Ode to Vengeance

I.
O Sprung from Heaven's immortal Sire!
From whose stern eye the living fire
Darts thrillant horror, when thy hand
Hurls the dread bolt at his command;
Whose plagues transfix the guilty crew,
Whom mid the secret haunts of night,
Or flying on with wild affright,
Thy eager steps pursue.

II.
Tho better pleased, majestic Queen!
To sit with aweful brow serene,
To sit, and bend thy listening ear
To Innocence, thy loved Compeer;
Or round her trembling form to spread
Thy plumed wing, upon thy breast
To bid her lull her fears to rest,
And lay her sacred head.

III.
Conscious of thee, when all alone,
Or seated on his splendid throne,
The Tyrant's cheek grows pale: He hears
A nation's groan invade his ears;
Th' ideal dagger He espies,
With thick short gasp He draws his breath,
And knowing He deserves his death,
Each hour, in fancy, dies.

IV.
Say, hast Thou left th' ethereal height?
I see thee thro the clouds of night,
Beneath the yew tree's mournful gloom
Hanging o'er yonder new-raised tomb,
Attentive to the Father's prayer,
Who there laments th' ill-fated maid
By oaths of perjured lust betray'd,
A victim to despair.

V.
He calls on Thee; Oh! steel his nerves!
Only thy potent aid preserves
Him too from death. Bring face to face
Him, and the cause of his disgrace!
Oh! give him force, or righteous art!
Give, what the partial law denies,
Ere He of grief, or frenzy dies,
To stab th' Assassin's heart!

VI.
To thee the Generous and the Good
Yield homage; precious is the food
By thee to the great soul supplied,
When pondering deep with virtuous pride
O'er heart-felt wrongs, his innate worth
No sigh affords; but on his prey
From the dark den, at close of day
The Lion rushes forth.

VII.
Tremble, ye Base! affect to scorn
The man with nobler passions born,
Who drinks not of your bigot draught.
But know, that while with justice fraught
He dares excite the black-wing'd storm,
Know, that the mean-soul'd injuries
He dares with vigour to chastise,
He never dares perform.