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TO MR, VOLTAIRE.
'Tis continence of mind, unknown before,
I. THE BRITISH SAILOR'S EXULTATION. Next to the godlike praise of writing well,
II. HIS PRAYER BEFORE ENGAGEMENT, Is on that praise with just delight to dwell
My Muse, a bird of passage, flies
From frozen clime to milder skies; But for the want of so complete a song.
From chilling blasts sbe seeks thy cheering beam, A golden period shall from you commence :
A beam of favour, here denied ; Peace shall be sign'd 'twixt wit and manly sense ;
Conscious of faults, her blushing pride Whether your genius or your rank they view,
Hopes an asylum in so great a name. The Muses find their Halifax in you.
To dive full deep in ancient days', Like him succeed ! nor think my zeal is shown
The warriors' ardent deeds to raise, For you ; 'tis Britain's interest, not your own; And monarch's aggrandize ;—the glory, thine ; For lofty stations are but golden snares,
Thine is the drama, how renown'd! Which tempt the great to fall in love with cares. Thine, epic's loftier trump to sound;
But let Arion's sea-strung harp be mine: I would proceed, but age has chill'd my vein, 'Twas a short fever, and I'm cool again.
But where's his dolphin? Know'st thou, where? Though life I hate, methinks I could renew
May that be found in thee, Voltaire ! Its tasteless, painful course, to sing of you.
Save thou from harm my plunge into the wave: When such the subject, who shall curb his fight? How will thy name illustrious raise When such your genius, who shall dare to write ? My sinking song! Mere mortal lays, In pure respect, I give my rhyming o'er,
So patronis'd, are rescued from the grave. And, to commend you most, commend no more. “Tell me," say'st thou, “who courts my smile? Adieu, whoe'er thou art ! on death's pale coast No stranger, sir though born in foreign climes ;
What stranger stray'd from yonder isle !" Ere long l’ll talk thee o'er with Dryden's ghost; The bard will smile. A last, a long farewell!
On Dorset downs, when Milton's page, Henceforth I bide me in my dusky cell ;
With Sin and Death, provok'd thy rage, There wait the friendly stroke that sets me free,
Thy rage provok'd, who sooth'd with gentle And think of immortality and thee
rhymes ? My strains are number'd by the tuneful Nine ; Who kindly couch'd thy censure's eye, Each maid presents her thanks, and all present thee And gave thee clearly to descry mine.
Sound judgment giving law to fancy strong?
Who half inclin'd thee to confess,
Nor could thy modesty do less, VERSES SENT BY LORD MELCOMBE
That Milton's blindness lay not in his song?
But such debates long since are flowp;
For ever set the suns that shone
How shortly shall we both forget,
To thee, my patron, I my debt, Take what friendship can impart,
And thou to thine for Prussia's golden key! Tribute of a feeling heart ;
The present, in oblivion cast, Take the Muse's latest spark?,
Full soon shall sleep, as sleeps the past; Ere we drop into the dark.
Full soon the wide distinction die between He, who parts and virtue gave,
The frowns and favours of the great ; Bad thee look beyond the grave:
High flush'd success, and pale defeat;
The Gallic gaiety, and British spleen,
Ye wing'd, ye rapid moments! stay!
Oh friend ! as deaf as rapid, they ; Let the gloomy path be trod :
Life's little drama done, the curtain falls !
Dost thou not hear it? I can hear,
Though nothing strikes the listening ear ; Let us have the winds and tides :
Time groans his last ! Eternal loudly calls ! Safe, through seas of doubts and fears,
Nor calls in vain; the call inspires Rides the bark which Virtue steers.
Par other counsels and desires,
Than once prevail'd; we stand on higher ground; ' A Poetical Epistle from the late lord Melcombe What scenes we see !--Exalted aim ! to the earl of Bute, with corrections by the au
With ardours new, our spirits flame; thor of the Night Thoughts, was published in 4to, Ambition blest! with more than laurels crown'd. 1776, See Mr. Cust's Life of Young.
* Annals of the emperor Charles XII. Lewis XIV.
ODE THE FIRST.
From the dread front of ancient war
Less terrour frown'd; her scythed car, THE BRITISH SAILOR'S EXULTATION. Her castled elephant, and battering beam, Ix lofty sounds let those delight
Stoop to those engines which deny Who brave the fe, but fear the fight;
Superior terrours to the sky, And, bold in word, of arms decline the stroke : And boast their clouds, their thunder, and their 'Tis mean to boast; but great to lend
flame. To fues the counsel of a friend,
The flame, the thunder, and the cloud, And warn them of the vengeance they provoke.
The night by day, the sea of blood, From whence arise these loud alarms? Hosts whirl'd in air, the yell of sinking throngs
Why gleams the south with brandish'd arms? The graveless dead, an ocean warin'd,
To patient Britain's angry brows belongs.
Or do I dream? Or do I rave?
Or see l Vulcan's sooty cave, Hear, and revere. At Britain's nod,
Where Jove's red bolts the giant brothers frame? from each enchanted grove and wood
Those swarthy gods of toil and heat Hastes the huge oak, or shadeless forest leaves ;
Loud peals on mountain anvils heat, The mountain pines assume new forms,
And panting tempests rouse the roaring flame.
Untinish'd let those baubles fall,
Yon shield of Mars, Minerva's helmet blue :
Your strokes suspend, ye brawny throng! In smoking rivers runs her molten ore;
Charm'd by the magic of my song, Thence monsters of enormous size,
Drop the feign'd thunder, and attempt the true. And hideous aspect, threatening rise, Flame from the deck, from trenabling bastions roar. Begin : and first take rapid flight 3, These ministers of fate fulfil,
Fierce flume, and clouds of thickest night, On empires wide, an island's will, (powers! And ghostly terrour, paler than the dead; When thrones unjust wake vengeance: know, ye
Then borrow from the north his roar, Iu suddeu night, and ponderous balls,
Mix groans and deaths; one phial pour And floods of flame, the tempest falls,
Of wrong'd Britannia's wrath ; and it is made; When brav'd Britannia's awful senate luwers. Gaul starts and trembles at your dreadful trade.
In her grand council” she surveys,
In patriot picture, what may raise, Of insolent attempts, a warm disdain ;
ODE THE SECOND: Froin hope's triumphant summit thrown,
Like darted lightning, swiftly down The wealth of Ind, and contidence of Spain, SAILOR'S PRAYER BEFORE ENGAGEMENT. Britannia sheaths her courage keen,
So form'd the bolt, ordain'd to break And spares her nitrous magazine;
Gaul's haughty plan, and Bourbon shake; Her cannon slumber, till the proud aspire,
If Britain's crimes support not Britain's foes, And leave all law below them; then they blaze! And edge their swords : 0) power divine ! They thunder from resounding seas,
If blest by thee the bold design, Touch'd by their injur'd master's soul of fire. Embattled hosts a single arm o'erthrows. Then furies rise! the battle rares !
Ye warlike dead, who fell of old
In Britain's cause, bv fame enrollid
Proin oozy beds, for Britain's sake,
Awake, illustrious chiefs ! awake;
The day commission'd from above,
Our worth to weigh, our hearts to prove
Or firm to stand its final blow,
That day's arrir'd, that fatal hour ! The wreath immortal ocean yields;
“ Hear us, O hear, Almighty Power!
Our guide in counsel, and our strength in fight! There war's whole sting is shot, wbole fire is spent, Whole glory blooms: how pale, how tame,
Now war's iinportant die is thrown, How lambent is Bellona's flame!
If left the day to man alone,
How blind is wisdom, and how weak is might ! How her storms languish on the continent !
IN WHICH IS THE
• House of lords,
3 Alluding to Virgil's description of thundes.
" Let prostrate hearts, and awful fear,
A NAVAL LYRIC:
WRITTEN IN IMITATION OP PINDAR'S SPIRIT. Than angry Nature's wasteful war,
Occasioned by His Majesty's Return, September 1729, The whirl of tempests, and the roar of seas.
and the succeeding Peace. “ From out the deep, to thee we cry, To thee, at Nature's helm on high !
Monte decurrens velut amnis, imbres Steer thou our conduct, dread Omnipotence !
Quem super notas aluere ripas,
Fervet, immensusque ruit profundo.
PIND. Our only rock of safety, thy defence.
Concines lætosque dies, & urbis
Publicum luduin, super impetrato
Fortis Augusti reditu.
HOR. Thy throne our bursts of cannon loud invoke :
Thou canst arrest the flying ball;
A Pindaric carries a formidable sound; but there Onthose, from whose proud deck the thunder broke. is nothing forinidable in the true nature of it; of
which (with utmost submission) I conceive the cri“ Britain in vain extends her care
tics have hitherto entertained a false idea. Pindar To climes · remote, for aids in war;
is as natural as Anacreon, though not so familiar, Still farther must it stretch to crush the foe; As a fixt star is as much in the bounds of Nature, There's one alliance, one alone,
as a flower of the field, though less obvious, and of Can crown her arms, or fix her throne;
greater dignity. This is not the received notion of And that alliance is not found below.
Pindar; I shall therefore soon support at large that
bint which is now given.
