THI DUXr OP SOVEIIEIOXS. 3 



my dogs or horses, is in perpetual danger of using them, like those ani- 

 mals, only as instruments of his pleasure or pastime. 



Let these examples, which we have contrived to set down on paper — 

 for the most part from memory — serve to persuade the Sythian Oppres- 

 sor of outraged and groaning Muscovy, that his days are numbered ; and 

 that the " weapon" which destroyed his Father, now glitters beneath the 

 indestructible sun of Poland's everlasting glory. Go to, vain man, proud 

 Czar, thou talk est of nothing. 



But this is not all. England must look to it. The time is come 

 when her deeds, her acts (not her " words" sxidi fair promises) , will be 

 looked upon, by all good men, as demonstrative of her sincere, generous, 

 and noble intentions, as regards degraded Poland. Let all true patriots 

 — whether at home or abroad, pause, ponder, and pronounce, after they 

 shall have read the following, from a poem entitled " The World," 

 lately published : we quote froua that melancholy, but spirit-stirring 

 work; as follow, respecting Poland and L'eland : — 



"Oh ! would that thy sad fate. Napoleon ! 

 Would speak unto the nations with a voice 

 Whereto the sound of thunder were the lisp 

 Of infant innocence. — O ! taught by thee, 

 Would they but learn the sacred claims of Freedom— 

 Whicli, long oppress'd, viust rise again in strength 

 Of fury irresistible, and break. 

 Even as a potter's vessel, thrones that stand 

 In self-assur'd security — how frail — 

 Upon a groaning nation's prostrate neck. 

 Still are the nations blind, — still are they deaf; 

 Or they would hear the earthquake muttering,— 

 The first of that tierce tempest brewing now. 

 And gathering with fell wrath, that soon must break 

 Upon their crowned heads, and crush them down 

 Unto perdition, thence no more to rise. 

 For how much longer, think ye, tyrant slaves. 

 Fair Genoa shall mourn her freedom gone, — 

 Or Venice, thron'd upon her hundred isles. 

 Look out across the Adriatic wave, 

 Whose every rij)ple murmurs liberty. 

 And count her forged chains, and deem them sweet 

 How long shall Norway writlie beneath the Swede, 

 Or Poland curse in vain the Russian voke ?" 



"Oh England! — orphan child of Liberty, 

 Whicli else had died, and left the world no heir ; — 

 Shame to tliee, when the Polish battle cry 

 First reach'd thine ear, — that thou wert foun as one 



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