Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sure Neptune's Watery Kingdoms yet
Since first their Corral Graves were wet,
Were ne're disturbed with such alarms;
Nor had such trial of their Arms.

IX

See where a Liquid Mountain rides,
Made up of innumerable Tides,
And tumbles headlong to the Strand,
As if the Sea would come to Land.

X

A Sail, a Sail, I plainly spy,
Betwixt the Ocean and the Sky,
An Argosy, a tall built Ship,
With all her Pregnant Sailers a-trip.

643

XI

Nearer, and nearer, she makes way,
With Canvis Wings into the Bay;
And now upon the Deck appears
A croud of busy Mariners.

XII

Methinks I hear the Cordage crack,
With furrowing Neptune's foaming Back,
Who wounded, and revengeful roars
His Fury to the neighb'ring Shoars.

XIII

With massy trident high, he heaves
Her sliding Keel above the Waves,
Opening his Liquid Arms to take
The bold invader in his wrack.

XIV

See how she dives into his Chest,
Whilst raising up his floating Brest

644

To clasp her in, he makes her rise
Out of the reach of his surprize.

XV

Nearer she comes, and still doth sweep
The Azure Surface of the deep,
And now at last the Waves have thrown
Their Rider on our ALBION.

XVI

Under the Black cliff, spumy base,
The Sea-sick Hulk her fraight displays,
And as she walloweth on the Sand,
Vomits her burthen to the Land.

XVII

With Heads erect, and plying Oar,
The Ship-wrack'd Mates make to the Shoar;
And dreadless of their danger, climb
The floating Mountains of the brine.

645

XVIII

Hark, hark, the noise, their Eccho make
The Islands Silver Waves to shake;
Sure with these throws, the lab'ring Main
'S delivered of a Hurricane.

XIX

And see the Seas becalm'd behind,
Not crispt with any breeze of Wind;
The Tempest has forsook the Waves,
And on Land begins his braves.

XX

Hark, hark, their Voices higher rise,
They tear the Welkin with their Cries;
The very Rocks their fury feel,
And like Sick Drunkards nod, and reel.

XXI

Louder, and louder, still they come,
Niles Cataracts to these are dumb;

646

The Cyclope to these Blades are still,
Whose Anvils shake the burning Hill.

XXII

Were all the Stars enlightned Skies,
As full of Ears as sparkling Eyes;
This rattle in the Christal Hall,
Would be enough to deaf them all.

XXIII

What monstrous Race is hither tost,
Thus to Alarm our British Coast;
With Outcries, such as never yet
War, or Confusion could beget.

XXIV

Oh! now I know them let us home,
Our Mortal Enemy is come,
Winter and all his blust'ring train,
Have made a voyage o're the Main.

647

XXV

Vanisht the Countrys of the Sun,
The Fugitive is hither run,
To ravish from our fruitful Fields
All that the teeming Season yields.

XXVI

Like an Invader, not a Guest,
He comes to Riot, not to Feast;
And in wild fury overthrows,
Whatever does his march oppose,

XXVII

With bleak and with congealing Winds,
The Earth in shining Chains he binds;
And still as he doth farther pass,
Quarries his way with Liquid Glass.

XXVIII

Hark, how the blusterors of the Bear,
Their Gibbouse Cheeks in triumph tear,

648

And with continued Shouts do ring
The entry of their Palsy'd King.

XXIX

The Squadron nearest to your Eye,
Is his Forlorn of Infantry,
Bow-men of unrelenting Minds,
Whose Shafts are Feathered with the Winds.

XXX

Now you may see his Van-guard rise
Above the Earthy Precipice,
Bold Horse on bleakest Mountains bred,
With Hail instead of Provend fed.

XXXI

Their Launces are the pointed Locks,
Torn from the Brows of Frozen Rocks,
Their Shields are Chrystals as their Swords,
The Steel the rusted Rock affords.

649

XXXII

See the main Body now appears,
And hark the Æolian Trupetters,
By their Hoarse Levets do declare,
That the bold General Rides there.

XXXIII

And look where Mantled up in White,
He sleads it like the Muscovite;
I know him by the Port he bears,
And his Life-guard of Mountaineers.

XXXIV

Their Caps are Fur'd with Hoary Frost,
The Bravery their cold Kingdom boasts;
Their spungy Plads are Milk White Frieze,
Spun from the Snowy Mountains Fleece.

XXXV

Their Partizans are fine carved Glass,
Fringed with the Mornings spangled Grass;

650

And Pendant by their brawny Thighs,
Hang Cimetars of burnisht Ice.

XXXVI

See, see, the Reer-ward now has won
The Promontories trembling Crown,
Whilst at there numerous Spurs, the Ground
Groans out a hollow murmering sound.

XXXVII

The Forlorn now halts for the Van;
The Reer-guard draws up to the Main;
And now they altogether croud
Their Troops into a threatning Cloud.

XXXVIII

Fly, fly; the Foe advances fast
Into our Fortress, let us hast
Where all the Roarers of the North
Can neither Storm, nor Starve us forth.

651

XXXIX

There under Ground a Magazine
Of Sovereign juice is collard in,
Liquor that will the Seige maintain,
Shou'd Phœbus ne're return again.

XL

Till that, that gives the Poet rage,
And thaws the gelly'd Blood of Age;
Matures the Young, restores the Old,
And makes the fainting Coward bold.

XLI

It lays the careful Head to rest,
Calms Palpitations in the Breast,
Renders our Lives misfortune Sweet,
And Venus frolick in the Sheet.

XLII

Then let the chill Sciorocco blow,
And gird us round with Hills of Snow;

652

Or, else go whistle to the Shoar,
And make the hollow Mountains roar.

XLIII

Whilst we together jovial sit
Careless, and Crown'd with Mirth and Wit;
Where though bleak Winds confine us home,
Our Fancies round the World shall roam.

XLIV

We'll think of all the Friends we know,
And Drink to all worth Drinking to:
When having Drunk all thine and mine,
We rather shall want Health than Wine.

LXV

But where Friends fail us, we'll supply
Our friendships with our Charity;
Men that remote in Sorrows live,
Shall by our lusty Brimmers thrive.

653

XLVI

We'll Drink the Wanting into Wealth,
And those that Languish into Health,
The Afflicted into Joy, th' Opprest
Into Security and Rest.

XLVII

The Worthy in Disgrace shall find
Favour return again more kind,
And in restraint who stifled lye,
Shall taste the Air of Liberty.

XLVIII

The Brave shall triumph in Success,
The Lovers shall have Mistresses,
Poor unreguarded Virtue Praise,
And the Neglected Poet Baies.

XLIX

Thus shall our Healths do others good,
Whilst we our selves do all we wou'd;
For freed from Envy and from Care,
What would we be, but what we are?

654

L

'Tis the plump Grapes Immortal Juice
That does this happiness produce,
And will preserve us free together,
Maugre mischance, or Wind and Weather.

LI

Then let Old Winter take his course,
And roar abroad till he be hoarse,
And his Lungs crack with Ruthless Ire,
It shall but serve to blow our Fire.

LII

Let him our little Castle ply,
With all his loud Artillery,
Whilst Sack and Claret Man the Fort,
His Fury shall become our Sport.

LIII

Or, let him Scotland take, and there
Confine the plotting Presbyter;
His Zeal may Freeze, whilst we kept warm
With Love and Wine, can know no harm.