AN EPISTLE TO CURIO*.
THRICE has the ſpring beheld thy faded fame
And the fourth winter riſes on thy ſhame
Since I exulting graſp'd the votive ſhell
In ſounds of triumph all thy praiſe to tell,
Bleſt could my ſkill thro' ages make thee ſhine,
And proud to mix my memory with thine.
But now the cauſe that wak'd my ſong before
With praiſe with triumph crowns the toil no more.
If to the glorious man whoſe faithful cares,
Nor quell'd by malice nor relax'd by years,
Had aw'd Ambition's wild audacious hate,
And dragg'd at length Corruption to her fate,
[118] If ev'ry tongue its large applauſes ow'd,
And wellearn'd laurels ev'ry Muſe beſtow'd,
If publick juſtice urg'd the high reward,
And Freedom ſmil'd on the devoted bard,
Say then, to him whoſe levity or luſt
Laid all a people's gen'rous hopes in duſt,
Who taught Ambition firmer heights of pow'r,
And ſav'd Corruption at her hopeleſs hour,
Does not each tongue its execrations owe?
Shall not each Muſe a wreath of ſhame beſtow?
And publick juſtice fanctify th' award,
And Freedom's hand protect th' impartial bard?
Yet, long reluctant, I forbore thy name,
Long watch'd thy virtue like a dying flame,
Hung o'er each glimm'ring ſpark with anxious eyes,
And wiſh'd and hop'd the light again would riſe;
Put ſince thy guilt ſtill more entire appears,
Since no art hides, no ſuppoſition clears,
Since vengeful Slander now too ſinks her blaſt,
And the firſt rage of party-hate is paſt,
Calm as the judge of Truth at length I come
To weigh thy merits and pronounce thy doom;
So may my truſt from all reproach be free,
And Earth and Time confirm the fair decree!
There are who ſay they view'd without amaze
Thy ſad reverſe of all thy former praiſe,
That thro' the pageants of a patriot's name
They pierc'd the foulneſs of thy ſecret aim,
[119] Or deem'd thy arm exalted but to throw
The publick thunder on a private foe;
But I, whoſe ſoul conſented to thy cauſe,
Who felt thy genius ſtamp its own applauſe,
Who ſaw the ſpirits of each glorious age
Move in thy boſom and direct thy rage,
I ſcorn'd th' ungen'rous gloſs of ſlaviſh minds,
The owley'd race whom Virtue's luſtre blinds:
Spite of the learned in the ways of vice,
And all who prove that each man has his price,
I ſtill believ'd thy end was juſt and free,
And yet, ev'n yet believe it—ſpite of thee;
Ev'n tho' thy mouth impure has dar'd diſclaim,
Urg'd by the wretched impotence of ſhame,
Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid
To laws infirm and liberty decay'd,
Has begg'd Ambition to forgive the ſhow,
Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe,
Has boaſted in thy country's awful ear
Her groſs deluſion when ſhe held thee dear,
How tame ſhe follow'd thy tempeſtuous call,
And heard thy pompous tales, and truſted all.—
Riſe from your ſad abodes ye curſt of old
For laws ſubverted and for cities ſold!
Paint all the nobleſt trophies of your guilt,
The oaths you perjur'd and the blood you ſpilt;
Yet muſt you one untempted vileneſs own,
One dreadful palm reſerv'd for him alone;
[120] With ſtudy'd arts his country's praiſe to ſpurn,
To beg the infamy he did not earn,
To challenge hate when honour was his due,
And plead his crimes where all his virtue knew!
Do robes of ſtate the guarded heart encloſe
From each fair feeling human nature knows?
Can pompous titles ſtun th' enchanted ear
To all that reaſon all that ſenſe would hear?
Elſe couldſt thou e'er deſert thy ſacred poſt,
In ſuch unthankful baſeneſs to be loſt?
Elſe couldſt thou wed the emptineſs of vice,
And yield thy glories at an idiot's price?
