BRITANNIA.
A POEM.
[3]AS on the Sea-beat Shore BRITANNIA ſat,
Of her degenerate Sons, the faded Fame,
Deep in her anxious Heart revolving ſad:
Bare was her throbbing Boſom to the Gale,
That hoarſe, and hollow, from the bleak Surge blew;
Looſe flow'd her Treſſes; Rent her Azure Robe
Hung o'er the Deep: from her Majeſtick Brow
She tore the Laurel, and ſhe tore the Bay.
Nor ceas'd the copious Grief to bathe her Cheek;
[4] Nor ceas'd her Sobs to murmur to the Main.
Peace diſcontented nigh, departing, ſtretch'd
Her Dove-like Wings. And War, tho' greatly rous'd,
Yet mourn'd his fetter'd Hands. While thus the Queen
Of Nations ſpoke; and what ſhe ſaid the Muſe
Recorded, faithful, in unbidden Verſe.
EVEN not you Sail, that, from the Sky-mixt Wave,
Dawns on the Sight, and wafts the ROYAL YOUTH,
A Fraight of future Glory to my Shore;
Even not the flattering View of golden Days,
And riſing Periods yet of bright Renown,
Beneath the PARENTS, and their endleſs Line
Thro' late revolving Time, can ſooth my Rage;
While, unchaſtis'd, the inſulting Spaniard dares
Infeſt the trading Flood, full of vain War
Deſpiſe my Navies, and my Merchants ſeize;
As, truſting to falſe Peace, they fearleſs roam
The World of Waters wild, made, by the Toil,
And liberal Blood of glorious Ages, mine:
Nor burſts my ſleeping Thunder on their Head.
Whence this unwonted Patience? This weak Doubt?
This tame Beſeeching of rejected Peace?
This meek Forbearance? This unnative Fear,
To generous Britons never known before?
[5] And ſail'd my Fleets for this; on Indian Tides
To float, unactive, with the veering Winds?
The Mockery of War! While foul Diſeaſe,
And Sloth diſtemper'd, ſwept off burning Crowds,
For Action ardent; and amid the Deep,
Inglorious, ſunk Them in a watry Grave.
There now they lie beneath the rowling Flood,
Far from their Friends, and Country unaveng'd;
And back the weeping War-Ship comes again,
Diſpirited, and thin; her Sons aſham'd
Thus idly to review their native Shore;
With not one Glory ſparkling in their Eye,
One Triumph on their Tongue. A Paſſenger,
The violated Merchant comes along;
That far-ſought Wealth, for which the noxious Gale
He drew, and ſweat beneath Equator Suns,
By lawleſs Force detain'd; a Force that ſoon
Would melt away, and every Spoil reſign,
Were once the Britiſh Lyon heard to roar.
Whence is it that the proud Iberian thus,
In their own well-aſſerted Element,
Dares rouze to Wrath the Maſters of the Main?
Who told him, that the big, incumbent War
Would not, ere this, have rowl'd his trembling Ports
In ſmoaky Ruin? And his guilty Stores,
[6] Won by the Ravage of a butcher'd World,
Yet unatton'd, ſunk in the ſwallowing Deep,
Or led the glittering Prize into the Thames?
THERE was a Time (Oh let my languid Sons
Reſume their Spirit at the rouzing Thought!)
When all the Pride of Spain, in one dread Fleet,
Swell'd o'er the labring Surge; like a whole Heaven
Of Clouds, wide-roll'd before the boundleſs Breeze.
Gaily the ſplendid Armament along
Exultant plow'd, reflecting a red Gleam,
As ſunk the Sun, o'er all the flaming Vaſt;
Tall, gorgeous, and elate; drunk with the Dream
Of eaſy Conqueſt; while their bloated War,
Stretch'd out from Sky to Sky, the gather'd Force
Of Ages held in its capacious Womb.
