Carmen Britanicum Or The Song of Britain: Written in Honour of His Royal Highness, George Augustus Frederick, Prince Regent: By Edward Hovell Thurlow, Lord Thurlow |
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 | Carmen Britanicum |  |
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE EARL BATHURST, LORD APSLEY, ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'S PRINCIPAL SECRETARIES OF STATE, &c. &c. &c.
To you, whose Name is vow'd, and dedicateTo the celestial altar of the Muse,
This verse I bring, which I have writ of late,
Whose favour may its bold attempt excuse:
A bold attempt, to paint the majesty,
The grace, the goodness of our Sov'reign Lord;
And up to Heav'n with fearless wings to fly,
Whence all his heart is with perfection stor'd:
May you, my Lord, these tablets of my soul,
Whereon my duty is thus plainly writ,
And pure allegiance, while the seas shall roll,
And stars shall kindle, as in faith is fit,
To that great Prince, our Sov'reign Lord, present,
And be the patron of my argument.
THURLOW.
1
CARMEN BRITANICUM; OR THE SONG OF BRITAIN.
Ye sacred Muses, that in concord move,
O'er-stepping the sweet marge of Castaly,
And, naked, in the sovran eye of Jove,
To melt Olympus with your voices free,
From Morn to pale Diana loudly sing
Before th' eternal King:
Where shall I find now, that your dwellings be,
Who fain would your immortal favour prove,
And large abundant love:
O ye thrice-sacred Muses, three in name,
Divine Aædè, and her sister fair,
Bright Mnemé, and sweet Meletè, who claim
Of all the immortal Poets sovereign care,
Fill me with wonder and exceeding praise,
That, to the last of days,
Above the rolling of Oblivion's stream,
I may exalt my theme;
And charge the shores of this resounding world
With words, like thunder, or great Neptune hurl'd.
O'er-stepping the sweet marge of Castaly,
And, naked, in the sovran eye of Jove,
To melt Olympus with your voices free,
From Morn to pale Diana loudly sing
Before th' eternal King:
Where shall I find now, that your dwellings be,
Who fain would your immortal favour prove,
And large abundant love:
O ye thrice-sacred Muses, three in name,
Divine Aædè, and her sister fair,
Bright Mnemé, and sweet Meletè, who claim
2
Fill me with wonder and exceeding praise,
That, to the last of days,
Above the rolling of Oblivion's stream,
I may exalt my theme;
And charge the shores of this resounding world
With words, like thunder, or great Neptune hurl'd.
For I have need, who am the priest of him,
Who sits enthron'd upon the triple shore,
And must maintain his glory with my hymn,
And swell my cadence to the falling roar
Of waves, that break upon his chalky floor:
There sits he, the great monarch of the West,
On whom the Northern star with love doth shine,
Like a King's son, that is of Heav'n most blest,
And far above all of his kingly line;
His line, that, from the skies deduced clear,
Has upon earth no peer;
Nor shall have end, until the world expire
In the bright blaze of the last penal fire.
Who sits enthron'd upon the triple shore,
And must maintain his glory with my hymn,
And swell my cadence to the falling roar
Of waves, that break upon his chalky floor:
There sits he, the great monarch of the West,
On whom the Northern star with love doth shine,
Like a King's son, that is of Heav'n most blest,
And far above all of his kingly line;
His line, that, from the skies deduced clear,
Has upon earth no peer;
Nor shall have end, until the world expire
In the bright blaze of the last penal fire.
With Jove then I begin; with Jove, who came
To Argos from the bright abode of Heaven;
He struck the door; and in Amphitryon's name
Sweet entrance to the panting God was giv'n:
There lay Alcmena in her nuptial robe,
A crown of woven laurel in her hand,
The fairest spouse of this love-feigning globe;
Alcmena, who must loose her virgin band,
At Jove's divine command:
Three times the space of the light-giving Sun,
And silent night, Diana in her chair
Bade her fleet dragons to the Ocean run,
Ere great Apollo could engild the air;
Apollo came at last, and shot his beams
With envy on the curtain'd joys of Jove,
And double splendour on the Argive streams,
To dispossess his father of his love:
He sigh'd farewell, and from the chamber went,
And worlds of kisses on that word were spent,
Kisses, that bred the globe immortal argument.
To Argos from the bright abode of Heaven;
3
Sweet entrance to the panting God was giv'n:
There lay Alcmena in her nuptial robe,
A crown of woven laurel in her hand,
The fairest spouse of this love-feigning globe;
Alcmena, who must loose her virgin band,
At Jove's divine command:
Three times the space of the light-giving Sun,
And silent night, Diana in her chair
Bade her fleet dragons to the Ocean run,
Ere great Apollo could engild the air;
Apollo came at last, and shot his beams
With envy on the curtain'd joys of Jove,
And double splendour on the Argive streams,
To dispossess his father of his love:
He sigh'd farewell, and from the chamber went,
And worlds of kisses on that word were spent,
Kisses, that bred the globe immortal argument.
But with the day-light good Amphitryon came
To the beguiled dame,
And saw at once his glory and his shame:
Here stood the cup he from Ætolia won,
There lay his wife, immortally undone:
But that he fell by Jove, and of his seed
Should heroes and great demigods proceed,
For this the King then pardon'd what was past:
Besides, his eager nature was in haste.
Then, spite of Phœbus, that with angry eye,
Beheld this second Juno's nuptial bed,
He snatch'd his joys, and with great Jove did vie,
Till the bright Phœbus hid his blushing head,
And to the waves had fled:
So from Alcmena, when espoused thus,
Came Hercules, and mortal Iphiclus;
And in the seed of the diviner boy,
Heroick action, mix'd with soft alloy,
Death-doing Mars, assoyl'd with Venus' joy.
