A SEA-PIECE.

ODE THE FIRST.

THE BRITISH SAILOR'S EXULTATION.

IN lofty sounds let those delight

Who brave the foe, but fear the fight,

And bold in word, of arms decline the stroke;

'Tis mean to boast, but great to lend

To foes the counsel of a friend,

And warn them of the vengeance they provoke.

From whence arise these loud alarms?

Why gleams the South with brandish'd arms?
War, bath'd in blood, from curs'd Ambition springs;
Ambition mean, ignoble pride!

Perhaps their ardours may subside,

When weigh'd the wonders Britain's sailor sings,

Hear, and revere.

At Britain's nod,

From each enchanted grove and wood,

Hastes the huge oak, or shapeless forest leaves;
The mountain pines assume new forms,

Spread canvass wings, and fly thro' storms,

And ride o'er rocks, and dance on foaming waves.

She nods again; the lab'ring earth
Discloses a tremendous birth;

In smoking rivers runs her molten ore!
Thence monsters of enormous size,

And hideous aspect, threat'ning rise;

Flame from the deck, from trembling bastions roar. These ministers of Fate fulfil,

On empires wide, an island's will,

When thrones unjust wake vengeance. Know, ye pow'rs!

In sudden night, and pond'rous balls,

And floods of flame, the tempest falls,

When brav'd Britannia's awful senate low'rs,

In her grand council* she surveys,

In patriot picture, what may raise,
Of insolent attempts, a warm disdain ;
From hope's triumphant summit thrown,
Like darted lightning, swiftly down

The wealth of Ind, and confidence of Spain,
Britannia sheaths her courage keen,

And spares her nitrous magazine;

Her cannon slumber, till the proud aspire,
And leave all law below them, then they blaze!
They thunder from resounding seas,

Touch'd by their injur'd master's soul of fire.

* House of Lords.

Then furies rise! the battle raves!

And rends the skies, and warms the waves!
And calls a tempest from the peaceful deep,
In spite of Nature, spite of Jove,

While all serene, and hush'd above,
Tumultuous winds in azure chambers sleep.

A thousand deaths the bursting bomb
Hurls from her disembowel'd womb;
Chain'd, glowing globes in dread alliance join'd,
Red-wing'd by strong sulphureous blasts,

Sweep in black whirlwinds, men and masts,

And leave sing'd, naked, blood-drown'd, decks behind.

Dwarf laurels rise in tented fields;

The wreath immortal Ocean yields;

There War's whole sting is shot, whole fire is spent,

Whole glory blooms. How pale, how tame,

How lambent, is Bellona's flame!

How her storms languish on the Continent!

From the dread front of ancient war

Less terror frown'd; her scythed car,

Her castled elephant, and battʼring beam,

Stoop to those engines which deny

Superior terrors to the sky,

And boast their clouds, their thunder, and their

flame.

The flame, the thunder, and the cloud,
The night by day, the sea of blood,

Hosts whirl'd in air, the yell of sinking throngs,
The graveless dead an ocean warm'd,

A firmament by mortals storm'd,

To patient Britain's angry brow belongs.

Or do I dream? or do I rave?

Or see I Vulcan's sooty cave,

Where Jove's red bolts the giant-brothers frame?
Those swarthy gods of toil and heat,
Loud peals on mountain anvils beat,

And panting tempests rouse the roaring flame.

Ye sons of Ætna! hear my call
Unfinished let those baubles fall,

Yon shield of Mars, Minerva's helmet blue:
Your strokes suspend, ye brawny throng!
Charm'd by the magic of my song,

Drop the feign'd thunder, and attempt the true.

Begin; and, first take rapid flight,*

Fierce flame, and clouds of thickest night,

And ghasty terror, paler than the dead;
Then borrow from the North his roar,

Mix groans and death; one phial pour

Of wrong'd Britannia's wrath; and it is made; Gaul starts and trembles-at your dreadful trade.

* Alluding to Virgil's description of thunder.

ODE THE SECOND.

In which is

THE SAILOR'S PRAYER BEFORE ENGAGEMENT.

SO form'd the bolt ordain'd to break
Gaul's haughty plan, and Bourbon shake,
If Britain's crimes support not Britain's foes,
And edge their swords. O Pow'r Divine!
If bless'd by thee the bold design,
Embattled hosts a single arm o'erthrows.
Ye warlike dead! who fell of old
In Britain's cause, by Fame enroll'd
In deathless annal! deathless deeds inspire:
From oozy beds, for Britain's sake,
Awake, illustrious Chiefs! awake,
And kindle in your sons paternal fire.
The day commission'd from above,
Our worth to weigh, our hearts to prove,
If war's full shock too feeble to sustain,
Or firm to stand its final blow,

When vital streams of blood shall flow,
And turn to crimson the discolour'd main;

That day's arriv'd, that fatal hour!
"Hear us, O hear, Almighty Pow'r !

"Our guide in counsel, and our strength in fight!