No man was more enthusiastic than I was for France and the Revolution: it
had all my wishes, none of my expectations. Before 1793, I clearly saw and
often enough stated in public, the horrid delusion, the vile mockery, of
the whole affair.[1]
When some one said in my brother James's presence[2] that I was a Jacobin,
he very well observed,--"No! Samuel is no Jacobin; he is a hot-headed
Moravian!" Indeed, I was in the extreme opposite pole.
[Footnote 1:
"Forgive me, Freedom! O forgive those dreams!
I hear thy voice, I hear thy loud lament,
From bleak Helvetia's icy cavern sent--
I hear thy groans upon her blood-stain'd streams!
Heroes, that for your peaceful country perish'd,
And ye that, fleeing, spot your mountain snows
With bleeding wounds; forgive me, that I cherish'd
One thought that ever blest your cruel foes!
To scatter rage and traitorous guilt,
Where Peace her jealous home had built;
A patriot race to disinherit
Of all that made her stormy wilds so dear:
And with inexpiable spirit
To taint the bloodless freedom of the mountaineer--
O France, that mockest Heaven, adult'rous, blind,
And patriot only in pernicious toils,
Are these thy boasts, champion of human-kind?
To mix with kings in the low lust of sway,
Yell in the hunt and share the murderous prey--
To insult the shrine of Liberty with spoils
From freemen torn--to tempt and to betray?--
The Sensual and the Dark rebel in vain,
Slaves by their own compulsion! In mad game
They burst their manacles, and wear the name
Of freedom, graven on a heavier chain!
O Liberty! with profitless endeavour
Have I pursued thee many a weary hour;
But thou nor swell'st the victor's train, nor ever
Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power.
Alike from all, howe'er they praise thee,
(Nor prayer, nor boastful name delays thee,)
Alike from priestcraft's harpy minions,
And factious blasphemy's obscener slaves,
_Thou speedest on thy subtle pinions,
The guide of homeless winds, and playmate of the waves!_"