ODE XV.
SECULAR.
November the Fifth, MDCCLXXXVIII.
I
It is not Age, creative Fancy's foe,
Foe to the finer feelings of the soul,
Shall dare forbid the lyric rapture flow:
Scorning its chill control,
He, at the vernal morn of youth,
Who breathed to liberty and truth,
Fresh incense from his votive lyre,
In life's autumnal eve, again
Shall, at their shrine, resume the strain,
And sweep the veteran chords with renovated fire.
II
Warm to his own, and to his country's breast,
Twice fifty brilliant years the theme have borne,
And each, through all its varying seasons, blest
By that auspicious morn,
Which gilding Nassau's patriot prow,
Gave Britain's anxious eye to know
The source whence now her blessings spring;
She saw him from that prow descend,
And in the hero, hail'd the friend:
A name, when Britain speaks, that dignifies her King.
III
In solemn state she led him to the throne
Whence bigot zeal and lawless power had fled,
Where Justice fix'd the abdicated crown
On his victorious head.
Was there an angel in the sky,
That glow'd not with celestial joy,
When freedom in her native charms,
Descended from her throne of light,
On eagle plumes, to bless the rite,
Recall'd by Britain's voice, restored by Nassau's arms.
IV
Since then, triumphant on the car of time,
The sister years in gradual train have roll'd,
And seen the goddess from her sphere sublime,
The sacred page unfold,
Inscribed by her's and Nassau's hands,
On which the hallow'd charter stands,
That bids Britannia's sons be free;
And, as they pass'd, each white-robed year
Has sung to her responsive sphere,
Hail to the charter'd rights of British liberty!
V
Still louder lift the soul-expanding strain,
Ye future years! while, from her starry throne
Again she comes to magnify her reign,
And make the world her own.
Her fire e'en France presumes to feel,
And half unsheaths the patriot steel,
Enough the monarch to dismay,
Whoe'er, with rebel pride, withdraws
His own allegiance from the laws
That guard the people's rights, that rein the sovereign's sway.
VI
Hark! how from either India's sultry bound,
From regions girded by the burning zone,
Her all-attentive ear, with sigh profound
Has heard the captive moan:
Has heard, and ardent in the cause
Of all, that free by Nature's laws,
The avarice of her sons enthrals;
She comes, by Truth and Mercy led,
And, bending her benignant head,
Thus on the seraph pair in suppliant strain she calls:
VII
“Long have I lent to my Britannia's hands
That trident which controls the willing sea,
And bade her circulate to distant lands
Each bliss derived from me.
Shall then her commerce spread the sail,
For gain accursed, and court the gale,
Her throne, her sov'reign to disgrace;
Daring (what will not Commerce dare!)
Beyond the ruthless waste of war,
To deal destruction round, and thin the human race?
VIII
“Proclaim it not before the eternal throne
Of him, the sire of universal love;
But wait till all my sons your influence own,
Ye envoys from above!
O wait, at this precarious hour,
When in the pendent scale of power
My rights and Nature's trembling lie;
Do thou, sweet Mercy! touch the beam,
Till lightly, as the feather'd dream
Ascends the earthly dross of selfish policy.
IX
“Do thou, fair Truth! as did thy master mild,
Who, fill'd with all the power of godhead, came
To purify the souls, by guilt defiled,
With Faith's celestial flame;
Tell them, 'tis Heaven's benign decree
That all, of Christian liberty
The peace-inspiring gale should breathe.
May then that nation hope to claim
The glory of the Christian name,
That loads fraternal tribes with bondage worse than death?
X
“Tell them, they vainly grace, with festive joy,
The day that freed them from Oppression's rod,
At Slavery's mart who barter and who buy
The image of their God.
But peace!—their conscience feels the wrong;
From Britain's congregated tongue,
Repentant breaks the choral lay,
“Not unto us, indulgent Heaven,
“In partial stream be freedom given,
“But pour her treasures wide, and guard with legal sway?”
