266 Each shadow of a shade offends That power alone who fram'd the soul, And form on discord concord's sway. Whose touch the mountains bends; Whose word from darkness call'd forth light, 'Tis he alone can reunite The foes who once were friends. To him, O Britain, bow the knee ! His awful, his august decree, Ye rebel tribes, adore! Forgive at once, and be forgiven, Ope in each breast a little heaven, And discord is no more. ODE XXXV. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1778. ARM'D with her native force, behold, How proudly through each martial plain Britannia stalks!""T was thus of old, My warlike sons, a gallant train, Call'd forth their genuine strength, and spread Their banners o'er the tented mead; "T was thus they taught perfidious France to yield." She cries, and shows the lilies on her shield. "Yes, goddess, yes! 't was thus of old," Rise at a tyrant lord's commands: Their leaders, and their laws are both their own: Glows on their cheeks, and through their eyes, 'T is hence, at home, they claim and find Enslaves the peopled Earth; LET Gallia mourn! th' insulting foe, Who dar'd to aim the treach'rous blow, When lost, she thought, in deep dismay, Forlorn, distress'd, Britannia lay: Deems she misfortune e'er can tame Of Gallia's shame and our renown? What though a while the tempest shrouds Her summits, and a night of clouds Each rock and mountain wears; Let Gallia mourn! th' insulting foe, You Sun, that with meridian ray When Britain breathes her annual vow Bids the red bolt of vengeance glow: That very Sun, when Ganges' stream That very Sun, ere evening dew Has dimm'd his radiant orb, will view, Like her own oak, the forest's king, Though Britain feels the blows around; Ev'n from the steel's inflictive sting, New force she gains, new scions spring, And flourish from the wound. sea. United Bourbon's giant pride Strains every nerve, each effort tries, With all but justice on its side, That strength can give, or perfidy devise. Dread they not him who rules the sky, Whose nod directs the whirlwind's speed, For vengeance on the perjur'd head, Vain-glorious France! deluded Spain ! Its big waves round your trembling shores, That does not Britain's vast achievements know? Ask Biscay's rolling flood, Ask the proud Celtic steep, How oft her navies rode Triumphant o'er the deep? Ask Lagos' summits that beheld your fate, Ask Calpe's jutting front, fair cause of endless hate. Yet midst the loudest blasts of Fame, When most the admiring nations gaze, What to herself does Britain claim? -Not to herself she gives the praise, STILL O'er the deep does Britain reign, As the young eagle to the blaze of day Midst storms of war, midst mingling seas and The genuine offspring of the Brunswick name The Muse Prophetic, as the flame that spread Both to her glory and repose, Bend their proud necks beneath Britannia's yoke, Still o'er the deep shall Britain reign, What power from Lusitania broke And rais'd the Austrian eagle's drooping wing? Why then, when round her fair protectress' brow Alas! her glory soars too high; Her radiant star of liberty Has bid too long th' astonish'd nations gaze; [blaze. That glory burns too bright, they cannot bear the Then Britain, by experience wise, Court not an envious or a timid friend; Firm in thyself undaunted rise, On thy own arm and righteous Heaven depend. On self-supported pinions borne, On an opposing world, and all its wily ways: And eager still to bless, STILL does the rage of war prevail, Still thirsts for blood th' insatiate spear? Waft not, ye winds, th' invidious tale, Nor let th' untutor'd nations hear, That passion baffles reason's boasted reign, And half the peopled world is civilized in vain. What are morals, what are laws, [same. What religion's sacred name? As torturing plagues, on human kind, We dress their horrid forms in borrow'd rays, And Heaven's indulgent end! Nature, intent alone to bless, Bids strife and discord cease; Disturb the halcyon scene; O WONDROUS power of inborn worth, The secret springs to burst their narrow cells! Yet still unmov'd amidst the band, A world in arms assaults her reign, 'T is Britain calls, ye nations, hear! Unbrace the corselet, drop the spear, No more th' insidious toil pursue, Nor strive to weaken what you can 't subdue. "T is Britain calls: with fatal speed You urge, by headlong fury led, Your own impending fate. Too late you'll weep, too late you'll find, 'T was for the glory of mankind That Britain should be great. In Britain's voice 't is Freedom calls, She cannot fall; the same Almighty hand Still grasps the shield that guards her favour'd land. Not to destroy, but to reclaim, Th' avenging angel waves the flaming sword: Repentant in the dust, Confess his judgments just; Th' avenging sword shall cease to wave, And whom his mercy spares, his power shall save. ODE XLIII. