The feeling heart, the searching soul, [25]
To thee I dedicate the whole!
And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan
The present works of present man— 30
A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile,
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!
1801.
FOOTNOTES:
[360:1] First published in the Morning Post (with two additional stanzas at the commencement of the poem), December 4, 1801: reprinted in The Friend (without heading or title), No. 1, Thursday, June 1, 1809: included in Sibylline Leaves, 1817, 1828, 1829, and 1834. The stanzas were not indented in the Morning Post or The Friend.
LINENOTES:
[Title]] Vix ea nostra voco M. P.
What Statesmen scheme and Soldiers work,
Whether the Pontiff or the Turk,
Will e'er renew th' expiring lease
Of Empire; whether War or Peace
Will best play off the Consul's game;
What fancy-figures, and what name
Half-thinking, sensual France, a natural Slave,
On those ne'er-broken Chains, her self-forg'd Chains, will grave;
Disturb not me! Some tears I shed
When bow'd the Swiss his noble head;
Since then, with quiet heart have view'd
Both distant Fights and Treaties crude,
Whose heap'd up terms, which Fear compels,
(Live Discord's green Combustibles,
And future Fuel of the funeral Pyre)
Now hide, and soon, alas! will feed the low-burnt Fire.