To the beguiled dame,
And saw at once his glory and his shame:
Here stood the cup he from Ætolia won,
There lay his wife, immortally undone:
4
Should heroes and great demigods proceed,
For this the King then pardon'd what was past:
Besides, his eager nature was in haste.
Then, spite of Phœbus, that with angry eye,
Beheld this second Juno's nuptial bed,
He snatch'd his joys, and with great Jove did vie,
Till the bright Phœbus hid his blushing head,
And to the waves had fled:
So from Alcmena, when espoused thus,
Came Hercules, and mortal Iphiclus;
And in the seed of the diviner boy,
Heroick action, mix'd with soft alloy,
Death-doing Mars, assoyl'd with Venus' joy.
Who knows not, that Lucina sate her down,
With crossed legs before Amphitryon's door,
And crossed arms, until Nicippe bore?
Nor then had smooth'd the terrors of her frown,
But that Galanthis, from her sad abode,
With a true fable sent her on her road?
So great the dread, that then in Heav'n had place
Of this unbounded race:
Who knows not, that great Juno wisely sent
The snake, to spoil that rising argument?
But the brave boy, that in the cradle lay,
With looks of welcome view'd his onward way,
Then with his out-stretch'd arms made his fierce foe his prey.
With crossed legs before Amphitryon's door,
And crossed arms, until Nicippe bore?
Nor then had smooth'd the terrors of her frown,
But that Galanthis, from her sad abode,
With a true fable sent her on her road?
So great the dread, that then in Heav'n had place
Of this unbounded race:
Who knows not, that great Juno wisely sent
5
But the brave boy, that in the cradle lay,
With looks of welcome view'd his onward way,
Then with his out-stretch'd arms made his fierce foe his prey.
Like the sad horrour, that the shepherd fears,
When pale Olympus with a lurid light
Gives token of the swift approach of night,
And a low whistling wind sings in his startled ears:
Then comes the thunder, and the flaming bolt,
That dies unquenched in the gloomy holt,
Or mead and champaign with it's flashing sears:
So came the pois'nous monster, winged bird,
And flaming serpent, from black Dis preferr'd;
So hiss'd he, as along the floor he came,
And his bright ardurous eyes spake with prophetick flame:
But soon he fell; the room with triumph rung,
Pale trem'lous fire yet quiv'r'd on his tongue,
And his loud-gnashing scales with a low musick sung.
So, when the tempest to the sea is gone,
The leafy forests make a murm'ring moan,
The forests, and the hills, that shook anon,
And the soft-whistling birds proclaim the tempest flown.
When pale Olympus with a lurid light
Gives token of the swift approach of night,
And a low whistling wind sings in his startled ears:
Then comes the thunder, and the flaming bolt,
That dies unquenched in the gloomy holt,
Or mead and champaign with it's flashing sears:
So came the pois'nous monster, winged bird,
And flaming serpent, from black Dis preferr'd;
So hiss'd he, as along the floor he came,
And his bright ardurous eyes spake with prophetick flame:
But soon he fell; the room with triumph rung,
Pale trem'lous fire yet quiv'r'd on his tongue,
And his loud-gnashing scales with a low musick sung.
So, when the tempest to the sea is gone,
The leafy forests make a murm'ring moan,
The forests, and the hills, that shook anon,
And the soft-whistling birds proclaim the tempest flown.
6
Awake, ye Muses, with your golden strings,
That only by the chaste Castalian springs,
Or in the dread abode
Of Heavn's o'er-ruling God,
Or in the chambers of great God-like kings,
Forbidden to the vulgar crowd below,
Make your resounding songs, and your full musick glow.
For here is matter for a world of praise,
While Phœbus sheds around his night-dissolving blaze.
Awake, ye Muses, let my sacred song
Be like Alcides swift, and like Alcides strong:
But who can tell the ever-fretful sands,
That the sea washes on false Egypt's strands?
But who can tell the ever-quiv'ring leaves
That Winter of great Ardenne's wood bereaves?
Or streams, that Danube in his flood receives?
Else would I paint beneath the flaming Sun,
And silver Dian, the great race he run,
When by the horns the brazen stag he took,
Of his fine breath, and his fleet path forsook,
Beginning, when the vernal year began,
And ending, when his winter course he ran.
Else would I paint the darkness of his walk,
When the pale ghosts did to his opticks stalk,
And the dull streams did with sad horror flow,
And flames of anguish through all hell did glow;
But, maugre all, he bore the dog away,
And dragg'd the rav'ning monster up to day.
But this is small: and could I tell the flight
Of birds Stymphalian his thin arrows slew,
Or count th' o'er-horsy Centaurs, whom his might
Found populous and vast, and left them few,
Amid their winy feasts sent down to night:
Yet should I fail to tell the hero's praise,
And celebrate in how abundant ways
He bade the nations on his virtues gaze.
That only by the chaste Castalian springs,
Or in the dread abode
Of Heavn's o'er-ruling God,
Or in the chambers of great God-like kings,
Forbidden to the vulgar crowd below,
Make your resounding songs, and your full musick glow.
For here is matter for a world of praise,
While Phœbus sheds around his night-dissolving blaze.
Awake, ye Muses, let my sacred song
Be like Alcides swift, and like Alcides strong:
But who can tell the ever-fretful sands,
That the sea washes on false Egypt's strands?
But who can tell the ever-quiv'ring leaves
That Winter of great Ardenne's wood bereaves?
Or streams, that Danube in his flood receives?
Else would I paint beneath the flaming Sun,
And silver Dian, the great race he run,
When by the horns the brazen stag he took,
Of his fine breath, and his fleet path forsook,
Beginning, when the vernal year began,
And ending, when his winter course he ran.
Else would I paint the darkness of his walk,
When the pale ghosts did to his opticks stalk,
7
And flames of anguish through all hell did glow;
But, maugre all, he bore the dog away,
And dragg'd the rav'ning monster up to day.
