The Works of Horace In English Verse By several hands. Collected and Published By Mr. Duncombe. With Notes Historical and Critical |
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 | The Works of Horace In English Verse |  |
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The Same Ode Imitated.
[Briton! the Thunder of the Wrath divine]
By R. L.
To the PEOPLE of Great Britain.
1.
Briton! the Thunder of the Wrath divine,Due to thy Fathers' Crimes, and long withheld from thine,
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Unless with conscious Terrors aw'd,
By meek, heart-struck Repentance led,
Suppliant thou fall before th'offended God:
If haply yet thou may'st avert his Ire,
And stay his Arm, out-stretch'd to launch th'avenging Fire.
2.
Did not High God of old ordain,When to thy Grasp he gave the Sceptre of the Main,
That Empire, in this favour'd Land,
Fix'd on Religion's solid Base should stand?
When from thy struggling Neck He broke
Th'inglorious, galling, Papal Yoke,
Humbled the Pride of haughty Spain,
And freed Thee by a Woman-Hero's Hand;
He then confirm'd the strong Decree:
“Briton, be virtuous, and be free;
“Be Truth, be Sanctity thy Guide:
“Be humble: fear thy God; and fear thou none beside.”
3.
Oft has th'offended Power his rising Anger shown:Led on by His avenging Hand,
Rebellion triumphs in the Land:
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They fell a cheap inglorious Prey;
Th'ambitious Victor's Boast was half supprest,
While Heaven-bred Fear, and wild Dismay,
Unmann'd the Warrior's Heart, and reign'd in every Breast.
4.
Her Arms to foreign Lands Britannia bore;Her Arms, auspicious now no more!
With frequent Conquest where the Sires were crown'd,
The Sons ill-fated fell, and bit the hostile Ground:
The tame, war-trading Belgian fled,
While in his Cause the Briton bled:
The Gaul stood wondering at his own Success;
Oft did his hardiest Bands their wonted Fears confess,
Struck with Dismay, and meditating Flight:
While the brave Foe still urg'd th'unequal Fight,
While William, with his Father's Ardor fir'd,
Thro' all th'undaunted Host the generous Flame inspir'd.
5.
But heavier far the Weight of Shame,That sunk Britannia's Naval Fame:
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Or Fear, or Rashness, in her Chiefs prevails;
And wildly these prevent, those basely shun the Fight:
Content with humble Praise, the Foe
Avoids the long-impending Blow;
Improves the kind Escape, and triumphs in his Flight!
6.
The monstrous Age, which still increasing Years debase,Which teems with unknown Crimes, and genders new Disgrace,
First, unrestrain'd by Honour, Faith, or Shame,
Confounding every sacred Name,
The hallow'd nuptial Bed with lawless Lust profan'd:
Deriv'd from this polluted Source,
The dire Corruption held its Course
Thro' the whole canker'd Race, and tainted all the Land.
7.
The ripening Maid is vers'd in every dangerous Art,That ill adorns the Form, while it corrupts the Heart:
Practis'd to dress, to dance, to play,
In wanton Mask to lead the Way,
To move the plyant Limbs, to roll the luring Eye;
With Folly's gayest Partizans to vye
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To celebrate, with flaunting Air,
The Midnight Revels of the Fair;
Studious of every Praise, but Virtue, Truth, and Sense.
8.
Thus lesson'd in Intrigue, her early Thought improves,Nor meditates in vain forbidden Loves:
Soon the gay Nymph, as Nature leads, shall rove
Free and at large amid th'Idalian Grove;
Or, haply jealous of the Voice of Fame,
Mask'd in the Matron's sober Name,
With many a well-dissembled Wile,
The kind, convenient Husband's Care beguile:
More deeply vers'd in Venus' mystic Lore,
Yet for such meaner Arts too lofty and sublime,
The proud, high-born, Patrician Whore
Bears unabash'd her Front, and glories in her Crime.
9.
Hither, from City, and from Court,The Votaries of Love resort;
The Rich, the Great, the Gay, and the Severe;
The pension'd Architect of Laws;
The Patriot, loud in Virtue's Cause;
Proud of imputed Worth, the Peer:
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He pawns his Honour and Estate,
Nor reckons, at how dear a Rate
He purchases Disease, and Servitude, and Shame.
10.
Not from such dastard Sires, to every Virtue lost,Sprung the brave Youth, which Britain once could boast:
Who curb'd the Gaul's usurping Sway,
Who swept unnumber'd Hosts away,
On Agincourt and Cressy's glorious Plain;
Who dy'd the Seas with Spanish Blood,
Their vainly-vaunted Fleets subdu'd,
And spread the mighty Wreck o'er all the vanquish'd Main.
11.
No;—'twas a generous Race, by Worth transmissive known:In their bold Breasts their Father's Spirit glow'd;
In their pure Veins their Mother's Virtue flow'd;
They made hereditary Praise their own.
The Sire his emulous Offspring led
The rougher Paths of Fame to tread;
The Matron train'd their spotless Youth,
In Honour, Sanctity, and Truth:
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The Sons, tho' bold, were wise; the Daughters chaste, tho' fair.
12.
How Time, all-wasting, ev'n the worst impairs,And each foul Age to Dregs still fouler runs!
Our Sires, more vicious ev'n than theirs,
Left us, still more degenerate Heirs,
To spawn a baser Brood of Monster-breeding Sons!
1746.
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