whirlwind went ;
Torrents of Navarre that boil

Choking with abandon'd spoil.

Ask of the shades endear'd of yore
By tread of holy feet,

Monarch, or maiden vow'd, or calm-eyed priest,-
Ask them by whom releas'd

They breathe their hermit hymns, awful and sweet, In saintly stillness, as before.

But chiefly pause where Heroes' bones are laid By Learning's haunted home in Salamanca's glade.

IV.

There on the cloister'd youth of Spain

The Trumpet call'd, nor call'd in vain :

Not Aaron's clarion, tun'd and blest on high,

The dread Ark moving nigh,

Thrill'd in a nobler cause, or pour'd a keener strain.
Mid other cloisters, now, and dearer shrines,
The memory rings of that victorious blast,
And years and glories past,

Charm'd to new life, advance in brightening lines.
Restorer of the rightful Thrones!

Thee, cottage hearth, Thee, palace tower,

Thee, busy mart and studious bower,

Thee, Isis, thine at last, her great Deliverer owns.Who knows not how the Vulture woke,

Whose " deadly wound was heal'd?"

One breathless aim-'tis o'er-one stroke
That felon wing for ever broke.-
Oh laurell'd, bloody field!

Day of stern joy for Heaven and Earth!
Wrong'd Earth, avenging Heaven!
How well might War's ungentle lore
With thee depart for evermore,

And to the weary world th' expected birth
Of calm, bright years be given!

It

V.

may not be lo wild and free
Swarms out anew the Dragon kind;

Spreads fast and far the kindling war

Against th' Anointed and Enshrin'd.
But thou, my Mother! green as erst and pure
Thy willows wave, thy meeting waters glide:
Untarnish'd on thy matron breast endure

The treasur'd gems, thy youth's delight and pride:
Firm Loyalty, serene and fond,
Wearing untir'd her lofty bond;

Awful Reverence, bending low

Where'er the Heavens their radiance throw;

And Wisdom's mate, Simplicity,

That in the gloom dares trust the guiding arm on high.— These, of old thy guardians tried,

Daily kneeling at thy side,

And wont by night to fan thy vigil fires-
We feel them hovering now around th' aerial spires.
Our votive lays unalter'd swell,

Our Angels breathe their willing spell,
Breathe on our incense-cloud, and bear

Our welcome high in lucid air,

Telling dark Evil's banded Powers

That he who freed the world is ours.

VI.

Stand still in Heaven, fair cloud, a space,

Nor urge too fast thy liquid race

Through fields of day! for while thou lingerest here, Soft hazy gleams from thee descending, Present, and Past, and Future blending, Renew the vision lov'd, our glorious trial-year. The sainted Monarch lights again our aisles With his own calm foreboding smiles,

(Not courtly smiles, nor earthly bred) Sobering Pleasure's airy wiles,

And taming War's too haughty tread. Around him wait, a grave white-robed throng, The chosen Angels of the Church he loves; Guided by them, in Her meek power he moves On to that brightest crown, prepar'd for him ere long.

VII.

And mailed Forms are there,

Such as heroic Spirits wear,

Seal'd for high deeds in yon etherial halls.

Oh if th' Elysian dream

Were true, and with emerging gleam
Dread Warrior Shades at fated intervals

Were seen like stars returning,

And ever brighter burning,

Well might our shrines and bowers their Ormond hail, Friend of his King, reviv'd in Thee,

Ere, quite expiring, on the base Earth fail
The trodden spark of Loyalty.

Ormond, who pac'd the tottering deck,
Upright amid a nation's wreck,

Who spurn'd the boon the traitor gavea,
And slumber'd fearless on the wave.—
Warrior! be such our course and thine!
The Eye that never sleeps

With undecaying fires benign

Will guide us o'er the deeps.

J. KEBLE,

FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE.

a See Clarendon, VI. 1184. edit. Oxf. 1819. "The Lord Lieute66 nant, about the middle of December, 1650, embarked himself in a "small vessel for France, after he had refused to receive a pass from "Ireton, who offered it; choosing rather to trust the seas and winds, "in that rough and boisterous season of the year, than to receive an "obligation from the rebels."