The Wiccamical Chaplet a selection of original poetry; comprising smaller poems, serious and comic; classical trifles; sonnets; inscriptions and epitaphs; songs and ballads; mock-heroics, epigrams, fragments, &c. &c. Edited by George Huddesford |
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THE LOVE OF OUR COUNTRY.
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 | The Wiccamical Chaplet |  |
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THE LOVE OF OUR COUNTRY.
A Prize-Poem at Oxford, 1771.
Εις οιωνος αριστος αμυνεσθαι περι πατρης.
Hom. Who fights his Country's battle,
Does in his bosom feel a golden omen
Of victory.
Hom. Who fights his Country's battle,
Does in his bosom feel a golden omen
Of victory.
Ye souls illustrious, who in days of yore
With peerless might the British target bore;
Who, clad in wolf-skin, from the scythed car
Frown'd on the iron brow of mailed war;
Who dar'd your rudely-painted limbs oppose
To Chalybéan steel and Roman foes:
And ye of later age, tho' not less fame,
In tilt and tournament, the princely game
Of Arthur's barons, wont, by hardiest sport,
To claim the fairest guerdon of the court;
Say, holy Shades, did e'er your gen'rous blood
Roll thro' your faithful sons in nobler flood,
Than late, when George bade gird on ev'ry thigh
The myrtle-braided sword of Liberty?
Say, when the high-born Druids' magic strain
Rous'd, on old Mona's top, a female train
To madness, and with more than mortal rage
Bade them, like furies, in the fight engage;
Frantic when each unbound her bristling hair,
And shook a flaming torch, and yell'd in wild despair;
Or when, in Cressy's plain, the sable might
Of Edward dar'd four monarchs to the fight;
Say, holy Shades, did patriotic heat
In your big hearts with quicker transport beat
Than in your Sons, when forth, like storms, they pour'd,
In Freedom's cause, the fury of the sword;
Who rul'd the main, or gallant armies led,
With Hawke who conquer'd, or with Wolfe who bled?
With peerless might the British target bore;
Who, clad in wolf-skin, from the scythed car
Frown'd on the iron brow of mailed war;
Who dar'd your rudely-painted limbs oppose
To Chalybéan steel and Roman foes:
And ye of later age, tho' not less fame,
In tilt and tournament, the princely game
Of Arthur's barons, wont, by hardiest sport,
To claim the fairest guerdon of the court;
Say, holy Shades, did e'er your gen'rous blood
Roll thro' your faithful sons in nobler flood,
Than late, when George bade gird on ev'ry thigh
The myrtle-braided sword of Liberty?
Say, when the high-born Druids' magic strain
Rous'd, on old Mona's top, a female train
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Bade them, like furies, in the fight engage;
Frantic when each unbound her bristling hair,
And shook a flaming torch, and yell'd in wild despair;
Or when, in Cressy's plain, the sable might
Of Edward dar'd four monarchs to the fight;
Say, holy Shades, did patriotic heat
In your big hearts with quicker transport beat
Than in your Sons, when forth, like storms, they pour'd,
In Freedom's cause, the fury of the sword;
Who rul'd the main, or gallant armies led,
With Hawke who conquer'd, or with Wolfe who bled?
Poor is his triumph, and disgrac'd his name,
Who draws the sword for empire, wealth, or fame:
For him tho' wealth be blown on ev'ry wind,
Tho' Fame announce him mightiest of mankind,
Tho' twice ten nations crouch beneath his blade,
Virtue disowns him, and his glories fade:
For him no pray'rs are pour'd, no pœans sung,
No blessings chaunted from a nation's tongue:
Blood marks the path to his untimely bier;
The curse of widows, and the orphan's tear
Cry to high Heav'n for vengeance on his crimes:
The pious Muse, who, to succeeding times,
Unknowing flattery, and unknown to kings,
Fair Virtue only and her votaries sings,
Shall shew the Monster in his hideous form,
And mark him as an earthquake, or a storm.
Who draws the sword for empire, wealth, or fame:
For him tho' wealth be blown on ev'ry wind,
Tho' Fame announce him mightiest of mankind,
Tho' twice ten nations crouch beneath his blade,
Virtue disowns him, and his glories fade:
For him no pray'rs are pour'd, no pœans sung,
No blessings chaunted from a nation's tongue:
Blood marks the path to his untimely bier;
The curse of widows, and the orphan's tear
Cry to high Heav'n for vengeance on his crimes:
The pious Muse, who, to succeeding times,
Unknowing flattery, and unknown to kings,
Fair Virtue only and her votaries sings,
Shall shew the Monster in his hideous form,
And mark him as an earthquake, or a storm.
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Not so the patriot Chief, who dar'd withstand
The base invader of his native land;
Who made her weal his noblest, only end;
Rul'd, but to serve her; fought, but to defend
“Her voice in council, and in war her sword;
“Lov'd as her father, as her God ador'd;”
Who, firmly virtuous, and severely brave,
Sunk with the freedom that he could not save!
On worth like his the Muse delights to wait,
Reveres alike in triumph or defeat;
Crowns with true glory, and with spotless fame,
And honours Paoli's more than Cæsar's name.