But ſoon, regardleſs of the cumbrous Pomp,
My dauntleſs Britons came, a gloomy Few,
With Tempeſt black, the goodly Scene deform'd,
And laid their Glory waſte. The Bolts of Fate
Reſiſtleſs thunder'd thro' their yielding Sides;
Fierce o'er their Beauty blaz'd the lurid Flame;
And ſeiz'd in horrid Graſp, or ſhatter'd wide,
Amid the mighty Waters, deep they ſunk.
Then too from every Promontory chill,
[7] Rank Fen, and Cavern where the wild Wave works,
I ſwept confederate Winds, and ſwell'd a Storm.
Round the glad Iſle, ſnatch'd by the vengeful Blaſt,
The ſcatter'd Remnants drove; on the blind Shelve,
And pointed Rock, that marks the indented Shore,
Relentleſs daſh'd, where loud the Northern Main
Howls thro' the fractur'd Caledonian Iſles.
SUCH were the Dawnings of my liquid Reign;
But ſince how vaſt it grew, how abſolute,
Even in thoſe troubled Times, when dreadful Blake
Aw'd angry Nations with the Britiſh Name,
Let every humbled State, let Europe ſay,
Suſtain'd, and ballanc'd, by my Naval Arm.
Ah what muſt theſe immortal Spirits think
Of your poor Shifts? Theſe, for their Country's Good,
Who fac'd the blackeſt Danger, knew no Fear,
No mean Submiſſion, but commanded Peace.
Ah how with Indignation muſt they burn?
(If ought, but Joy, can touch aetherial Breaſts)
With Shame? With Grief? To ſee their feeble Sons
Shrink from that Empire o'er the conquer'd Seas,
For which their Wiſdom plann'd, their Councils glow'd,
And their Veins bled thro' many a toiling Age.
[8]
OH firſt of human Bleſſings! and Supreme!
Fair PEACE! how lovely, how delightful thou!
By whoſe wide Tie, the kindred Sons of Men,
Like Brothers live, in Amity combin'd,
And unſuſpicious Faith; while honeſt Toil
Gives every Joy, and to thoſe Joys a Right,
Which idle, barbarous Rapine but uſurps.
Pure is thy Reign; when, unaccurs'd by Blood,
Nought, ſave the Sweetneſs of indulgent Showers,
Trickling diſtils into the vernant Glebe;
Inſtead of mangled Carcaſſes, ſad-ſeen,
When the blythe Sheaves lie ſcatter'd o'er the Field;
When only ſhining Shares, the crooked Knife,
And Hooks imprint the vegetable Wound;
When the Land bluſhes with the Roſe alone,
The falling Fruitage, and the bleeding Vine.
Oh, PEACE! thou Source, and Soul of ſocial Life;
Beneath whoſe calm, inſpiring Influence,
Science his Views inlarges, Art refines,
And ſwelling Commerce opens all her Ports;
Bleſt be the Man divine, who gives us Thee!
Who bids the Trumpet huſh his horrid Clang,
Nor blow the giddy Nations into Rage;
Who ſheaths the murdrous Blade; the deadly Gun
[9] Into the well-pil'd Armoury returns;
And, every Vigour, from the Work of Death,
To grateful Induſtry converting, makes
The City flouriſh, and the Country ſmile.
Unviolated, Him the Virgin ſings;
And Him the ſmiling Mother to her Train.
Of Him the Shepherd, in the peaceful Dale,
Chaunts; and, the Treaſures of his Labour ſure,
The Husbandman of Him, as at the Plow,
Or Team, He toils. With Him the Sailor ſooths,
Beneath the trembling Moon, the Midnight Wave;
And the full City, warm, from Street to Street,
And Shop to Shop, reſponſive, rings of Him.
Nor joys one Land alone; his Praiſe extends
Far as the Sun rolls the diffuſive Day;
Far as the Breeze can bear the Gifts of Peace,
Till all the happy Nations catch the Song.
WHAT would not, PEACE! the Patriot bear for Thee?
What painful Patience? What inceſſant Care?
What mixt Anxiety? What ſleepleſs Toil?
Even from the raſh Protected what Reproach?
