ODE TO CONSCIENCE 297
Where once he had a conqueror been ; Or such as could sweet hope reveal To virtuous Galas, doomed to feel The terrors of the torturing wheel ; Or such as solaced Orleans' maid, When, not in arms, but flames arrayed. She met her sad fate undismayed; Or such as in these later years Could nerve the hand and calm the fears Of that fair girl of Normandy, Who, with a dauntless soul and free, Left home and friends, and, knife in hand. Burning to save her ravaged land From License, that with ruthless tread Strode o'er the grave of Freedom dead, Flaunting her cap upon his head. Slew, as she hoped, even in his den, That dragon gorged with flesh of men — In vain; too numerous was the brood Of savage beasts that raged for blood.
O, tranquil yet relentless Power, Reverenced even in childhood's hour, Although, some time from thee estranged, I knew thee long with countenance changed ! Let me walk humbly in thy sight, With honest thought and heart upright. None can avoid thee ; though he fly Beyond the realms of space, thine eye Shall follow there, and all his ways descry. If with forgetfulness, to shun despair. Listless he dwells, lo ! thou art present there, Still following like his shadow ; who from thee Hopes to escape first from himself must flee. Where'er I bide, thy still small voice I hear,
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