But this is small: and could I tell the flight
Of birds Stymphalian his thin arrows slew,
Or count th' o'er-horsy Centaurs, whom his might
Found populous and vast, and left them few,
Amid their winy feasts sent down to night:
Yet should I fail to tell the hero's praise,
And celebrate in how abundant ways
He bade the nations on his virtues gaze.
But Hercules won all, and made his own,
But envy, and pale jealousy alone:
The love of women, fatal to his race,
His shame and glory, his bright fault and grace,
Brought his assigned soul to her last tyring place.
There on the top of Œta, flaming broad,
He built the mountain of his funeral pile;
Whole forests did the mighty building load,
And Nature with a second eye did smile:
The Sun mov'd useless in his golden sphere,
The Moon without availment shone at night,
The eagles on their piny nests did fear,
And the sea-monsters trembled at the light:
Then, ere his spirit from himself had flown,
Great Jove took pity on his Godlike son,
And in a car of fire receiv'd him for his own.
But envy, and pale jealousy alone:
The love of women, fatal to his race,
His shame and glory, his bright fault and grace,
Brought his assigned soul to her last tyring place.
There on the top of Œta, flaming broad,
He built the mountain of his funeral pile;
Whole forests did the mighty building load,
And Nature with a second eye did smile:
The Sun mov'd useless in his golden sphere,
The Moon without availment shone at night,
8
And the sea-monsters trembled at the light:
Then, ere his spirit from himself had flown,
Great Jove took pity on his Godlike son,
And in a car of fire receiv'd him for his own.
O worthy end of his laborious life,
The nectar'd cup, and Hebe for his wife,
Her golden youth did with new transport play,
And crown'd his passed toils in th' empyréan day.
Yet did he oft, though in her arms he lay,
And tasted to the height immortal youth,
Sigh for young Iole, who, soft as May,
And rich as Summer, yielded up her truth:
There by Euripus, ever fickle stream,
He won a world in her immortal arms,
And found his prized honour but a dream,
Lost in the ocean of her gentle charms:
O woman, in thy gifts indeed divine,
Of all thy perfect mast'ry this the sign,
Alcides was a God, and did for thee repine!
The nectar'd cup, and Hebe for his wife,
Her golden youth did with new transport play,
And crown'd his passed toils in th' empyréan day.
Yet did he oft, though in her arms he lay,
And tasted to the height immortal youth,
Sigh for young Iole, who, soft as May,
And rich as Summer, yielded up her truth:
There by Euripus, ever fickle stream,
He won a world in her immortal arms,
And found his prized honour but a dream,
Lost in the ocean of her gentle charms:
O woman, in thy gifts indeed divine,
Of all thy perfect mast'ry this the sign,
Alcides was a God, and did for thee repine!
Young Iole gave Glaucus to the light,
Amid the boars and lions of the wood;
The satyrs o'er his cradle piped bright,
The nymphs came dancing from the crystal flood:
Their wreathed horns, and pipes of buxom reed
He well could tune unto the sylvan lay,
And made the leopards, and the panthers bleed,
And the young eaglets his unlearned prey:
With an uprooted knotty poplar arm'd,
He roam'd the leafy wood, and desart shore,
And all the distant country much alarm'd;
Fame to his wildness daily adding more:
Whatever man was outlaw from his peers,
Sought in that wood to reinstate his years.
Amid the boars and lions of the wood;
9
The nymphs came dancing from the crystal flood:
Their wreathed horns, and pipes of buxom reed
He well could tune unto the sylvan lay,
And made the leopards, and the panthers bleed,
And the young eaglets his unlearned prey:
With an uprooted knotty poplar arm'd,
He roam'd the leafy wood, and desart shore,
And all the distant country much alarm'd;
Fame to his wildness daily adding more:
Whatever man was outlaw from his peers,
Sought in that wood to reinstate his years.
Was nought around but images of woe,
E'en nature to the scene wild honour paid;
The clouds more swiftly o'er it's shades did flow,
And the loose winds a savage musick made:
In every alley, and in every glade
The fleeting monsters fasten'd on their prey;
Above the eagles their vast pinions sway'd,
Below the serpents glided from the day:
From ivied caverns and from horrid shades
Came the wild shrieks of lust-compelled maids.
E'en nature to the scene wild honour paid;
The clouds more swiftly o'er it's shades did flow,
And the loose winds a savage musick made:
In every alley, and in every glade
The fleeting monsters fasten'd on their prey;
Above the eagles their vast pinions sway'd,
Below the serpents glided from the day:
From ivied caverns and from horrid shades
Came the wild shrieks of lust-compelled maids.
10
At last upon a flow'ry morn in May,
When blithe Aurora lighted up the streams,
And the wild woodlarks sung on every spray,
Young Glaucus started from his slumbering dreams:
Through the wild forest took his loitering way,
And pierc'd the brindled boar, and branched hart,
Survey'd the Eagle, like the tempest, grey,
And levell'd the black vulture with his dart:
There in a harbour, all inlaid with flowers,
The lovely pride, and garland of the Spring,
Fair daffodils, that tell the vernal hours,
And hyacinths, that are of meadows king,
Woodbine, primroses, and sweet gilliflowers,
Young meddow-sweet, and lady-smocks so white,
That mind the maiden of chaste Hymen's bowers,
Being like marriage-sheets, in prospect bright,
Cowslips, and violets, and molys true,
Anemonè, and drooping asphodel,
The flower-de-luce, that we in triumph view,
And crocus, of the shepherds loved well,
Young daisies, that at ev'ning shut the eye,
And rosemaries, the true delight of love,
On such a bed young Viola did lie,
And the wild son of Hercules did prove;
As honey-suckles round a temple twine,
So clasp'd she Glaucus in her arms divine.
