Walter Savage Landor

Anonymous, "Ode on the Publication of the Noble Work of W. S. Landor" The Examiner (13 June 1824) 376.

A voice unto the ruined world hath spoken
From out the holy temple of old days,
Where Freedom's vestal sleeps and Hope's pure fire decays.

An echo on the Solitude hath broken.
Hark! it hath seized the four swift winds of heaven,
And through the domes of Kings its eagle notes are driven.

The Tyrants of all lands turn pale, and tremble,
As if the shape of their infernal God
Had stalked around their thrones, and drunken earthquake trod.

Who shall awake the song that shall resemble
His that now slumbers on the Achaian shore?
None. — Yet the living calls, and bids us look before.

Sons of the Lyre and Freedom, that would borrow
Dreams of the past, and from the future shrink—
I mourn not that ye mourn, but scorn that we should sink.

Hail we the Bard, that wrapt in ire and sorrow
Nameless hath reached the downward slope of life—
The lord of a great heart, that armeth for the strife!