Unviolated, him the virgin fings:
And him the fmiling mother to her train.
Of him the shepherd, in the peaceful dale,
Chaunts; and, the treafures of his labour fure,
The husbandman of him, as at the plough,
Or team, he toils. With him the failor fooths,
Beneath the trembling moon, the midnight wave; 140
And the full city, warm, from ftreet to ftreet,
And shop to fhop, refponfive, fings of him;
Nor joys one land alone; his praise extends
Far as the fun rolls the diffufive day;
Far as the breeze can bear the gifts of peace,
Till all the happy nations catch the fong.
What would not, Peace! the patriot bear for thee?
What painful patience? what inceffant care?
What mixt anxiety? what fleepless toil!
Ev'n from the rafh protected what reproach
For he thy value knows; thy friendship he
To human nature: but the better thou,
The richer of delight, sometimes the more
Inevitable war; when ruffian force
Awakes the fury of an injur'd state.
Ev'n the good patient man, whom reason rules,
Rouz'd by bold infult, and injurious rage,
With sharp and sudden check, th' aftonish'd fons
Of violence confounds; firm as his cause
His bolder heart; in aweful justice clad;
His eyes effulging a peculiar fire;
And, as he charges through the prostrate war,
His keen arm teaches faithlefs men, no more
To dare the facred vengeance of the just.
And what, my thoughtless fons, should fire you more,
Than when your well-earn'd empire of the deep
The leaft beginning injury receives!
What better cause can call your lightning forth?
Your thunder wake? your deareft life demand?
What better caufe, than when your country fees
The fly deftruction at her vitals aim'd?
For, oh, it much imports you, 'tis your all,
To keep your trade intire, intire the force,
And honour of your fleets: o'er that to watch,
Ev'n with a hand fevere, and jealous eye.
In intercourse be gentle, generous, just,
By wifdom polish'd, and of manners fair;
But on the fea be terrible, untam'd,
Unconquerable ftill; let none escape,
Who fhall but aim to touch your glory there.
Is there the man, into the lion's den
Who dares intrude, to fnatch his young away?
And is a Briton feiz'd? and feiz'd beneath
The flumbering terrors of a British fleet?
Then ardent rife! Oh, great in vengeance rise!
O'erturn the proud, teach rapine to restore :
And as you ride sublimely round the world,
Make every veffel stoop, make every ftate
At once their welfare and their duty know.
This is your glory; this your wisdom; this
The native power for which you were defign'd
By Fate, when Fate design'd the firmest state,
That e'er was feated on the subject fea;
B 4
A ftate, alone, where Liberty should live,
In these late times, this evening of mankind,
When Athens, Rome, and Carthage are no more,
The world almost in flavish floth diffolv'd.
For this, these rocks around your coaft were thrown,
For this, your oaks, peculiar harden'd, shoot
Strong into sturdy growth; for this, your hearts
Swell with a fullen courage, growing still
As danger grows; and strength, and toil for this
Are liberal pour'd o'er all the fervent land.
Then cherish this, this unexpenfive power,
Undangerous to the public, ever prompt,
By lavish Nature thrust into your hand:
And, unincumber'd with the bulk immense
Of conqueft, whence huge empires rofe, and fell
Self-crufh'd, extend your reign from fhore to fhore,
Wheree'er the wind your high behests can blow;
And fix it deep on this eternal bafe.
For fhould the fliding fabrick once give way,
Soon flacken'd quite, and past recovery broke,
It gathers ruin as it rolls along,
Steep rufhing down to that devouring gulph,
Where many a mighty empire buried lies.
And should the big redundant flood of trade,
In which ten thousand thousand labours join
Their feveral currents, till the boundless tide
Rolls in a radiant deluge o'er the land;
Should this bright ftream, the least inflected, point
Its course another way, o'er other lands
The various treasure would refistless pour,
Ne'er to be won again; its ancient tract
Left a vile channel, defolate, and dead,
With all around a miferable wafte.
Not Egypt, were, her better heaven, the Nile
Turn'd in the pride of flow; when o'er his rocks,
And roaring cataracts, beyond the reach
Of dizzy vilion pil'd, in one wide flash
An Ethiopian deluge foams amain
(Whence wondering fable trac'd him from the sky); Ev'n not that prime of earth, where harvests crowd On untill'd harvests, all the teeming year,
If of the fat o'erflowing culture robb'd,
Were then a more uncomfortable wild,
Steril, and void; than, of her trade depriv'd,
Britons, your boasted ifle: her princes funk;
Her high-built honour moulder'd to the duft;
Unnerv'd her force; her spirit vanish'd quite;
With rapid wing her riches fled away;
Her unfrequented ports alone the fign
Of what she was; her merchants scatter'd wide;
Her hollow thops fhut up; and in her streets,
Her fields, woods, markets, villages, and roads, 245 The chearful voice of labour heard no more.
Oh, let not then waste Luxury impair
That manly foul of toil, which strings your nerves,
And your own proper happiness creates !
Oh, let not the foft, penetrating plague
Creep on the free-born mind; and working there,
With the sharp tooth of many a new-form'd want,
Endlefs, and idle all, eat out the heart
Of Liberty; the high conception blast ;
The noble sentiment, th' impatient scorn
Of bafe fubjection, and the fwelling wish
For general good, erazing from the mind:
While nought fave narrow selfishness fucceeds,
And low defign, the fneaking paffions all
Let loofe, and reigning in the rankled breast.
Induc'd at last, by fcarce-perceiv'd degrees,
Sapping the
government,
And life, a total diffolution comes;
Sloth, ignorance, dejection, flattery, fear.
Oppreffion raging o'er the wafte he makes;
The human being almoft quite extin&t;
And the whole ftate in broad corruption finks.
Oh, fhun that gulph: that gaping ruin fhun !
And countless ages roll it far away
From you, ye heaven-belov'd! may Liberty,
The light of life, the fun of human-kind!
Whence heroes, bards, and patriots borrow flame,
Ev'n where the keen depreffive north descends,
Still fpread, exalt, and actuate your powers!
While flavish southern climates beam in vain!
And may a public spirit from the throne,
Where every virtue fits, go copious forth
Live o'er the land, the finer arts inspire,
Make thoughtful Science raise his pensive head,
Blow the fresh bay, bid Industry rejoice,
And the rough fons of lowest Labour smile.
As when, profuse of spring, the loosen'd west
Lifts up the pining year, and balmy breathes
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