When blithe Aurora lighted up the streams,
And the wild woodlarks sung on every spray,
Young Glaucus started from his slumbering dreams:
Through the wild forest took his loitering way,
And pierc'd the brindled boar, and branched hart,
Survey'd the Eagle, like the tempest, grey,
And levell'd the black vulture with his dart:
There in a harbour, all inlaid with flowers,
The lovely pride, and garland of the Spring,
Fair daffodils, that tell the vernal hours,
And hyacinths, that are of meadows king,
Woodbine, primroses, and sweet gilliflowers,
Young meddow-sweet, and lady-smocks so white,
That mind the maiden of chaste Hymen's bowers,
Being like marriage-sheets, in prospect bright,
Cowslips, and violets, and molys true,
Anemonè, and drooping asphodel,
The flower-de-luce, that we in triumph view,
And crocus, of the shepherds loved well,
Young daisies, that at ev'ning shut the eye,
And rosemaries, the true delight of love,
On such a bed young Viola did lie,
And the wild son of Hercules did prove;
11
So clasp'd she Glaucus in her arms divine.
She was the daughter of the king of Crete,
And wander'd on a journey from her friends,
When this wild passion she in woods did meet,
That clos'd her errour with a sweet amends,
And laid her willing on the nuptial sheet:
A sheet, in colour and in hue more bright,
Than prest Alcmena that immortal night,
When she accepted Jove, and charm'd him to the height.
Young Viola, then budding like the Spring,
And prodigal of kisses as the prime,
Through the blithe day did to her compheere sing,
And laugh'd away the love-beguiled time;
As fresh and dative, as the op'ning rose,
That in July to the fierce Summer glows:
But with the star, that doth engild the West,
When shepherds' feet are tracking in the dew,
She rose, and to her lost companions prest,
And with her led her woody Glaucus true:
Perhaps she blush'd, when she in presence came,
But with soft-smiling words conceal'd her flame,
And feign'd a likely tale, and well express'd the same.
And wander'd on a journey from her friends,
When this wild passion she in woods did meet,
That clos'd her errour with a sweet amends,
And laid her willing on the nuptial sheet:
A sheet, in colour and in hue more bright,
Than prest Alcmena that immortal night,
When she accepted Jove, and charm'd him to the height.
Young Viola, then budding like the Spring,
And prodigal of kisses as the prime,
Through the blithe day did to her compheere sing,
And laugh'd away the love-beguiled time;
As fresh and dative, as the op'ning rose,
That in July to the fierce Summer glows:
But with the star, that doth engild the West,
When shepherds' feet are tracking in the dew,
She rose, and to her lost companions prest,
And with her led her woody Glaucus true:
Perhaps she blush'd, when she in presence came,
But with soft-smiling words conceal'd her flame,
And feign'd a likely tale, and well express'd the same.
12
“My lord, and father, to the woods I went
“To pluck the primrose, and faint violet;
“The woodbine a delicious odour sent,
“And daffodil, that with her sweetness blent,
“When a wild satyr on my way I met,
“Who, cruel man, affray'd me and beset.
“I scream'd, my lord; but ah! you were not near;
“Nor did the Nymphs assist me in my fear.
“Me to his cavern then perforce he drew:
“And, oh, what evil would my virtue rue,
“But that this heav'n-bless'd shepherd came in view.
“Believe, my lord, whatever truth can owe
“To honour and bright courage gently us'd,
“I owe to him, all gratitude below,
“Else had the cruel satyr me abus'd;”
And then she smil'd, and from her eye-lids sent,
A laughing look of love, that crown'd her argument.
“To pluck the primrose, and faint violet;
“The woodbine a delicious odour sent,
“And daffodil, that with her sweetness blent,
“When a wild satyr on my way I met,
“Who, cruel man, affray'd me and beset.
“I scream'd, my lord; but ah! you were not near;
“Nor did the Nymphs assist me in my fear.
“Me to his cavern then perforce he drew:
“And, oh, what evil would my virtue rue,
“But that this heav'n-bless'd shepherd came in view.
“Believe, my lord, whatever truth can owe
“To honour and bright courage gently us'd,
“I owe to him, all gratitude below,
“Else had the cruel satyr me abus'd;”
And then she smil'd, and from her eye-lids sent,
A laughing look of love, that crown'd her argument.
To Crete they went upon a vessel brave,
Jove made the air serene, and Neptune smooth'd the wave:
The purple sails to the free Morning flow'd,
The golden tackle, like Olympus, glow'd,
And Venus bless'd the pair upon their wat'ry road.
Crete came in sight: the biting anchor fell:
The fane of Jove receiv'd them on the shore,
To which the God, as Cretan fables tell,
Europa, as a bull, in triumph bore:
And crown'd his wishes on the wat'ry marge,
While the sea-dolphins sported all at large.
Then to the palace with fresh hymns they went,
And now the horned Dian flam'd abroad,
And Lucifer his light almost had spent;
Young Viola with soft attachment glow'd,
And mid' her melting kisses gently swore,
She lov'd her Glaucus then more than she lov'd before:
But with the yellow beams of envious day,
The king, who restless on his pallet lay,
Sought his young daughter's bed, the prototype of May.
Jove made the air serene, and Neptune smooth'd the wave:
The purple sails to the free Morning flow'd,
The golden tackle, like Olympus, glow'd,
And Venus bless'd the pair upon their wat'ry road.
13
The fane of Jove receiv'd them on the shore,
To which the God, as Cretan fables tell,
Europa, as a bull, in triumph bore:
And crown'd his wishes on the wat'ry marge,
While the sea-dolphins sported all at large.
