ODE XII.

TO THE NAVAL OFFICERS OF GREAT BRITAIN.

FEBRUARY 11, 1779 '.
I. 1.

HENCE to thy Hell! thou Fiend accursed, Of Sin's incestuous brood the worst Whom to pale Death the spectre bore2: Detraction, hence! 'tis Truth's command; She launches, from her seraph hand, The shaft that strikes thee to the' infernal shore. Old England's Genius leads her on To vindicate his darling Son,

Whose fair and veteran fame

Thy venom'd tongue had dared defile:
The Goddess comes, and all the isle

Feels the warm influence of her heavenly flame.
I. 2.

But chief in those, their country's pride,
Ordain'd, with steady helm, to guide

The floating bulwarks of her reign,
It glows with unremitting ray,
Bright as the orb that gives the day;
Corruption spreads her murky mist in vain:
To virtue, valour, glory true,

They keep their radiant prize in view,

Ambition's sterling aim;

They know that titles, stars, and strings,
Bestow'd by kings on slaves of kings,

Are light as air when weigh'd with honest fame.

1 Written immediately after the trial of Admiral Keppel. 2 Alluding to the well known allegory of 'Sin and Death,' in the second Book of Paradise Lost.

I. 3.

Hireling courtiers, venal peers
View them with fastidious frown,
Yet the Muse's smile is theirs,

Theirs her amaranthine crown.

Yes, gallant train, on your unsullied brows, She sees the genuine English spirit shine, Warm from a heart where ancient honour glows, That scorns to bend the knee at Interest's

Lo! at your poet's call,

[shrine. To give prophetic fervour to his strain, Forth from the mighty bosom of the main A giant Deity ascends:

Down his broad breast his hoary honours fall; He wields the trident of the' Atlantic vast; An awful calm around his pomp is cast,

O'er many a league the glassy sleep extends. He speaks; and distant thunder, murmuring round,

In long drawn volley rolls a symphony profound.

II. 1.

Ye thunders, cease! the voice of Heaven
Enough proclaims the terrors given
To me, the Spirit of the Deep;
Tempests are mine; from shore to shore
I bid my billows when to roar;
Mine the wild whirlwind's desolating sweep.
But meek and placable I come
To deprecate Britannia's doom,
And snatch her from her fate;
E'en from herself I mean to save
My sister sovereign of the wave;
A voice immortal never warns too late.

II. 2.

Queen of the Isles! with empire crown'd,
Only to spread fair freedom round,

Wide as my waves could waft thy name;
Why did thy cold reluctant heart
Refuse that blessing to impart,
Deaf to great Nature's universal claim?
Why rush, through my indignant tide,
To stain thy hands with parricide?
-Ah, answer not the strain!

Thy wasted wealth, thy widows' sighs,
Thy half-repentant embassies

Bespeak thy cause unbless'd, thy councils vain.

II. 3.

Sister sovereign of the wave!

Turn from this ill omen'd war:
Turn to where the truly brave

Will not blush thy wrath to bear;

Swift on the' insulting Gaul, thy native foe,
For he is Freedom's, let that wrath be hurl'd;
To his perfidious ports direct thy prow,
Arm every bark, be every sail unfurl'd;
Seize this triumphant hour,

When, bright as gold from the refining flame,
Flows the clear current of thy Keppel's fame.
Give to the hero's full command

The' imperial ensigns of thy naval power;
So shall his own bold auspices prevail,
Nor Fraud's insidious wiles,nor Envy pale
Arrest the force of his victorious band;
The Gaul subdued, fraternal strife shall
[peace.

cease,

And firm, on Freedom's base, be fix'd an empire's

ODE XIII.

WHILE Scattering from her seraph wings
The heavenly tinctured dew
Whence every earthly blessing springs, .
Fair Hope o'er Albion flew,

She heard from that superb domain,
Where Art has dared to fix his reign,

Mid shaggy rocks and mountains wild,

A female votary breathe her

prayer.

She closed her plumes, she hush'd the air,
And thus replied in accents mild:

، What tender warblings to my ear,
On zephyrs borne, aspire,

To draw me from my sapphire sphere,
Charm'd by her magic lyre?

I come; she wakes the willing strings,
With careless grace her hand she flings

The soft symphonious chords among;
Nor ever on the listening plain,

Since the sweet Lesbian tuned her strain,
Was heard a more melodious song.

'But why to me, fair siren, wake
The supplicating lay?

Is it in Hope's vain power to make
Thy gaiety more gay?

O, rather bid me bear my balm

Some sable captive's woe to calm,

Who bows beneath Oppression's weight;

Or sooth those scorn'd, yet faithful few (For much they need my lenient dew)

That tremble for Britannia's fate.

6

My mirror but reflects the gleam
Of distant happiness;

They scorn to court a flattering dream,
Who present joy possess.

The feather'd sovereign of the sky,
Who glories with undazzled eye

To meet the sun's meridian rays,
Say, will he quit his radiant height,
When floating in that sea of light,

To flutter in a meteor's blaze?
Art thou not she whom favouring Fate
In all her splendour dress'd,

To show in how supreme a state
A mortal might be bless'd?
Bade beauty, elegance, and health,
Patrician birth, patrician wealth

Their blessings on her darling shed; Bade Hymen of that generous race Who Freedom's fairest annals grace

Give to thy love the' illustrious head.

Is there a boon to mortals dear Her fondness has not lent, Ere I could whisper in thy ear

"The blessing will be sent?" Obsequious have I e'er denied To wait attendant at thy side,

Prepared each shade of fear to chase.

To antedate each coming joy,

And, ere the transient bliss could cloy,
To bid a livelier take its place.

Nay (blushing I confess the truth),
I've hover'd o'er thy head

E'en when thy too compliant youth,
By wayward Fashion led,