For He thy Value knows; thy Friendſhip He
To human Nature: but the better thou,
The richer of Delight, ſometimes the more
[10] Inevitable WAR; when ruffian Force
Awakes the Fury of an injur'd State:
Then the good eaſy Man, whom Reaſon rules;
Who, while unhurt, knew nor Offence, nor Harm,
Rouz'd by bold Inſult, and injurious Rage,
With ſharp, and ſudden Check, th' aſtoniſh'd Sons
Of Violence confounds; firm as his Cauſe,
His bolder Heart; in awful Juſtice clad;
His Eyes effulging a peculiar Fire:
And, as he charges thro' the proſtrate War,
His keen Arm teaches faithleſs Men, no more
To dare the ſacred Vengeance of the Juſt.
AND what, my thoughtleſs Sons, ſhould fire you more,
Than when your well-earn'd Empire of the Deep
The leaſt beginning Injury receives?
What better Cauſe can call your Lightning forth?
Your Thunder wake? Your deareſt Life demand?
What better Cauſe, than when your Country ſees
The ſly Deſtruction at her Vitals aim'd?
For Oh it much imports you, 'tis your All,
To keep your Trade intire, intire the Force,
And Honour of your Fleets; o'er that to watch,
Even with a Hand ſevere, and jealous Eye.
In Intercourſe be gentle, generous, juſt,
[11] By Wiſdom poliſh'd, and of Manners fair;
But on the Sea be terrible, untam'd,
Inconquerable ſtill: let none eſcape,
Who ſhall but aim to touch your Glory there.
Is there the Man, into the Lyon's Den
Who dares intrude, to ſnatch his Young away?
And is a Briton ſeiz'd? and ſeiz'd beneath
The ſlumbring Terrors of a Britiſh Fleet?
Then ardent riſe! Oh great in Vengeance riſe!
O'erturn the Proud, teach Rapine to reſtore:
And as you ride ſublimely round the World,
Make every Veſſel ſtoop, make every State
At once their Welfare and their Duty know.
This is your Glory; this your Wiſdom; this
The native Power for which you were deſign'd
By Fate, when Fate deſign'd the firmeſt State,
That e'er was ſeated on the ſubject Sea;
A State, alone, where LIBERTY ſhould live,
In theſe late Times, this Evening of Mankind,
When Carthage, Rome, and Athens are no more,
The World almoſt in ſlaviſh Sloth diſſolv'd.
For this, theſe Rocks around your Coaſt were thrown;
For this, your Oaks, peculiar harden'd, ſhoot
Strong into ſturdy Growth; for this, your Hearts
Swell with a ſullen Courage, growing ſtill
[12] As Danger grows; and Strength, and Toil for this
Are liberal pour'd o'er all the fervent Land.
Then cheriſh this, this unexpenſive Power,
Undangerous to the Publick, ever prompt,
By laviſh Nature thruſt into your Hand:
And, unencumber'd with the Bulk immenſe
Of Conqueſt, whence huge Empires roſe, and fell,
Self-cruſh'd, extend your Reign from Shore to Shore,
Where-e'er the Wind your high Beheſts can blow,
And fix it deep on this eternal Baſe.
For ſhould the ſliding Fabrick once give Way,
And on the Brink of Fate begin to nod,
Soon blacken'd quite, and paſt Recovery broke,
It gathers Ruin as it rowls along,
Steep-ruſhing down to that devouring Gulph,
Where many a mighty Empire buried lies.
And ſhould the big redundant Flood of Trade,
In which ten thouſand thouſand Labours join
Their ſeveral Currents, 'till the boundleſs Tide
Rolls in a radiant Torrent o'er the Land,
Fruitful of Wealth, Magnificence, and Joy,
Of every glittering Harveſt, richer far
Than what Heſperian Gardens bore of old;
Should this bright Stream, the leaſt inflected, point
Its Courſe another Way, o'er other Lands
[13] The various Treaſure would reſiſtleſs pour,
Ne'er to be won again; its antient Tract
Left a vile Channel, deſolate, and dead,
With all around a miſerable Waſte.