Then to the palace with fresh hymns they went,
And now the horned Dian flam'd abroad,
And Lucifer his light almost had spent;
Young Viola with soft attachment glow'd,
And mid' her melting kisses gently swore,
She lov'd her Glaucus then more than she lov'd before:
But with the yellow beams of envious day,
The king, who restless on his pallet lay,
Sought his young daughter's bed, the prototype of May.
O, what a shriek was there
Of gentle love, awaken'd to despair!
It startled the blithe morn, and pal'd the rosy air.
In bands of willing love the victims lay:
Th' incensed monarch frown'd, prepar'd to slay;
And bade them pray to Jove, ere they forsook the day.
But tears prevail'd; an ocean of soft tears:
And Viola, that for her minion fears,
Not for herself, at length forsook her fears:
With his drawn sword a moment's space he stood,
In thought to quench his anger in their blood,
Then turn'd away, and tears began to flow;
“Go, cruel girl, to the chaste temple go,
“And plight your guilty faith, and consecrate my woe.”
Of gentle love, awaken'd to despair!
It startled the blithe morn, and pal'd the rosy air.
In bands of willing love the victims lay:
Th' incensed monarch frown'd, prepar'd to slay;
And bade them pray to Jove, ere they forsook the day.
But tears prevail'd; an ocean of soft tears:
And Viola, that for her minion fears,
14
With his drawn sword a moment's space he stood,
In thought to quench his anger in their blood,
Then turn'd away, and tears began to flow;
“Go, cruel girl, to the chaste temple go,
“And plight your guilty faith, and consecrate my woe.”
They to the temple went: the way was strewn with flowers:
And the bright hautboy's breath awak'd the rising hours.
Then from their loins, and blessed union came
A race of sov'reign kings, thrice dear to fame,
And goodly fruit of Rhadamanthus' name:
The daughters chaste, and all the sons were brave;
But time has lapp'd them all in mere oblivion's wave.
Save, here and there, a name, that cannot die,
Tied by immortal verse to endless destiny:
That shall not sink in night: but brave shall fly,
Long as the silver stars shall gild the sky,
Or sweeping tempests o'er the ocean sigh.
But all the rest are gone:
As leaves in Autumn into streams are blown,
Or prints upon the sand, which tides have overflown.
Only thus much is known;
That their great father, Glaucus, built on high
A hundred cities rising to the sky;
Then, bless'd of all, did, like old Nestor, die.
And the bright hautboy's breath awak'd the rising hours.
Then from their loins, and blessed union came
A race of sov'reign kings, thrice dear to fame,
And goodly fruit of Rhadamanthus' name:
The daughters chaste, and all the sons were brave;
But time has lapp'd them all in mere oblivion's wave.
Save, here and there, a name, that cannot die,
Tied by immortal verse to endless destiny:
That shall not sink in night: but brave shall fly,
Long as the silver stars shall gild the sky,
Or sweeping tempests o'er the ocean sigh.
But all the rest are gone:
As leaves in Autumn into streams are blown,
Or prints upon the sand, which tides have overflown.
Only thus much is known;
That their great father, Glaucus, built on high
15
Then, bless'd of all, did, like old Nestor, die.
Is this the end of glory, thrice renown'd,
To be with night and sad oblivion bound?
All their Olympique acts, and battles fierce,
And worthy counsels, that the skies could pierce,
Gone, like the dateless world, for want of sacred verse?
Only, beneath the chaste and fickle moon,
With printless feet they by the rivers walk,
Or haunt the meadows in her silent noon,
Or o'er the scenes of passed battles stalk,
While, overhead, is heard the sweet bird's tune,
To be the theme of some poor shepherd's talk;
When his young children o'er the embers cower,
And fear presides at night's unwholesome hour:
This is their end,
Who had no sacred poet for their friend,
But without golden hymns did to the grave descend.
To be with night and sad oblivion bound?
All their Olympique acts, and battles fierce,
And worthy counsels, that the skies could pierce,
Gone, like the dateless world, for want of sacred verse?
Only, beneath the chaste and fickle moon,
With printless feet they by the rivers walk,
Or haunt the meadows in her silent noon,
Or o'er the scenes of passed battles stalk,
While, overhead, is heard the sweet bird's tune,
To be the theme of some poor shepherd's talk;
When his young children o'er the embers cower,
And fear presides at night's unwholesome hour:
This is their end,
Who had no sacred poet for their friend,
But without golden hymns did to the grave descend.
As Alpheus, that by fair Olympia flows
Beneath the sea to Arethusa's spring,
And all his sacred waters there bestows,
Whom faithful love did to that distance bring,
So from the womb of fables and old night,
This god-like race, long hidden from the sight,
Shine in new-founded Rome, and blaze into the light.
Swift as the lightnings rend the haughty pine,
So fell the people's rage on Tarquin's line;
The self-same Sun beheld their fall and their decline.
And, as when some great fortress tumbles down,
Or by the cannon or the thunder's frown,
The neighb'ring temples in the ruin share,
And, resting on it's strength, involved are
In the same deep destruction and despair;
So, when the Tarquins perish'd from their state,
The noble Actii too partook their fate.
Then to fair Este their household Gods they took,
And with a weeping mind sweet Rome forsook:
For equal rights with all the race disdain'd to brook.
Beneath the sea to Arethusa's spring,
And all his sacred waters there bestows,
Whom faithful love did to that distance bring,
16
This god-like race, long hidden from the sight,
Shine in new-founded Rome, and blaze into the light.
Swift as the lightnings rend the haughty pine,
So fell the people's rage on Tarquin's line;
The self-same Sun beheld their fall and their decline.
And, as when some great fortress tumbles down,
Or by the cannon or the thunder's frown,
The neighb'ring temples in the ruin share,
And, resting on it's strength, involved are
In the same deep destruction and despair;
So, when the Tarquins perish'd from their state,
The noble Actii too partook their fate.
Then to fair Este their household Gods they took,
And with a weeping mind sweet Rome forsook:
For equal rights with all the race disdain'd to brook.
Nought but a crown could please
The ever-mindful sons of Hercules:
And, in the rolling years, and fav'ring heav'n,
Este, Genoa, Milan, Tuscany were given.
Then Azo, son of Hugo, rul'd the name,
A mighty prince, and heralded by fame:
He to the altar led the Scythian dame,
Unmarried daughter of Bavaria's race,
From whom our kings the Saxon sceptre claim,
And the White Horse do in their banners place:
Had I the Heavens for space—
But, hold! ambitious Muse:
'Twere best this boundless subject to refuse;
Thou canst not paint their glory, but abuse.
The ever-mindful sons of Hercules:
And, in the rolling years, and fav'ring heav'n,
Este, Genoa, Milan, Tuscany were given.
Then Azo, son of Hugo, rul'd the name,
A mighty prince, and heralded by fame:
He to the altar led the Scythian dame,
17
From whom our kings the Saxon sceptre claim,
And the White Horse do in their banners place:
Had I the Heavens for space—
But, hold! ambitious Muse:
'Twere best this boundless subject to refuse;
Thou canst not paint their glory, but abuse.
No wood, no mountain of the antique world,
No rolling river, into Ocean hurl'd,
No inland champaign, and no wat'ry marge,
But of their glory has receiv'd the charge:
Their blood has flow'd, where'er the winds can flow,
Or the bright Sun from Heav'n's great portal glow:
No head, that ach'd beneath the weighty crown,
Could on the pillow lay it's counsels down,
Till it had weigh'd their smiles, and balanc'd well their frown:
For what they spoke was fate;
Who brought divine protection to their state,
And, being the sons of Gods, rul'd with resistless weight.
No rolling river, into Ocean hurl'd,
No inland champaign, and no wat'ry marge,
But of their glory has receiv'd the charge:
Their blood has flow'd, where'er the winds can flow,
Or the bright Sun from Heav'n's great portal glow:
No head, that ach'd beneath the weighty crown,
Could on the pillow lay it's counsels down,
Till it had weigh'd their smiles, and balanc'd well their frown:
For what they spoke was fate;
Who brought divine protection to their state,
And, being the sons of Gods, rul'd with resistless weight.
He, who will count the stars, from which they came,
Or all their worthy acts, thrice dear to fame,
Or the bright sands of the Italian shore,
Or leafy woods, through which the tempests roar,
Wherein they chas'd the leopard, and the boar;
Or towns, and temples, that the Elbe displays,
Or the bright meads, through which her water strays,
He, whose arithmetick shall reach to this,
May tell their glory, and imperial bliss:
But I shall pass them o'er;
Fame, which has much in store,
Ne'er crown'd so great a race of Heav'n-sprung lords before.
Or all their worthy acts, thrice dear to fame,
Or the bright sands of the Italian shore,
18
Wherein they chas'd the leopard, and the boar;
Or towns, and temples, that the Elbe displays,
Or the bright meads, through which her water strays,
He, whose arithmetick shall reach to this,
May tell their glory, and imperial bliss:
But I shall pass them o'er;
Fame, which has much in store,
Ne'er crown'd so great a race of Heav'n-sprung lords before.
Then Ernest had to wife Bohemia's child,
A kingly maid, and of fair Britain born;
All Nature on the beauteous marriage smil'd,
And all her lights conception did adorn:
The Sun infus'd the vigour of his beams,
The Moon the soft completion of her sphere,
And golden fancies, and immortal dreams,
That a true king should to the world appear:
Then the first George maintain'd the sov'reign sway,
And sate enthron'd upon Augusta's shore,
And the whole World did his great thoughts obey,
Far as the winds can sweep, or billows roar:
Thames, first of rivers, in his sacred time
Receiv'd the wealth of ev'ry burning clime.
A kingly maid, and of fair Britain born;
All Nature on the beauteous marriage smil'd,
And all her lights conception did adorn:
The Sun infus'd the vigour of his beams,
The Moon the soft completion of her sphere,
And golden fancies, and immortal dreams,
That a true king should to the world appear:
Then the first George maintain'd the sov'reign sway,
And sate enthron'd upon Augusta's shore,
And the whole World did his great thoughts obey,
Far as the winds can sweep, or billows roar:
Thames, first of rivers, in his sacred time
Receiv'd the wealth of ev'ry burning clime.
19
And then a second glorious king arose,
Wise, prudent, brave, as all his fathers were,
He shone in arms, where mighty Rhenus flows,
And with his clarions quail'd the silver air:
The earth his bed, the stars his tapers were
In pitched camps he ever lov'd to dwell,
With the hoarse cannon's breath, and trumpet's blair,
To the wide World did his great meaning tell:
Truth he maintain'd, and justice he upheld,
And through his reign the tyrant's force was quell'd.
Wise, prudent, brave, as all his fathers were,
He shone in arms, where mighty Rhenus flows,
And with his clarions quail'd the silver air:
The earth his bed, the stars his tapers were
In pitched camps he ever lov'd to dwell,
With the hoarse cannon's breath, and trumpet's blair,
To the wide World did his great meaning tell:
Truth he maintain'd, and justice he upheld,
And through his reign the tyrant's force was quell'd.
Meanwhile a Prince, whose virtue had no peer,
The likely hope, and promise of his reign,
Fell, like a star, too swiftly from his sphere,
And ev'ry poet did to Heav'n complain:
Like the unsoiled lily on the plain,
Or crimson rose, the regent of the year,
He fell, and England thought her ruin plain,
But the third George did to her eyes appear:
Like Phosphor, mid the purple weeds of night,
He peer'd abroad, and bless'd us with his light.
The likely hope, and promise of his reign,
Fell, like a star, too swiftly from his sphere,
And ev'ry poet did to Heav'n complain:
Like the unsoiled lily on the plain,
Or crimson rose, the regent of the year,
He fell, and England thought her ruin plain,
But the third George did to her eyes appear:
Like Phosphor, mid the purple weeds of night,
He peer'd abroad, and bless'd us with his light.
20
O, I could sing, till all the stars were pale,
And the bright Sun was quench'd in endless night,
Above the lunar horns in thought prevail,
Painting our English King, the world's delight:
The best of fathers, husbands, and of friends,
Most brave of men, most faithful to his God,
Most gentle Sov'reign, whom no private ends
Ere from the track of virtue sent abroad:
If blameless be the crystal star of Morn,
Then all the virtues do our King adorn.
And the bright Sun was quench'd in endless night,
Above the lunar horns in thought prevail,
Painting our English King, the world's delight:
The best of fathers, husbands, and of friends,
Most brave of men, most faithful to his God,
Most gentle Sov'reign, whom no private ends
Ere from the track of virtue sent abroad:
If blameless be the crystal star of Morn,
Then all the virtues do our King adorn.
But God, who virtue by affliction tries,
And, whom he loveth, chasteneth still the more,
Ere yet they gain the Amaranthine prize,
And sit enthron'd upon the tranquil shore,
Where sorrow never weeps, nor tempests roar,
When now the sceptre, for full fifty years,
He had in justice, and in mercy sway'd,
Then chang'd his hand, and 'mid the people's tears,
A heavy judgment on our father laid:
That beauteous mind, that did in truth delight
He quench'd, alas! and hid in darksome night;
Yet, Britain, not repine: for what He wills is right.
And, whom he loveth, chasteneth still the more,
Ere yet they gain the Amaranthine prize,
And sit enthron'd upon the tranquil shore,
Where sorrow never weeps, nor tempests roar,
When now the sceptre, for full fifty years,
He had in justice, and in mercy sway'd,
Then chang'd his hand, and 'mid the people's tears,
A heavy judgment on our father laid:
That beauteous mind, that did in truth delight
He quench'd, alas! and hid in darksome night;
Yet, Britain, not repine: for what He wills is right.
21
Let prayers unfeigned from your hearths arise,
And all your churches echo with the same,
Fear not to weary the indulgent skies,
And let the organs make their sacred claim,
And the bassoon with pensive voices rise:
O Heav'n restore again,
From darkness, and from pain,
Him, who in virtuous law did ever love to reign:
And all our waves shall yield their full encrease,
And all our fields their ripen'd corn present,
And all our meads the lowing herds of peace,
And our rich gardens, sweetly eloquent
With fair Pomona, our just vows content;
All is too little for this bounteous gift;
O gracious God, be in thy mercy swift,
To whom we bow the head, and our join'd hands uplift.
And all your churches echo with the same,
Fear not to weary the indulgent skies,
And let the organs make their sacred claim,
And the bassoon with pensive voices rise:
O Heav'n restore again,
From darkness, and from pain,
Him, who in virtuous law did ever love to reign:
And all our waves shall yield their full encrease,
And all our fields their ripen'd corn present,
And all our meads the lowing herds of peace,
And our rich gardens, sweetly eloquent
With fair Pomona, our just vows content;
All is too little for this bounteous gift;
O gracious God, be in thy mercy swift,
To whom we bow the head, and our join'd hands uplift.
Meanwhile the King's great armies on the land,
And floating navies are with triumph crown'd:
Where'er the cross of Britain can be scann'd,
Be sure, that victory to her staff is bound:
Her name is known, the orbed world around,
For matchless courage, and unblemished worth:
Then let the merchants catch the glorious sound,
And the sweet poets spread it o'er the earth:
In every tongue, on every shore be heard,
That Britain to the World is by the World preferr'd.
And floating navies are with triumph crown'd:
Where'er the cross of Britain can be scann'd,
Be sure, that victory to her staff is bound:
Her name is known, the orbed world around,
For matchless courage, and unblemished worth:
Then let the merchants catch the glorious sound,
22
In every tongue, on every shore be heard,
That Britain to the World is by the World preferr'd.
What song can speak the wonders of thy praise,
Thou polish'd Prince, of victory the lord,
Who, studious of thy father's sacred ways,
Art justly for thy conq'ring arms ador'd,
And beauteous counsels, with full wisdom stor'd?
Our dark estate turn'd into golden day,
And peace dispers'd through the affrighted air,
All Europe sav'd: let men these triumphs weigh;
And History to paint thee shall despair:
When thou command'st thy banner be unfurl'd,
Thou hast no peer, or equal in the World.
Thou polish'd Prince, of victory the lord,
Who, studious of thy father's sacred ways,
Art justly for thy conq'ring arms ador'd,
And beauteous counsels, with full wisdom stor'd?
Our dark estate turn'd into golden day,
And peace dispers'd through the affrighted air,
All Europe sav'd: let men these triumphs weigh;
And History to paint thee shall despair:
When thou command'st thy banner be unfurl'd,
Thou hast no peer, or equal in the World.
Thames by thy victories is set on fire,
And London, like the starry cope of Heaven,
The flags wave ruffling from each taper spire,
And the bright peals unto the sky are given:
The cannons send thy glory to the air,
Which back returns it to the vaulted ground,
Men's tongues with thy great praises loaded are,
And the full concerts swell the grateful sound:
In ev'ry chamber, and in ev'ry street,
Is heard the thrilling harp, and the full organ sweet.
And London, like the starry cope of Heaven,
The flags wave ruffling from each taper spire,
And the bright peals unto the sky are given:
The cannons send thy glory to the air,
Which back returns it to the vaulted ground,
Men's tongues with thy great praises loaded are,
And the full concerts swell the grateful sound:
23
Is heard the thrilling harp, and the full organ sweet.
