"In terror yield. Nay, could my favage heart
"Such glories check, their unsubmitting foul
"Would all my fury brave, my tempest climb,
"And might in spite of me my kingdom force."
Here, waiting no reply, the fhadowy power
Eas'd the dark sky, and to the deeps return'd:
While the loud thunder rattling from his hand,
Aufpicious, fhook opponent Gallia's shore.
Of this encounter glad, My way to land
I quick purfued, that from the smiling fea
Receiv'd Me joyous. Loud acclaims were heard;
And mufic, more than mortal, warbling, fill'd
With pleas'd aftonishment the labouring hind,
Who for a while th' unfinish'd furrow left,
And let the listening steer forget his toil.
Unfeen by groffer eye, Britannia breath'd,
And her aërial train, these sounds of joy,
Full of old time, fince first the rushing flood,
Urg'd by almighty power, this favour'd isle
Turn'd flashing from the continent afide,
Indented fhore to fhore responsive still,
Its guardian She The Goddess, whofe ftaid eye
Beams the dark azure of the doubtful dawn.
Her treffes, like a flood of soften❜d light,
Through clouds imbrown'd, in waving circles play.
Warm on her cheek fits beauty's brightest rofe.
Of high demeanour, ftately, fhedding grace
With every motion. Full her rising cheft;
And new ideas, from her finish'd shape,
Charm'd fculpture taking might improve her art.
Such the fair guardian of an ifle that boasts,
Profufe as vernal blooms, the fairest dames.
High-fhining on the promontory's brow,
Awaiting Me, she stood; with hope inflam'd,
By my mixt spirit burning in her fons,
To firm, to polish, and exalt the state.
The Native Genii, round her, radiant smil'd.
Courage, of foft deportment, aspect calm,
Unboafting, fuffering long, and, till provok'd,
As mild and harmless as the fporting child;
But, on just reason, once his fury rouz'd,
No lion springs more eager to his prey :
Blood is a pastime; and his heart, elate,
Knows no depreffing fear. That Virtue known
By the relenting look, whose equal heart
For others feels, as for another self:
Of various name, as various objects wake,
Warm into action, the kind sense within:
Whether the blameless poor, the nobly maim'd,
The loft to reason, the declin'd in life,
The helpless young that kiss no mother's hand,
And the grey fecond infancy of age,
She gives in public families to live,
A fight to gladden Heaven! whether she stands
Fair beckoning at the hofpitable gate,
And bids the ftranger take repose and joy:
Whether, to folace honeft labour, fhe
Rejoices thofe that make the land rejoice:
Or whether to philofophy, and arts,
(At once the bafis and the finish'd pride
VOL. II.
H
Of government and life) she spreads her hand;
Nor knows her gift profufe, nor feems to know,
Doubling her bounty, that the gives at all.
Juftice to these her aweful presence join'd,
The mother of the state! No low revenge,
No turbid paffions in her breast ferment:
Tender, ferene, compaffionate of vice,
As the last woe that can afflict mankind,
She punishment awards; yet of the good
More piteous ftill, and of the suffering whole,
Awards it firm. So fair her juft decree,
That, in his judging peers, each on himself
Pronounces his own doom. O, happy land!
Where reigns alone this justice of the free!
'Mid the bright groupe Sincerity his front, Diffufive, rear'd; his pure untroubled eye
The fount of truth. The Thoughtful Power, apart,
Now, pensive, caft on earth his fix'd regard,
Now, touch'd celestial, launch'd it on the sky.
The Genius He whence Britain shines fupreme,
The land of light, and rectitude of mind.
He too the fire of fancy feeds intenfe,
With all the train of paffions thence deriv'd:
Not kindling quick, a noify tranfient blaze,
But gradual, filent, lafting, and profound.
Near him Retirement, pointing to the fhade,
And Independence flood: the generous pair,
That fimple life, the quiet-whifpering grove,
And the still raptures of the free-born foul
To cates prefer by virtue bought, not earn'd,
Proudly prefer them to the fervile pomp,
And to the heart-embitter'd joys of slaves.
Or fhould the latter, to the public fcene
Demanded, quit his fylvau friend a while;
Nought can his firmness shake, nothing feduce
His zeal, ftill active for the common-weal;
Nor ftormy tyrants, nor corruption's tools,
Foul minifters, dark-working by the force
Of fecret-fapping gold. All their vile arts,
Their fhameful honours, their perfidious gifts,
He greatly fcorns; and, if he must betray
His plunder'd country, or his power refign,
A moment's parley were eternal fhame :
Illuftrious into private life again,
Rough Labour clos'd the train: and in his hand
Rude, callous, finew-fwell'd, and black with toil,
Came manly Indignation. Sour he seems,
And more than feems, by lawless pride affail'd;
Yet kind at heart, and juft, and generous, there
No vengeance lurks, no pale infidious gall:
Ev'n in the very luxury of rage,
He foftening can forgive a gallant foe;
The nerve, fupport, and glory of the land!
Nor be Religion, rational and free,
Here pafs'd in filence; whofe enraptur'd eye
Sees heaven with earth connected, human things
Link'd to divine: who not from servile fear,
By rites for fome weak tyrant incenfe fit,
The God of Love adores, but from a heart
Effufing gladnefs, into pleafing awe
That now astonish'd fwells, now in a calm
Of fearless confidence that fmiles ferene;
That lives devotion, one continual hymn,
And then most grateful, when Heaven's bounty most
Is right enjoy'd. This ever-chearful power
O'er the rais'd circle ray'd fuperior day.
I joy'd to join the Virtues whence my reign
O'er Albion was to rife. Each chearing each,
And, like the circling planets from the fun,
All borrowing beams from Me, a heighten'd zeal
Impatient fir'd us to commence our toils,
pungent time
Or pleasures rather. Long the
Pafs'd not in mutual hails; but, through the land 580
Darting our light, we shone the fogs away.
The Virtues conquer with a fingle look.
Such grace, fuch beauty, fuch victorious light,
Live in their prefence, ftream in every glance,
That the foul won, enamour'd, and refin'd,
Grows their own image, pure etherial flame.
Hence the foul Demons, that oppose our reign,
Would ftill from us deluded mortals wrap;
Or in grofs fhades they drown the visual ray,
Or by the fogs of prejudice, where mix
Falsehood and truth confounded, foil the fenfe
With vain refracted images of bliss.
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