The base invader of his native land;
Who made her weal his noblest, only end;
Rul'd, but to serve her; fought, but to defend
“Her voice in council, and in war her sword;
“Lov'd as her father, as her God ador'd;”
Who, firmly virtuous, and severely brave,
Sunk with the freedom that he could not save!
On worth like his the Muse delights to wait,
Reveres alike in triumph or defeat;
Crowns with true glory, and with spotless fame,
And honours Paoli's more than Cæsar's name.
Here let the Muse withdraw the blood-stain'd veil,
And shew the boldest son of public zeal:
Lo! Sydney, pleading o'er the block! his mien,
His voice, his hand, unshaken, clear, serene:
Yet no harangue, proudly declaim'd aloud,
To gain the plaudit of a wayward croud;
No specious vaunt death's terrors to defy,
Still death delaying, as afraid to die;
But sternly silent down he bow'd; and prov'd
A calm, firm, martyr to the cause he lov'd.
Unconquer'd patriot! form'd by ancient lore
The love of ancient freedom to restore;
Who nobly acted what he boldly thought,
And seal'd, by death, the lesson that he taught.
And shew the boldest son of public zeal:
Lo! Sydney, pleading o'er the block! his mien,
His voice, his hand, unshaken, clear, serene:
Yet no harangue, proudly declaim'd aloud,
To gain the plaudit of a wayward croud;
No specious vaunt death's terrors to defy,
Still death delaying, as afraid to die;
But sternly silent down he bow'd; and prov'd
A calm, firm, martyr to the cause he lov'd.
Unconquer'd patriot! form'd by ancient lore
The love of ancient freedom to restore;
Who nobly acted what he boldly thought,
And seal'd, by death, the lesson that he taught.
Dear is the tye, that links the anxious sire
To the fond babe that prattles round his fire;
Dear is the love, that prompts the grateful youth
His sire's sond cares and drooping age to sooth:
Dear is the brother, sister, husband, wife;
Dear all the charities of social life:
Nor wants firm Friendship holy wreaths to bind
In mutual sympathy the faithful mind:
But not th'endearing springs that fondly move
To filial duty, or parental love;
Not all the ties that kindred bosoms bind,
Nor all in friendship's holy wreaths entwin'd,
Are half so dear, so potent to controul
The gen'rous workings of the patriot soul,
As is that holy voice, that cancels all
These ties, that bids him for his country fall.
To the fond babe that prattles round his fire;
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His sire's sond cares and drooping age to sooth:
Dear is the brother, sister, husband, wife;
Dear all the charities of social life:
Nor wants firm Friendship holy wreaths to bind
In mutual sympathy the faithful mind:
But not th'endearing springs that fondly move
To filial duty, or parental love;
Not all the ties that kindred bosoms bind,
Nor all in friendship's holy wreaths entwin'd,
Are half so dear, so potent to controul
The gen'rous workings of the patriot soul,
As is that holy voice, that cancels all
These ties, that bids him for his country fall.
Nor yet doth Glory, tho' her port be bold,
Her aspect radiant, and her tresses gold,
Guide thro' the walks of death alone her car
Attendant only on the din of war;
She ne'er disdains the gentle vale of Peace,
Or olive shades of philosophic ease,
Where heav'n-taught minds to woo the Muse resort,
Create in colours, or in sounds transport;
Where youths court science, or where sages teach;
Where statesmen plan, where mitred fathers preach;
More pleas'd on Isis' silent marge to roam,
Than bear in pomp the spoil of battles home.
Her aspect radiant, and her tresses gold,
Guide thro' the walks of death alone her car
Attendant only on the din of war;
She ne'er disdains the gentle vale of Peace,
Or olive shades of philosophic ease,
Where heav'n-taught minds to woo the Muse resort,
Create in colours, or in sounds transport;
Where youths court science, or where sages teach;
Where statesmen plan, where mitred fathers preach;
More pleas'd on Isis' silent marge to roam,
Than bear in pomp the spoil of battles home.
To read, with Newton's ken, the starry sky,
And God the same in all his orbs descry;
To lead forth Merit from her humble shade,
Extend to rising Arts a patron's aid;
Build the nice structure of the gen'rous Law,
That holds the freeborn soul in willing awe;
To swell the sail of Trade, the barren plain
To bid with fruitage blush, and wave with grain;
O'er pale Misfortune drop, with anxious sigh,
Pity's mild balm, and wipe Affliction's eye,
These, these are deeds Britannia must approve,
Must nurse their growth with all a parent's love;
These are the deeds that public Virtue owns,
And, just to public virtue, Glory crowns.
And God the same in all his orbs descry;
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Extend to rising Arts a patron's aid;
Build the nice structure of the gen'rous Law,
That holds the freeborn soul in willing awe;
To swell the sail of Trade, the barren plain
To bid with fruitage blush, and wave with grain;
O'er pale Misfortune drop, with anxious sigh,
Pity's mild balm, and wipe Affliction's eye,
These, these are deeds Britannia must approve,
Must nurse their growth with all a parent's love;
These are the deeds that public Virtue owns,
And, just to public virtue, Glory crowns.
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