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 | A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes |  |
ODE.
Bards.STROPHE I.
Celestial maid!Bright spark of that ætherial flame,
Whose vivid spirit thro' all nature spread,
Sustains and actuates this boundless frame!
O by whatever stile to mortals known,
Virtue, benevolence, or public zeal,
Divine assessor of the regal throne,
Divine protectress of the common weal,
O in our hearts thy energy infuse!
Be thou our Muse,
Celestial maid,
And, as of old, impart thy heav'nly aid
To those, who warm'd by thy benignant fire,
To public merit and their country's good
Devoted ever their recording lyre,
Wont along Deva's sacred flood,
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To warble forth their patriot lays,
And nourish with immortal praise
The bright heroic flames by thee inspir'd.
ANTISTROPHE I.
I feel, I feelThy soul-invigorating heat;
My bounding veins distend with fervent zeal,
And to Britannia's fame responsive beat.—
Hail Albion, native country! but how chang'd
Thy once grim aspect, how adorn'd and gay
Thy howling forests! where together rang'd
The naked hunter and his savage prey:
Where amid black inhospitable woods
The sedge-grown floods
All cheerless stray'd.
Nor in their lonely wand'ring course survey'd,
Or tow'r, or castle, heav'n-ascending fane,
Or lowly village, residence of peace
And joyous industry, or furrow'd plain,
Or lowing herd, or silver fleece
That whitens now each verdant vale
While laden with their precious store
Far trading barks to every shore,
Swift heralds of Britannia's glory, sail.
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EPODE I.
These are thy shining works: this smiling faceOf beauteous nature thus in regal state,
Deck'd by each handmaid art, each polish'd grace,
That on fair liberty and order wait.
This pomp, these riches, this repose,
To thee imperial Britain owes.
To thee, great substitute of heav'n,
To whom the charge of earthly realms was giv'n;
Their social systems by wise nature's plan
To form and rule by her eternal laws;
To teach the selfish soul of wayward man
To seek the publick good, and aid the common cause.
So didst thou move the mighty heart
Of Alfred, founder of the British state:
So to Matilda's scepter'd son,
To him whose virtue and renown
First made the name of Edward great,
Thy ample spirit so didst thou impart:
Protecting thus in every age,
From greedy pow'r and factious rage,
The law of freedom, which to Britain's shore
From Saxon Elva's many-headed flood,
The valiant sons of Odin with them bore,
Their national, ador'd, inseparable good.
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STROPHE II.
On yonder plain,Along whose willow-fringed side
The silver-footed Naiads, sportive train,
Down the smooth Thames amid the cygnets glide,
I saw, when at thy reconciling word,
Injustice, anarchy, intestine jar,
Despotick insolence, the wasting sword,
And all the brazen throats of civil war,
Were hush'd in peace; from his imperious throne
Hurl'd furious down,
Abash'd, dismay'd,
Like a chas'd lion to the savage shade
Of his own forests, fell oppression fled,
With vengeance brooding in his sullen breast.
Then justice fearless rear'd her decent head,
Heal'd every grief, each wrong redress'd;
While round her valiant squadrons stood,
And bade her aweful tongue demand,
From vanquish'd John's reluctant hand,
The deed of freedom purchas'd with their blood.
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ANTISTROPHE II.
O vain surmise!To deem the grandeur of a crown
Consists in lawless pow'r! to deem them wise
Who change security and fair renown,
For detestation, shame, distrust, and fear!
Who, shut for ever from the blissful bow'rs,
With horror and remorse at distance hear
The musick that inchants th'immortal pow'rs,
The heav'nly musick of well-purchas'd praise,
Seraphick lays,
The sweet reward
On heroes, patriots, righteous kings conferr'd.
For such alone the heav'n-taught poets sing.
Tune ye for Edward, then, the mortal strain,
His name shall well become your golden string,
Begirt with this ætherial train,
Seems he not rank'd among the gods?
Then let him reap the glorious meed
Due to each great heroic deed,
And taste the pleasures of the blest abodes.
EPODE II.
Hail, happy prince! on whom kind Fate bestowsSublimer joys, and glory brighter far
Than Cressy's palm, and every wreath that grows
In all the blood-stain'd field of prosp'rous war;
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To make dependent millions blest,
A dying nation to restore
And save fall'n liberty with kingly pow'r;
To quench the torch of discord and debate,
Relume the languid spark of publick zeal,
Repair the breaches of a shatter'd state,
And gloriously compleat the plan of England's weal;
Compleat the noble Gothick pile,
That on the rock of justice rear'd shall stand
In symmetry, and strength, and fame,
A rival of that boasted frame
Which virtue rais'd on Tiber's strand.
This, Edward, guardian, father of our isle,
This god-like task, to few assign'd,
Exalts thee above human-kind,
And from the realms of everlasting day
Calls down celestial bards thy praise to sing;
Calls this bright troop of spirits to survey
Thee, the great miracle of earth, a Patriot-King.
Genius.
Now reascend your skies, immortal spirits!
Th'important act, that drew ye down to earth,
Is finish'd. Spare we now their mortal sense,
That cannot long endure th'unshrouded beam
Of higher natures. Well hath Edward laid,
Under your happy auspices, the base
Of his great Order: let him undisturb'd,
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Compleat th'illustrious work, which future kings,
Struck with the beauty of the noble plan,
Shall emulously labour to maintain.
And may thy spirit, Edward, be their guide!
In every chapter, thou henceforth preside,
In every breast infuse thy virtuous flame,
And teach them to respect their country's fame.
Genius and Spirits reascend to a loud sympony of musick.
| A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes | |