Georgia, a Poem Tomo Chachi, an Ode. A Copy of Verses on Mr. Oglethorpe's Second Voyage to Georgia [by Thomas Fitzgerald] |
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A Copy of Verses on Mr. Oglethorpe's Second Voyage to GEORGIA. |
 | Georgia, a Poem |  |
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A Copy of Verses on Mr. Oglethorpe's Second Voyage to GEORGIA.
------ Miro properabat amore.
Of Heart so dauntless, of such firm Good-will,
So brave, so true, can Oglethorpe lie still?
No, see he spreads again his active Sails!
Flow smooth ye Seas, and kindly blow ye Gales;
And thou, fair Bark, of such a Charge possest,
The Hopes and Fears of many an anxious Breast,
Go, to thy Port the quickest Passage force,
Go, steer for Oglethorpe the steadiest Course:
And so be ever thine the richest Prize,
So spare thee Oceans, and so guide thee Skies,
As thou shalt bear him safe to Georgia's Strand,
And give the Father to his Infant Land.
So brave, so true, can Oglethorpe lie still?
No, see he spreads again his active Sails!
Flow smooth ye Seas, and kindly blow ye Gales;
And thou, fair Bark, of such a Charge possest,
The Hopes and Fears of many an anxious Breast,
Go, to thy Port the quickest Passage force,
Go, steer for Oglethorpe the steadiest Course:
And so be ever thine the richest Prize,
So spare thee Oceans, and so guide thee Skies,
As thou shalt bear him safe to Georgia's Strand,
And give the Father to his Infant Land.
And You who wond'ring breathe in Southern Air,
Plants of his Hand, and Children of his Care,
Suspend awhile, suspend your needful Toil,
Withhold the Plowshare from the Maiden Soil;
Let the loud Ax forbear the reverend Wood,
And Pines stand one Day more where long they stood;
Half prun'd the Vine along the Poplar crawl,
And half unwound lie by the Silken Ball:
Behold who comes! and sure, in such a Cause,
Ev'n Need may halt, and Industry may pause.
See once again, see on your Shore descend
Your gen'rous Leader, your unweary'd Friend!
No Storm, or Chance his Vessel thither drives,
No, to secure and bless you, He arrives.
To Heav'n the Praise, to Him your Homage pay,
And let remotest Times respect the Day.
Plants of his Hand, and Children of his Care,
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Withhold the Plowshare from the Maiden Soil;
Let the loud Ax forbear the reverend Wood,
And Pines stand one Day more where long they stood;
Half prun'd the Vine along the Poplar crawl,
And half unwound lie by the Silken Ball:
Behold who comes! and sure, in such a Cause,
Ev'n Need may halt, and Industry may pause.
See once again, see on your Shore descend
Your gen'rous Leader, your unweary'd Friend!
No Storm, or Chance his Vessel thither drives,
No, to secure and bless you, He arrives.
To Heav'n the Praise, to Him your Homage pay,
And let remotest Times respect the Day.
He comes, whose Life, while absent from your View,
Was one continu'd Ministry for You:
For You were laid out all his Pains and Art,
Won ev'ry Will, and soften'd ev'ry Heart.
With what Paternal Joy shall He relate,
How views its Mother Isle your little State!
How aids the Senate, how the Nation loves,
How George protects, and Caroline approves!
Was one continu'd Ministry for You:
For You were laid out all his Pains and Art,
Won ev'ry Will, and soften'd ev'ry Heart.
With what Paternal Joy shall He relate,
How views its Mother Isle your little State!
How aids the Senate, how the Nation loves,
How George protects, and Caroline approves!
Think, while he strove your distant Coast to gain,
How oft he sigh'd, and chid the tedious Main;
Impatient to survey by Culture grac'd,
Your dreary Woodland, and your rugged Waste;
Fair were the Scenes he feign'd, the Prospects fair,
And sure, ye Georgians, all he feign'd are there.
Ere yet he prints your Sand, his eager Eye
Descries the sinking Wild, and opening Sky;
Sees Fields and Meads far stretching from the Shore,
And meets the Ancient Horror there no more.
A thousand Pleasures crowd into his Breast;
But one, one mighty Thought absorbs the rest,
And gives me Heaven to see, the Patriot cries,
Another Britain in the Desart rise!
How oft he sigh'd, and chid the tedious Main;
Impatient to survey by Culture grac'd,
Your dreary Woodland, and your rugged Waste;
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And sure, ye Georgians, all he feign'd are there.
Ere yet he prints your Sand, his eager Eye
Descries the sinking Wild, and opening Sky;
Sees Fields and Meads far stretching from the Shore,
And meets the Ancient Horror there no more.
A thousand Pleasures crowd into his Breast;
But one, one mighty Thought absorbs the rest,
And gives me Heaven to see, the Patriot cries,
Another Britain in the Desart rise!
| Georgia, a Poem | |