Occasional Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Ye Pow'rs, who rule the boundless Deep,
Whose dread Commands the Winds obey,
To roll the Waters on a heap,
Or smooth the liquid way:
Propitious hear Britannia's Pray'r,
Britannia's Hope, is now your Care,
Whom oft to yonder distant Shore,
Your hospitable Billows bore,
When Europe in distress implor'd
Relief from his victorious Sword;

Who, when the mighty Work was done,
Tyrants repell'd, and Battels won,
On your glad Waves, proud of the glorious Load,
Thro' these your watry Realms, in yearly Triumph rode.
To Winds, and Seas, distress'd he flies,
From Storms at Land, and Faction's Spight,
Tho' the more fickle Croud denies,
The Winds, the Seas, shall do his Virtue right.
Be husht ye Winds, be still ye Seas,
Ye Billows sleep at ease,
And in your rocky Caverns rest,
Let all be Calm as the Great Hero's Breast.
Here no unruly Passions reign,
Nor servile Fear, nor proud Disdain,
Each wilder Lust is banish'd hence,
Where gentle Love presides, and mild Benevolence.

Here no gloomy Cares arise,
Conscious Honour still supplies,
Friendly Hope, and Peace of Mind,
Such as dying Martyrs find.
Serene within, no Guilt he knows,
While all his Wrongs sit heavy on his Foes.

2.

Say, Muse, what Hero shall I sing,
What great Example bring,
To parallel this mighty Wrong,
And with his graceful Woes adorn my Song?
Shall Brave Themistocles appear
Before the haughty Persian's Throne?
While conquer'd Chiefs confess their Fear,
And shatter'd Fleets his Triumphs own.
In Admiration fix'd, the Monarch stood,
With secret Joy, his Glorious Prize he view'd,
Of more Intrinsick Worth than Provinces subdu'd.

Or faithful Aristides, sent,
For being just, to Banishment,
He writ the rigid Sentence down,
He pity'd the misguided Clown.
Or him, who when brib'd Orators misled
The Factious Tribes, to hostile Sparta fled;
The vile Ingrateful Croud,
Proclaim'd their impious Joy aloud,
But soon the Fools discover'd to their Cost,
Athens in Alcibiades was lost.
Or if a Roman Name delight thee more,
The Great Dictator's Fate deplore,
Camillus against noisy Faction bold,
In Victories, and Triumphs old.
Ungrateful Rome!
Punish'd by Heav'ns avenging Doom,
Soon shall thy ardent Vows invite him home,
The mighty Chieftain soon recall,
To prop the falling Capitol,
And save his Country from the perjur'd Gaul.

Search, Muse, the dark Records of Time,
And ev'ry shameful Story trace,
Black with Injustice and Disgrace,
When glorious Merit was a Crime;
Yet These, all these, but faintly can express
Folly without Excuse, and Madness in Excess.

3.

The noblest Object that our Eyes can bless,
Is the Brave Man triumphant in Distress:
Above the reach of partial Fate,
Above the Vulgar's Praise, or Hate,
Whom no feign'd Smiles can raise, no real Frowns depress.
View him, ye Britons, on the naked Shore,
Resolv'd to trust your faithless Vows no more,
That Mighty Man! who for ten glorious Years
Surpass'd our Hopes, prevented all our Pray'rs.

A Name, in ev'ry Clime renown'd,
By Nations bless'd, by Monarchs crown'd.
In solemn Jubilees our Days we spent,
Our Hearts exulting in each Grand Event.
Factions applaud the Man they hate,
And with Regret, to pay their painful Homage wait.
Have I not seen this crouded Shore,
With Multitudes all cover'd o'er?
While Hills and Groves their Joy proclaim,
And ecchoing Rocks return his Name.
Attentive on the lovely Form they gaze,
He with a chearful Smile,
Glad to revisit this his parent Isle,
Flies from their Incense, and escapes their Praise.
Yes, Britons, view him still, unmov'd,
Unchang'd, tho' less belov'd.

His gen'rous Soul no deep Resentment fires,
But blushing for his Country's Crimes, the kind good Man retires.
Ev'n now he fights for this devoted Isle,
And labours to preserve his native Soil,
Diverts the Vengeance which just Heav'n prepares,
Accus'd, Disarm'd, protects us with his Pray'rs.
Obdurate Hearts! Cannot such Merit move?
The Hero's Valour, nor the Patriot's Love?
Fly, Goddess, fly, this inauspicious Place;
Spurn at the vile Degen'rate Race,
Attend the Glorious Exile, and proclaim
In other Climes his lasting Fame,
Where honest Hearts, unknowing to forget
The Blessings from his Arms receiv'd,
Confess with Joy the mighty Debt,
Their Altars rescu'd, and their Gods reliev'd.

4.

Nor sails the Hero to a Clime unknown,
Cities preserv'd, their great Deliv'rer own:
Impatient Crouds about him press,
And with sincere Devotion bless.
Those Plains of ten years War the bloody Stage,
(Where panting Nations struggled to be free
And Life exchang'd for Liberty)
Retain the Marks of stern Bellona's Rage.
The doubtful Hind mistakes the Field
His fruitless Toil so lately till'd:
Here deep Intrenchments sunk, and Vales appear,
The vain Retreats of Gallick Fear;
There new-created Hills deform the Plain,
Big with the Carnage of the Slain:
These Monuments, when Faction's spight

Has spit its pois'nous Foam in vain,
To endless Ages shall proclaim
The matchless Warrior's Might,
The Graves of slaughter'd Foes shall do his Valour right.
These when the curious Traveller
Amaz'd shall view, and with attentive Care
Trace the sad Footsteps of destructive War;
Successive Bards shall tell,
How Marlbro' fought, how gasping Tyrants fell.
Alternate Chiefs confess'd the Victor's Fame,
Pleas'd and excus'd, in their Successors shame.
In ev'ry Change, in ev'ry Form,
The Proteus felt his conqu'ring Arm,
Convinc'd of Weakness, in extreme Despair,
They lurk'd behind their Lines, and wage'd a lazy War.

Nor Lines, nor Forts, cou'd calm the Soldier's Fear,
Surpriz'd he found a Marlbro' there.
Nature, nor Art, his eager Rage withstood,
He measur'd distant Plains, he forc'd the rapid Flood,
He fought, he conquer'd, he pursu'd.
In Years advanc'd, with youthful Vigour warm'd,
The Work of Ages in a Day perform'd.
When kindly Gleams dissolve the Winter Snows,
From Alpine Hills, with such impetuous haste,
The Icy Torrent flows;
In vain the Rocks oppose,
It drives along enlarg'd, and lays the Regions waste.
Stop Goddess, thy presumptuous Flight,
Nor soar to such a dang'rous height,

Raise not the Ghost of his departed Fame,
To pierce our conscious Souls with guilty Shame:
But tune thy Harp to humbler Lays,
Nor meditate offensive Praise.

He who remembers the many scurrilous Libels publish'd about the time this Ode was writ, and reflecting upon the Character of this Great Hero, will readily know what Figure is made use of in this Line. His Fame will be immortal, and his glorious Actions the Admiration of future Ages, when such vile Scriblers, and their Works, shall be a prey to Worms.