ODE XII. TO THE NAVAL OFFICERS OF GREAT BRITAIN. FEBRUARY 11, 1779 '. 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: Feels the warm influence of her heavenly flame. But chief in those, their country's pride, The floating bulwarks of her reign, They keep their radiant prize in view, Ambition's sterling aim; They know that titles, stars, and strings, 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 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 II. 2. Queen of the Isles! with empire crown'd, Wide as my waves could waft thy name; Thy wasted wealth, thy widows' sighs, Bespeak thy cause unbless'd, thy councils vain. II. 3. Sister sovereign of the wave! Turn from this ill omen'd war: Will not blush thy wrath to bear; Swift on the' insulting Gaul, thy native foe, When, bright as gold from the refining flame, The' imperial ensigns of thy naval power; cease, And firm, on Freedom's base, be fix'd an empire's ODE XIII. WHILE Scattering from her seraph wings She heard from that superb domain, Mid shaggy rocks and mountains wild, A female votary breathe her prayer. She closed her plumes, she hush'd the air, ، What tender warblings to my ear, To draw me from my sapphire sphere, I come; she wakes the willing strings, The soft symphonious chords among; Since the sweet Lesbian tuned her strain, 'But why to me, fair siren, wake Is it in Hope's vain power to make 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 They scorn to court a flattering dream, The feather'd sovereign of the sky, To meet the sun's meridian rays, To flutter in a meteor's blaze? To show in how supreme a state 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, Nay (blushing I confess the truth), E'en when thy too compliant youth, |