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Wreck-tbreat'ning Statenland's o'erhanging shore,—
Enormous rocks on rocks, in ever-wild
Posture of falling: as when Pelion, rear'd
On Ossa, and, on Ossa's tottering head
Woody Olympus,—by the angry gods
Precipitate on earth were doom'd to fall.
At length, thro' every tempest, as some branch
Which from a poplar falls into a loud
Impetuous cataract, tho' deep immers'd,
Yet re-ascends, and glides, on lake or stream,
Smooth thro' the vallies; so bis way he won
To the serene Pacific, flood immense!
And rear'd his lofty masts, and spread his sails.
Then Paita's walls, in wasting flames involv'd.
His vengeance felt; and fair occasion gave
To shew humanity and continence,
To Scipio's not inferior. Then was left
No corner of the globe secure to Pride
And Violence; altho' the far stretch'd coast
Of Chili, and Peru, and Mexico,
Arm'd in their civil cause. Tho' fell Disease,
Un'bating Labour, tedious Time conspir'd, 4
And Heat inclement, to unnerve his force;
Thro' that wide sea, which spreads o'er half the world,
Deny'd all hospitable land or port,—
Where, seasons voyaging, no road he found
To moor, —no bottom in th' abyss whereon
To drop the fast'ning anchor; tho' his brave
Companions ceas'd, subdu'd by toil extreme;
Tho' solitary left in Tinian's seas,
Where never was before the dreaded sound
Of Britain's thunder heard; his wave-worn bark
Met, fought the proud Iberian, and o'ercame.
So fare it ever with our country's foes?
Rejoice, ye Nationsl. vindicate the sway
Ordain'd for common happiness. Wide, o'er
The globe terraqueous, let Britannia pour
The fruits o& plenty from her copious horn.
What can avail to her, whose fertile earth
By Ocean's briny waves are circumscrib'd,
The armed host, and murd'ring sword of war,
And conquest o'er her neighbours? She ne'er bleaks
Her solemn compacts in the lust of rule.
Studious of arts and trade, she ne'er disturbs
The holy peace of states. "lis her delight
To fold the world with harmony, and spread,
Among the habitations of mankind,
The various wealth of toil, and what her fleece.
To clothe the naked, and her skilful looms,
Peculiar give. Ye, too, rejoice, ye Swains!
Increasing commerce shall reward your cares.
A day will come,—if not too deep we drink
The cup, which luxury on careless wealth,
Pernicious gift, bestows,—a day will come
When thro' new channels sailing, we shall clothe
The Californian coast, and all the realms
That stretch from Anian's Straits to proud Japan;
And the green isles, which on the left arise
Upon the glassy brine,—whose various capes
Not yet are figur'd on the sailor's chart:—
Then, every variation shall be told
Of the magnetic steel; and currents mark'd,
Which drive the heedless vessel from her course.
That portion, too, of land, a tract immense,
Beneath th' Antarctic spread, shall then be known,
And new plantations on its coast arise.
Then rigid Winter's ice no more shall wound
The only naked animal: but man
With the soft fleece shall every-where be cloth'd.
Th' exulting Muse shall then, in vigour fresh,
Her flight renew. Meanwhile, with weary wing,
O'er ocean's wave returning, she explores
Siluria's flow'ry vales, her old delight;
The shepherds' haunts, where the first springs arise,
Of Britain's happy trade,—now spreading wide,
Wide as th' Atlantic and Pacific seas,
Or as air's vital fluid o'er the globe.
OE, A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,
A weary waste expanding to the skies;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravell'd, fondly turns to thee:
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain,
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend; Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire; Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair;
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail;
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale;
Or press the bashful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good!
But me, not destin'd such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent, and care:
Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view;
That, like the circle hounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.
E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, I sit me down a pensive hour to spend; And, plac'd on high above the storm's career, Look downward where an hundred realms appear; Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.
When thus creation's charms around combine, Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine? Say, should the philosophic mind disdain That good which makes each humbler bosom vain?