Trade is a very noble subject in itself; more proWith seas, and winds, henceforth, thy laws fulfil: per than any for an Englishman; and particularly "Tis thine our blood to freeze, or warm ;
seasonable at this juncture. To rouse, or hush, the martial storm ;
We have more specimens of good writing in every And turn the tide of conquest, at thy will.
province, than in the sublime ; our two famous epic
poems excepted. I was willing to make an attempt “'T is thine to beam sublime renown,
where I had fewest rivals. Or quench the glories of a crown;
If, on reading this ode, any man has a fuller idea 'T is thine to doom, 't is thine, from death to free; of the real interest, or possible glory of his country, To turn aside his level'd dart,
than before; or a stronger impression from it, or a Or pluck it from the bleeding heart:
warmer concern for it, I give up to the critic any There we cast anchor, we confide in thee.
We have many copies and translations that pass “ Thou, who hast taught the north to roar, for originals. This ode I humbly conceive is an
And streaming lights nocturnal pour”, original, though it professes imitation. No man Of frightful aspect! when proud foes invade, can be like Pindar, by imitating any of his parti
Their blasted pride with dread to seize, cular works; any more than like Raphael, by copying
the cartoons. The genius and spirit of such great And George depute to thunder in thy stead. men must be collected from the whole ; and when
thus we are possessed of it, we must exert its " The right alone is bold and strong ;
energy in subjects and designs of our own. Nothing Black, hovering clouds appal the wrong
is so unpindarical as following Pindar on the foot. With dread of vengeance: Nature's awful sire !
Pindar is an original, and he must be so too, who Less than one moment shouldst thou frown,
would be like Pindar in that which is his greatest Where is puissance and renown?
praise. Nothing so unlike as a close copy, and a Thrones tremble, empires sink, or worlds expire, noble original. “ Let George the just chastise the vain :
As for length, Pindar has an unbroken ode of six Thou, who durst curb the rebel main,
hundred lines. Nothing is long or short in writing, To mount the shore when boiling billows rave !
but relatively to the demand of the subject, and Bid George repel a bolder tide,
the manner of treating it, A distich may be long, The boundless swell of Gallic pride;
and a folio short. However, I have broken this ode And check ambition's overwhelming wave.
into Strains, each of which may be considered as
a separate ode if you please. And if the variety “ And when (all milder means withstood) and fullness of matter be considered, I am rather Ambition, tam'd by loss of blood,
apprehensive of danger from brevity in this ode, Regains ber reasın; then, on angel's wings, than from length. But lank writing is what I think
Let Peace descend, and shouting greet, ought most to be declined, if for nothing else, for
our plenty of it. How richly freighted! It, triumphant, brings The ode is the most spirited kind of poetry, and The poise of kingdoms, and the fate of kings." the Pindaric is the most spirited kind of ode; this
I speak at my own very great peril: but truth has
an eternal title to our confession, though we are Russia, ? Aurora borealis.
sure to suffer by it..
I glow, I burn! the numbers pure,
High-flavour'd, delicate, mature,
Spontaneous stream from my unlabour'd breast, ON THE BRITISH TRADE AND NAVIGATION. As, when full ripen'd teems the vine,
The generous busts of willing wine
Distil nectareous from the grape unprest.
STRAIN THE FIRST.
Pind. Nem. Od. VI.
The proposition. An address to the vessel that
brought over the king. Who should sing on this occasion. A Pindaric boast.
THE ARGUMENT. How the king attended. A prospect of happiness.
Industry. A surprising instance of it in old Rome. The mischief of sloth. What happiness is. Sloth its greatest enemy. Trade natural to Britain. Trade invoked. Described. What the greatest human excellence. The praise of wealth. Its use, aluse, end. The variety o Nature. The final mo. ral cause of it. The benefit of man's necessities. Britain's naval stores. She makes all Nature ser. viceable to her ends. Of reason. Its excellence. How we should form our estimate of things. Rea. son's difficult task. Why the first glory hers. Her effects in old Britain.
Fast by the surge my limbs are spread,
The naval oak nuds o'er my head; The winds are loud ; the waves tumultuous roll;
Ye winds ! indulge your rage no more;
Ye sounding billows ! cease to roar; The god descends; and transports warm my soul.
The waves are hush'd; the winds are spent !
This kingdomn, from the kingdoms rent, I celebrate in song-Fam'd Isle ! no less,
By Nature's favour, from mankind,
Than by the foaming sea, disjoin'd; Alone in bliss ! an isle, in happiness!
Though fate and time have damp'd my strains,
Though youth no longer fires my veins, Though slow their streams in this cold climate run;
The royal eye dispels my cares,
Recals the warınth of blooming years, Returning George supplies the distant Sun.
Away, my soul! salute the Pine',
That ylads the heart of Caroline, Its grand deposit faithful to restore ;
Salute the vark that ne'er shall hold
So rich a freight in gems or gold,
My soul ! to thee, she spreads her sails;
Their bosoms fill with sacred gales; With inspiration from the godhead warm;
Now bound for an eternal clime
() send her down the tide of time, Snatch'd from ollivion, and secure from storm.
