 | The Poems of Ambrose Philips |  |
The floating squadrons now approach the shore;
Lost in the sailors shouts, the canons roar:
And now, behold, the sovereign of the main,
High on the deck, amidst his shining train,
Surveys the subject flood. An eastern gale
Plays through the shrouds, and swells in every sail:
Th'obsequious waves his new dominion own,
And gently waft their monarch to his throne.
Now the glad Britons hail their king to land,
Hang on the Rocks, and blacken all the strand:
But who the silent extasy can show,
The Passions which in nobler bosoms glow?
Who can describe the godlike patriot's zeal?
Or who, my lord, your generous Joys reveal?
Ordain'd, once more, our treasure to advance,
Retrieve our Trade, and sink the pride of France,
Once more the long-neglected arts to raise,
And form each rising genius for the bays.
Lost in the sailors shouts, the canons roar:
And now, behold, the sovereign of the main,
High on the deck, amidst his shining train,
Surveys the subject flood. An eastern gale
Plays through the shrouds, and swells in every sail:
Th'obsequious waves his new dominion own,
And gently waft their monarch to his throne.
Now the glad Britons hail their king to land,
Hang on the Rocks, and blacken all the strand:
But who the silent extasy can show,
The Passions which in nobler bosoms glow?
Who can describe the godlike patriot's zeal?
Or who, my lord, your generous Joys reveal?
Ordain'd, once more, our treasure to advance,
95
Once more the long-neglected arts to raise,
And form each rising genius for the bays.
| The Poems of Ambrose Philips | |