 | Ode on His Majesty's recovery |  |
1
ODE.
Avaunt, ye Deities profane,
And all ye shadowy Powers,
Imagination's airy Train,
That dwell in fabled Bowers!
And all ye shadowy Powers,
Imagination's airy Train,
That dwell in fabled Bowers!
Thou Heliconian Fount,
Whence Poesy's rich Torrents flow;
And thou, Parnassian Mount,
Where Fancy sees her Myrtles blow!
I bear no votive Off'ring to your Shrine,
No Incense to the bard-created Nine.
Nor e'en to thee, O Jove, whose high-thron'd State,
The Muse of Greece has drawn sublimely great,
High o'er the Pagan Heav'n, whilst the blest Synod near,
Hymn the dread Thunderer's Name throughout th'imagin'd Sphere!
Whence Poesy's rich Torrents flow;
And thou, Parnassian Mount,
Where Fancy sees her Myrtles blow!
2
No Incense to the bard-created Nine.
Nor e'en to thee, O Jove, whose high-thron'd State,
The Muse of Greece has drawn sublimely great,
High o'er the Pagan Heav'n, whilst the blest Synod near,
Hymn the dread Thunderer's Name throughout th'imagin'd Sphere!
Thee, holy Power! whose awe-impressing Sway,
Earth, Air, and Sea, and Heav'n's bright Realms obey;
Essence of Truth! Thee, in thy blest Abode,
Sole we invoke—the sole, the living God!
Earth, Air, and Sea, and Heav'n's bright Realms obey;
Essence of Truth! Thee, in thy blest Abode,
Sole we invoke—the sole, the living God!
O living God! from Thee alone,
Bright beaming from thy Sapphire Throne,
Can heav'nly Inspiration flow,
And give our melting Hearts with holy Flames to glow!
For, ah! not Touch of Wizard Wand,
Nor wild Romance from Legends old,
Nor moon-light Spell of Elfin Band,
Nor Spectre-Tales, by Poets told;
Bright beaming from thy Sapphire Throne,
Can heav'nly Inspiration flow,
And give our melting Hearts with holy Flames to glow!
3
Nor wild Romance from Legends old,
Nor moon-light Spell of Elfin Band,
Nor Spectre-Tales, by Poets told;
Nor Necromancer's magic Skill,
Whose Voice the Hero's Blood can chill;
Nor Knights, in terrible Array,
Did e'er such wond'rous Acts display,
As those which late Britannia saw,
Her trembling Heart deep struck with pious Awe,
Now to Agony opprest,
And now to Rapture blest,
When with her Parent King she felt th'Almighty Rod,
And the restoring Arm, of Thee the LIVING GOD!
Whose Voice the Hero's Blood can chill;
Nor Knights, in terrible Array,
Did e'er such wond'rous Acts display,
As those which late Britannia saw,
Her trembling Heart deep struck with pious Awe,
Now to Agony opprest,
And now to Rapture blest,
When with her Parent King she felt th'Almighty Rod,
And the restoring Arm, of Thee the LIVING GOD!
Yes, God of Gods! 'twas thine to try—
Judgment and Righteousness thy Throne uphold,
Tho' Clouds and Darkness are around Thee roll'd,
—A chosen Nation's Sympathy.
Destiny thy dread Command,
As erst in Israel's Land,
Obey'd, and came from Heav'n to prove,
A mighty People's Loyalty and Love.
Judgment and Righteousness thy Throne uphold,
Tho' Clouds and Darkness are around Thee roll'd,
—A chosen Nation's Sympathy.
4
As erst in Israel's Land,
Obey'd, and came from Heav'n to prove,
A mighty People's Loyalty and Love.
Streaming oft from Beauty's Eye,
O filial Love! thy graceful Tear was seen,
Thy Pray'r was heard—and many a Sigh,
Broke from the faithful Bosom of a Queen:
From Breast to Breast the Softness stole,
And Sorrow touch'd the princely Soul;
Public Allegiance join'd the Pray'r,
With Fealty unchang'd, amidst severe Despair!
O filial Love! thy graceful Tear was seen,
Thy Pray'r was heard—and many a Sigh,
Broke from the faithful Bosom of a Queen:
From Breast to Breast the Softness stole,
And Sorrow touch'd the princely Soul;
Public Allegiance join'd the Pray'r,
With Fealty unchang'd, amidst severe Despair!
Then, living God, 'twas Thine to prove,
By Grief sincere, an Empire's Love!
Thine by Adversity to try,
A mighty People's Loyalty.
And who, Thou God of Gods, save Thee, can tell,
How Albion to her inmost Heart was cheer'd;
Ah! who but Thou her Extacy reveal,
When thy restoring Cherubim appear'd?
Not Egypt's suff'ring Tribe of yore,
Plague-struck, a keener Anguish bore,
When, with our Parent King, we felt th'Almighty Rod;
Nor such soul-born Transport knew,
In the Hour the Pest withdrew,
As when that King was sav'd by Thee the LIVING GOD!
By Grief sincere, an Empire's Love!
Thine by Adversity to try,
A mighty People's Loyalty.
5
How Albion to her inmost Heart was cheer'd;
Ah! who but Thou her Extacy reveal,
When thy restoring Cherubim appear'd?
Not Egypt's suff'ring Tribe of yore,
Plague-struck, a keener Anguish bore,
When, with our Parent King, we felt th'Almighty Rod;
Nor such soul-born Transport knew,
In the Hour the Pest withdrew,
As when that King was sav'd by Thee the LIVING GOD!
Strike the Lyre to blissful Measure,
Albion holds once more her Treasure;
Brunswick's illustrious Star now shines again!
Let the Notes thro' Earth resound,
Waft them, triumphant Winds, across the Main,
'Till ev'ry Land returns the Sound:
For ev'ry Land—O Theme without Alloy!—
In one full Chorus joins Britannia's Joy!
Albion holds once more her Treasure;
Brunswick's illustrious Star now shines again!
Let the Notes thro' Earth resound,
Waft them, triumphant Winds, across the Main,
'Till ev'ry Land returns the Sound:
6
In one full Chorus joins Britannia's Joy!
Now swell the Chords, and in sublimer Numbers own,
The mighty Blessing comes from Heaven alone!
The mighty Blessing comes from Heaven alone!
Avaunt! ye Deities profane,
And all ye shadowy Powers;
Imagination's airy Train,
That dwell in fabled Bowers!
And all ye shadowy Powers;
Imagination's airy Train,
That dwell in fabled Bowers!
We know 'tis GOD, the living GOD that giveth
To our Pray'rs a Parent King;
We know, we know, that “Our Redeemer liveth,”
To Him—the mighty ONE we sing!
To our Pray'rs a Parent King;
We know, we know, that “Our Redeemer liveth,”
To Him—the mighty ONE we sing!
O for the heav'n-instructed David's Lyre!
O for the wrapt Isaiah's hallow'd Fire!
That so the sacred Airs of Harmony may rise,
And waft a Nation's Incense to the Skies,
'Till Angels catch the Strain, and with Arch-angels sing,
Glory to God on High—to Heav'n's Eternal King!
O for the wrapt Isaiah's hallow'd Fire!
7
And waft a Nation's Incense to the Skies,
'Till Angels catch the Strain, and with Arch-angels sing,
Glory to God on High—to Heav'n's Eternal King!
THE END.
| Ode on His Majesty's recovery | |