Or teach this flag, like that to soar,
Which gods of old and heroes bore; Bid her a British constellation rise
The sea she scorns; and, now, shall bound
On lofty billows of sweet sound,
Dare you to sing, ye tinkling train ?
Silence, ye wretched! ye profane!
Who murder thought, and numbers inaim,
Who write Pindarics cold and lame, And labour stiff Anacreontic Odes.
Ye lawful sons of genius, rise!
Of gemuine title to the skies;
You, who tile of the mortal part
Of glowing thought, with Attic art, And drink pure song from Cam's or Isis' stream.
« Our monarch comes! nor comes alone !"
What shining forms surround his throne, O Sun! as planets thee !--To my loud strain
See Peace, by Wisdom led, advance;
The Grace, the Muse, the Season, Dance; And Plenty spreads behind her flowing train !
“ Vur monarch comes ! nor comes alone;"
New glories kindle round his throne, The visions rise! I triumph as I gaze:
By I'indar led, I turn'd of late
The volume dark, the folds of Fate; And, now, am present to the future blaze.
By George and Jove it is decreed,
The mighty Months in pomp proceed, Fair daughters of the Sun !-0 thou, divine,
Blest Industry! a smiling Earth
From thee alone derives its birth :
From thee, mast, cable, anchor, oar,
From thee the cannon and his roar; On oaks nurst, rear'd by thee, wealth, empire grow;
( gulden fruit ! oak well might prove
The sacred tree, the tree of Jove; All Jove can give, the naval oak bestows.
What cannot industry complete?
When Punic war first fam'd, the great, Bold, active, ardent, Roman fathers meet :
“Fell all your groves,” a Flamen cries;
As soon they fall; as soon they rise; One moon, a forest, and the next, a fleet.
Is sloth indulgence ? 'T is a toil;
Enervates man, and damns the soil ; Defeats creation, plunges in distress,
Cankers our being, all derours;
A full exertion of our powers !
The stream may stagnate, yet be clear,
The Sun suspend his swift carcer,
Ere man, his active springs resign'd,
Can rust in body and in mind, Yet taste of bliss, of which he chokes the source
The vessel that brought over the king.
Where, Industry! thy daughter fair?
Happy the man ! ho, large of heart, Recal her to her nalive air;
Has learnt the rare, illustrious art Here, was Trade born, here bred, here flourish'd long; of being rich : stores starve us, or they cloy; And ever shall she flourish here :
From gold, if more than chemic skill,
Wake, sting her up. Trade! lean no more Plenty 's a means, and joy her end :
Exalied minds their joys extend :
And, see, she's rous'd, absolv'd from fears, As lofly turrets, by their height,
When humbler scenes resign their light,
Pregnant with blessings, Britain ! swear She levjes gain on every place,
No sordid son of thine shall dare Religion, habit, custom, tongue, and name ; Offend the donor of thy wealth and peace; Again, she travels with the Sun,
Who now his whole creation drains
How various Nature ! turgid grain
Here nodding floats the golden plain;
Lay forth their purple to the Sun,
Beneath the soil, there harvests run,
What's various Nature Art divine
Man's soul to soften and refine ;
Heaven different growths to different lands imparts,
And interest draw around the ball,
Thus has the great Creator's pen
His law supreme, to mortal men,
E'en appetite supplies the place
Of absent virtue, absent grace,
And human want performs for human wit.
Vast naval ensigns strow'd around,
The wond'ring foreigner confound !
As her proud sceptred sons survey,
At every port, on every quay,
The unwieldy tup! the ponderous bale ! The servant Ocean for thy sake
Each prince his own clime set to sale Both sinks and swells : his arms thy bosom wrap,
Sees here, by subjects of a British king :
How Earth 's abridg'd! all nations range
A narrow spot, our throng'd Exchange! The wafted world into thy loaded lap.
And send the streams of plenty from their spring.
Nor Earth alone, all Nature bends
In aid to Britain's glorious ends:
Toils sbe in trade? or bleeds in honest wars ?
Her keel each yielding sea enthrals,
Each willing wind her canvass calls,
Glow then, my breast ! abound, my store ! In size confin'd, and humbly made,
What though we creep beneath the shade, Their want and apathy let Stoics boast :
And seem as emmets on this point, the ball ?
Heaven lighted-up the human soul,
Heaven bid its rays transpierce the whole,
Thou golden chain 'twixt God and men, 'Tis vice and folly to despise :
Blest Reason! guide my life and pen, Let those in praise of poverty refine,
All ills, like ghosts, fly trembling at thy light:
Who thee obeys, reigns over all;
Smiles, though the stars around him fall; The truly-great find morals in the mine; A God is nought but reason infinite.