The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Warton ... Fifth Edition, Corrected and Enlarged. To which are now added Inscriptionum Romanarum Delectus, and An Inaugural Speech As Camden Professor of History, never before published. Together with Memoirs of his Life and Writings; and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Richard Mant |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. | ODE XXII. FOR HIS MAJESTY's BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4th, 1789. |
| XXIII. |
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 | The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Warton |  |
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ODE XXII. FOR HIS MAJESTY's BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4th, 1789.
I.
As when the demon of the Summer stormWalks forth the noontide landscape to deform,
Dark grows the vale, and dark the distant grove,
And thick the bolts of angry Jove
Athwart the wat'ry welkin glide,
And streams th' aerial torrent far and wide:
If by short fits the struggling ray
Should dart a momentary day,
Th' illumin'd mountain glows awhile,
By faint degrees the radiant glance
Purples th' horizon's pale expanse,
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Ah! fickle smile, too swiftly past!
Again resounds the sweeping blast,
With hoarser din the demon howls;
Again the blackening concave scowls;
Sudden the shades of the meridian night
Yield to the triumph of rekindling light;
The reddening sun regains his golden sway,
And nature stands reveal'd in all her bright array.
II.
Such was the changeful conflict, that possess'dWith trembling tumult every British breast,
When Albion, towering in the van sublime
Of Glory's march, from clime to clime
Envied, belov'd, rever'd, renown'd,
Her brows with every blissful chaplet bound,
When, in her mid career of state,
She felt her monarch's awful fate!
Till Mercy from th' Almighty throne
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Her wreath, that, in the rainbow dyed,
With hues of soften'd lustre shone,
And bending from her sapphire cloud
O'er regal grief benignant bow'd;
To transport turn'd a people's fears,
And stay'd a people's tide of tears:
Bade this blest dawn with beams auspicious spring,
With hope serene, with healing on its wing;
And gave a Sovereign o'er a grateful land
Again with vigorous grasp to stretch the scepter'd hand.
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III.
O favour'd king, what rapture more refin'd,What mightier joy can fill the human mind,
Than what the monarch's conscious bosom feels,
At whose dread throne a nation kneels,
And hails its father, friend, and lord,
To life's career, to patriot sway restor'd;
And bids the loud responsive voice
Of union all around rejoice?
For thus to thee when Britons bow,
Warm and spontaneous from the heart,
As late their tears, their transports start,
And nature dictates duty's vow.
To thee, recall'd to sacred health,
Did the proud city's lavish wealth,
Did crowded streets alone display
The long-drawn blaze, the festal ray?
Meek poverty her scanty cottage grac'd,
And flung her gleam across the lonely waste!
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One social sacrifice of reverential love!
IV.
Such pure unprompted praise do kingdoms pay,Such willing zeal, to thrones of lawless sway?
Ah! how unlike the vain, the venal lore,
To Latian rulers dealt of yore,
O'er guilty pomp and hated power
When stream'd the sparkling panegyric shower;
And slaves, to sovereigns unendear'd,
Their pageant trophies coldly rear'd!
For are the charities, that blend
Monarch with man, to tyrants known?
The tender ties, that to the throne
A mild domestic glory lend,
Of wedded love the league sincere,
The virtuous consort's faithful tear?
Nor this the verse, that flattery brings,
Nor here I strike a Syren's strings;
Here kindling with her country's warmth, the Muse
Her Country's proud triumphant theme pursues;
E'en needless here the tribute of her lay!
Albion the garland gives on this distinguish'd day.
| The Poetical Works of the Late Thomas Warton | |