The flute, the hautboy, and the clarionet,
The serpent, and the sweet, most sweet bassoon,
The great trombonè, where all sound is met,
And the large trumpets, that exalt the tune:
The wreathed horns, and the ear-piercing fife,
The clashing cymbals, and the rolling drum,
Awake our active spirits into life,
And speak of greedy battles yet to come:
But ev'ry instrument, a thousand ways,
And ev'ry tune is vocal in thy praise.
The serpent, and the sweet, most sweet bassoon,
The great trombonè, where all sound is met,
And the large trumpets, that exalt the tune:
The wreathed horns, and the ear-piercing fife,
The clashing cymbals, and the rolling drum,
Awake our active spirits into life,
And speak of greedy battles yet to come:
But ev'ry instrument, a thousand ways,
And ev'ry tune is vocal in thy praise.
The Sun beholds thee with uprising love,
And joyous laughs, in his thrice-golden sphere,
And does reluctant from thy presence move,
The son of Jove, thou to his beams art dear:
The Moon and stars, from their thrice-regal height,
Divide in love the watches of the night.
And be thou faithful to the sacred cause
Of perfect freedom, and the Bible's laws,
Thou shalt, indeed, to that true glory come,
And in unfabled Heav'n find thy immortal home:
But be this late: we cannot spare thee yet,
And in thy drooping sun find all our glory set.
The fruitful sea, and ev'ry distant shore,
Presents the native tribute of it's wealth,
And gifts of nature, never seen before,
Immortal riches, and abundant health:
All herbs of earth are in thy gardens seen,
And in thy forests ev'ry glorious tree,
The Indian world has been despoiled clean,
And Africa, to find new beasts for thee:
Gems, armors, marbles, all the proofs of mind,
By which the Romans claim'd the conquer'd world,
And the wise Greeks, in virtue thrice refin'd;
Vast volumes of philosophy, unfurl'd
Oft when the bear controuls the silent pole;
These are thy dear delights, and nearest to thy soul.
And joyous laughs, in his thrice-golden sphere,
And does reluctant from thy presence move,
The son of Jove, thou to his beams art dear:
The Moon and stars, from their thrice-regal height,
Divide in love the watches of the night.
And be thou faithful to the sacred cause
Of perfect freedom, and the Bible's laws,
Thou shalt, indeed, to that true glory come,
And in unfabled Heav'n find thy immortal home:
24
And in thy drooping sun find all our glory set.
The fruitful sea, and ev'ry distant shore,
Presents the native tribute of it's wealth,
And gifts of nature, never seen before,
Immortal riches, and abundant health:
All herbs of earth are in thy gardens seen,
And in thy forests ev'ry glorious tree,
The Indian world has been despoiled clean,
And Africa, to find new beasts for thee:
Gems, armors, marbles, all the proofs of mind,
By which the Romans claim'd the conquer'd world,
And the wise Greeks, in virtue thrice refin'd;
Vast volumes of philosophy, unfurl'd
Oft when the bear controuls the silent pole;
These are thy dear delights, and nearest to thy soul.
Great kings, and emp'rors to thy court repair,
To hear the speech of so divine a mind;
And offer tribute of distinction fair:
This doth the Saltier of St. Andrew bind,
And that the Golden Eagle on thy breast,
Or with the Holy Ghost thy sov'reign robe invest:
And he, who call'd to the Italian plains,
To give them laws, and a God-sanction'd king,
Ruling fine spirits with attemper'd reins,
Bids his embassadors the order bring
Of the steep'd Golden Fleece, rich as the burnish'd Spring:
This is thy praise: but greater is thy bliss,
To sit enthron'd upon the regal chair,
And see around thee what no land, but this,
Can yield to thought of beautiful and fair;
Ladies, whom nature for a pattern made
In shape, in stature, in complexion pure,
Chaste, modest, noble, by soft reason sway'd,
And form'd to love, and to make love endure;
This is the pride of Albion's happy isle,
That makes our star above all nations smile,
And in the foaming floods augments our warlike style.
To hear the speech of so divine a mind;
And offer tribute of distinction fair:
This doth the Saltier of St. Andrew bind,
And that the Golden Eagle on thy breast,
Or with the Holy Ghost thy sov'reign robe invest:
And he, who call'd to the Italian plains,
25
Ruling fine spirits with attemper'd reins,
Bids his embassadors the order bring
Of the steep'd Golden Fleece, rich as the burnish'd Spring:
This is thy praise: but greater is thy bliss,
To sit enthron'd upon the regal chair,
And see around thee what no land, but this,
Can yield to thought of beautiful and fair;
Ladies, whom nature for a pattern made
In shape, in stature, in complexion pure,
Chaste, modest, noble, by soft reason sway'd,
And form'd to love, and to make love endure;
This is the pride of Albion's happy isle,
That makes our star above all nations smile,
And in the foaming floods augments our warlike style.
Now cease, ye Muses, for your task is done,
And your melodious words have sunk the weary Sun:
Now leave your verdant chaplets on his gate,
And there in duteous love, and sweet allegiance wait:
Till the bright Seasons, that not yet are born,
Shall this immortal Prince with a fresh palm adorn;
Then will we sing, and with our temples crown'd,
Shake the thrice-crystal Sphere with the ambrosial sound.
And your melodious words have sunk the weary Sun:
Now leave your verdant chaplets on his gate,
And there in duteous love, and sweet allegiance wait:
Till the bright Seasons, that not yet are born,
Shall this immortal Prince with a fresh palm adorn;
Then will we sing, and with our temples crown'd,
Shake the thrice-crystal Sphere with the ambrosial sound.
THE END.
| Carmen Britanicum | |