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1782. STILL does reluctant Peace refuse, Though courted by each generous mind, To shed her panacean dews, And heal the madness of mankind! Must this auspicious day again [pray'r! Be clouded with one anxious care, And powers malignant render vain The monarch's fondest wish, the people's general O no! in yonder pregnant sky, Whence all our hopes and blessings spring, New bursting scenes of glory lie, And future joys are on the wing: Now brighter and now brighter glows, Till all is future day, And Earth, rejoicing in ethereal light, [night. Forgets the dreary damps, and live-long shades of Satiate of war, whose mad excess No bound, no kind restriction knows, The willing world shall seek repose; While those, whom nearer ties unite, And all its complicated woes, With wild affright in every face, Shall strain more close the strict embrace, O pleasing hope, O blest presage [prove, For what Heaven's self commands must Heaven ap- And hark! on yonder western main Her thunders only slept to strike the deeper blow. Ye nations, hear! the Gallic star, Shorn of its beams, th' horizon leaves; Ye nations, hear! nor fondly deem Britannia's ancient spirit fled; Or glosing weep her setting beam, Nor strength deserts her, nor high Heaven forsakes. To Heaven she bends, and Heaven alone, To spare her crimes, and heal her woes. Pursues, and aggravates e'en fancied ill; When hope's last gleam can hardly dare Its issuing wrath can Heaven repress, So shall the rising year regain So shall the proud be taught to bow, Pale envy's fierce contentions cease, The sea once more its sovereign know, And glory gild the wreath of Peace. ODE XLV. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1783. Ar length the troubled waters rest, Her issuing vessels glide from shore to shore, And in the bending shrouds the careless sea-boy sings. Is peace a blessing?-Ask the mind That glows with love of human kind, That knows no guile, no partial weakness knows, Contracted to no narrow sphere, The world, the world at large is umpire here; They feel, and they enjoy, the blessings peace be stows. Then, oh! what bliss his bosom shares, Who, conscious of ingenuous worth, Can nobly scorn inferior cares, And send the generous edict forth; To distant sighs of modest woe Can lend a pitying list'ning ear, Nor see the meanest sorrows flow Without a sympathising tear. Though Rapine with her fury train When those who have the power to bless, The genuine sons of freedom feel A duty which transcends a subject's zeal, And dread the man's reproach more than the monarch's frown. Then to this day be honours paid The world's proud conqu'rors never knew; When discord's baneful triumphs cease, And hail, with one united voice, The friend of man, the friend of peace. ENOUGH of arms-to happier ends Though martial glory cease, Like Rome's brave sons, when Rome was free, O come, ye toil-worn wand'rers, come The tender housewife's busy care; That listen to the tale of war. For what has war with bliss to do? When through the loom the shuttle glides, To waft her commerce, falls the British oak- One glorious lesson, early taught, Of practis'd rules and studied thought. To bleed, to die, in Britain's cause, And guard, from faction nobly free, Their birth-right blessing, liberty, True liberty, that loves the laws. ODE XLVII. FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1784. HAIL to the day, whose beams, again Returning, claim the choral strain, And bid us breathe our annual vows To the first power that Britain knows; The power which, though itself restrain'd, And subject to that just control Which, many an arduous conflict gain'd, Connects, unites, and animates the whole. Yon radiant Sun, whose central force Ev'n whilst it seems the active cause, That wondrous plan, through ages sought, That wondrous plan has Britain found, |