Here you will find the Long Poem The Magic Bark of poet Thomas Love Peacock
I O freedom! power of life and light! Sole nurse of truth and glory! Bright dweller on the rocky cliff! Lone wanderer on the sea! Where'er the sunbeam slumbers bright On snow-clad mountains hoary; Wherever flies the veering skiff, O'er waves that breathe of thee! Be thou the guide of all my thoughtÑ The source of all my beingÑ The genius of my waking mind--- The spirit of my dreams! To me thy magic spell be taught, The captive spirit freeing, To wander with the ocean-wind Where'er thy beacon beams. II. O! sweet it were, in magic bark, On one loved breast reclining, To sail around the varied world, To every blooming shore; And oft the gathering storm to mark Its lurid folds combining; And safely ride, with sails unfurled, Amid the tempest's roar; And see the mighty breakers rave On cliff, and sand, and shingle, And hear, with long re-echoing shock, The caverned steeps reply; And while the storm-cloud and the wave In darkness seemed to mingle, To skim beside the surf-swept rock, And glide uninjured by. III. And when the summer seas were calm, And summer skies were smiling, And evening came, with clouds of gold, To gild the western wave; And gentle airs and dews of balm, The pensive mind beguiling, Should call the Ocean Swain to fold His sea-flocks in the cave, Unearthly music's tenderest spell, With gentlest breezes blending And waters softly rippling near The prow's light course along, Should flow from Triton's winding shell, Through ocean's depths ascending From where it charmed the Nereid's ear, Her coral bowers among. IV. How sweet, where eastern Nature smiles, With swift and mazy motion Before the odour-breathing breeze Of dewy morn to glide; Or, 'mid the thousand emerald isles That gem the southern ocean, Where fruits and flowers, from loveliest trees, O'erhang the slumbering tide: Or up some western stream to sail, To where its myriad fountains Roll down their everlasting rills From many a cloud-capped height, Till mingling in some nameless vale, 'Mid forest-cinctured mountains, The river-cataract shakes the hills With vast and volumed might. V. The poison-trees their leaves should shed, The yellow snake should perish, The beasts of blood should crouch and cower, Where'er that vessel past: All plagues of fens and vapours bred, That tropic fervors cherish, Should fly before its healing power, Like mists before the blast. Where'er its keel the strand imprest, The young fruit's ripening cluster, The bird's free song, its touch should greet, The opening flower's perfume; The streams zalong the green earth's breast Should roll in purer lustre, And love should heighten every sweet, And brighten every bloom. VI. And, Freedom! thy meridian blaze Should chase the clouds that lower, Wherever mental twilight dim Obscures Truth's vestal flame, Wherever Fraud and Slavery raise The throne of blood-stained Power, Wherever Fear and Ignorance hymn Some fabled daemon's name! The bard, where torrents thunder down Beside thy burning altar, Should kindle, as in days of old, The mind's ethereal fire; Ere yet beneath a tyrant's frown The Muse's voice could falter, Or Flattery strung with chords of gold The minstrel's venal Iyre.