Not Egypt, were, her better Heaven, the Nile
Turn'd in the Pride of Flow; when o'er his Rocks,
And roaring Cataracts, beyond the Reach
Of dizzy Viſion pil'd, in one wide Flaſh
An Ethiopian Deluge foams amain;
(Whence wond'ring Fable trac'd him from the Sky)
Even not that Prime of Earth, where Harveſts croud
On untill'd Harveſts, all the teeming Year,
If of the fat, o'erflowing Culture robb'd,
Were then a more uncomfortable Wild,
Steril, and void; than of her Trade depriv'd,
Britons, your boaſted Iſle: Her Princes ſunk;
Her high-built Honour moulder'd to the Duſt;
Unnerv'd her Force; her Spirit vaniſh'd quite;
With rapid Wing her Riches fled away;
Her unfrequented Ports alone the Sign
Of what ſhe was; her Merchants ſcatter'd wide;
Her hollow Shops ſhut up; and in her Streets,
Her Fields, Woods, Markets, Villages, and Roads,
The chearful Voice of Labour heard no more.
[14]
OH let not then waſte Luxury impair
That manly Soul of Toil, which ſtrings your Nerves,
And your own proper Happineſs creates!
Oh let not the ſoft, penetrating Plague
Creep on the free-born Mind! And working there,
With the ſharp Tooth of many a new-form'd Want,
Endleſs, and idle all, eat out the Heart
Of LIBERTY; the high Conception blaſt;
The noble Sentiment, th' impatient Scorn
Of baſe Subjection, and the ſwelling Wiſh
For general Good, erazing from the Mind:
While nought ſave narrow Selfiſhneſs ſucceeds,
And low Deſign, the gloomy Paſſions all
Let looſe, and reigning in the rankled Breaſt.
Induc'd at laſt, by ſcarce-perceiv'd Degrees,
Sapping the very Frame of Government,
And Life, a total Diſſolution comes:
Sloth, Ignorance, Dejection, Flattery, Fear,
Oppreſſion raging o'er the Waſte He makes;
The human Being almoſt quite extinct;
And the whole State in broad Corruption ſinks.
Oh ſhun that Gulph! That gaping Ruin ſhun!
And countleſs Ages roll it far away
From you, ye Heaven-belov'd! May LIBERTY,
[15] The Light of Life! the Sun of human kind!
Whence Heroes, Bards, and Patriots borrow Flame,
Even where the keen depreſſive North deſcends,
Still ſpread, exalt, and actuate your Powers!
While ſlaviſh Southern Climates beam in vain.
And may a publick Spirit from the THRONE,
Where every Virtue ſits, go copious forth
Wide o'er the Land! the finer Arts inſpire;
Make thoughtful Science raiſe his penſive Head,
Blow the freſh Bay, bid Induſtry rejoice,
And the rough Sons of loweſt Labour ſmile.
As when, profuſe of Spring, the looſen'd Weſt
Lifts up the pining Year, and luſcious breathes
Youth, Life, and Love, and Beauty o'er the World.
BUT haſte We from theſe melancholly Shores,
Nor to deaf Winds, and Waves, our fruitleſs Plaint
Pour out; the Country claims our active Aid;
That let Us rome; and where we find a Spark
Of publick Virtue, blow it into Flame.
The THRONE be chief our Care; th' aetherial Streams
Of Wiſdom, Juſtice, and Benevolence,
That iſſue thence, refreſhing all the Land,
Joyous to ſwell: and o'er the lovely Round
Of ROYAL BEAUTY, which about it glows,
[16] To hover fond, prophetick of thoſe Days
That, FREDERICK! dawn delightful in thy Eye.
And now my Sons, the Sons of Freedom! meet
In awful Senate; thither let us fly;
Burn in the Patriot's Thought, flow from his Tongue
In fearleſs Truth; myſelf, transform'd, preſide,
And ſhed the Spirit of BRITANNIA round.
THIS ſaid; her fleeting Form, and airy Train,
Sunk in the Gale; and nought but ragged Rocks
Ruſh'd on the broken Eye; and nought was heard
But the rough Cadence of the daſhing Wave.
FINIS.