When they who loud for liberty and laws
In doubtful times had fought their country's cauſe,
When now of conqueſt and dominion ſure
They [...]ought alone to hold their fruits ſecure,
When taught by theſe Oppreſſion hid the face
To leave Corruption ſtronger in her place,
By ſilent ſpells to work the publick fate,
And taint the vitals of the paſſive ſtate,
Till healing Wiſdom ſhould avail no more,
And Freedom loath to tread the poiſon'd ſhore,
Then like ſome guardian god that ſlies to ſave
The weary pilgrim from an inſtant grave,
Whom ſleeping and ſecure the guileful ſnake
Steals near and nearer thro' the peaceful brake,
Then Curio roſe, toward the publick wo
To wake the heedleſs and incite the ſlow,
[121] Againſt Corruption Liberty to arm,
And quell th' enchantreſs by a mightier charm.
Swift o'er the land the fair contagion [...]lew,
And with thy country's hopes thy honours grew:
Thee patriot the Patrician roof confeſt;
Thy pow'rful voice the reſcu'd merchant bleſt;
Of thee with awe the rural hearth reſounds;
The bowl to thee the grateful ſailor crowns:
Touch'd in the ſighing ſhade with manlier ſires
To trace thy ſteps the loveſick youth aſpires;
The learn'd recluſe who oft' amaz'd had read
Of Grecian heroes Roman patriots dead,
With new amazement hears a living name
Pretend to ſhare in ſuch forgotten fame;
And he who ſcorning courts and courtly ways
Left the tame track of theſe dejected days
The life of nobler ages to renew
In virtues ſacred from a monarch's view,
Rous'd by thy labours from the bleſs'd retreat
Where ſocial eaſe and publick paſſions meet,
Again aſcending treads the civil ſcene,
To act and be a man as thou hadſt been.
Thus by degrees thy cauſe ſuperiour grew,
And the great end appear'd at laſt in view;
We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice,
We ſaw the ſenate bending to thy voice;
The friends of freedom hail'd th' approaching reign
Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain,
[122] While venal Faction ſtruck with new diſmay
Shrunk at their frown, and ſelf-abandon'd lay.
Wak'd in the ſhock the Publick Genius roſe
Abaſh'd and keener from his long repoſe;
Sublime in ancient pride he rais'd the ſpear
Which ſlaves and tyrants long were wont to fear:
The City felt his call; from man to man,
From ſtreet to ſtreet, the glorious horrour ran;
Each crowded haunt was ſtirr'd beneath his pow'r,
And murm'ring challeng'd the deciding hour.
Lo! the deciding hour at laſt appears,
The hour of ev'ry freeman's hopes and fears!
Thou, Genius! guardian of the Roman name,
O ever prompt tyrannick rage to tame!
Inſtruct the mighty moments as they rowl,
And guide each movement ſteady to the goal.
Ye Spirits! by whoſe providential art
Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart,
Keep, keep the beſt in view to Curio's mind,
And watch his fancy and his paſſions bind!
Ye Shades immortal! who by Freedom led
Or in the field or on the ſcaffold bled,
Bend from your radiant ſeats a joyful eye,
And view the crown of all your labours nigh;
See Freedom mounting her eternal throne!
The ſword ſubmitted and the laws her own;
See publick Pow'r chaſtis'd beneath her ſtands,
With eyes intent and uncorrupted hands!
[123] See private life by wiſeſt arts reclaim'd!
See ardent youth to nobleſt manners fram'd!
See us acquire whate'er was ſought by you
If Curio, only Curio, will be true.
'Twas then—O ſhame! O truſt how ill repaid!
O Latium! oft' by faithleſs ſons betray'd!—
'Twas then—What frenzy on thy reaſon ſtole?
What ſpells unſinew'd thy determin'd ſoul?
—Is this the man in Freedom's cauſe approv'd,
The man ſo great, ſo honour'd, ſo belov'd,
This patient ſlave by tinſel chains allur'd,
This wretched ſuitor for a boon abjur'd,
This Curio, hated and deſpis'd by all,
Who fell himſelf to work his country's fall?
O loſt alike to action and repoſe!
Unknown, unpity'd, in the worſt of woes!
With all that conſcious undiſſembled pride
Sold to the inſults of a foe defy'd!
With all that habit of familiar ſame
Doom'd to exhauſt the dregs of life in ſhame!
The ſole ſad refuge of thy baffled art,
To act a ſtateſman's dull exploded part,
Renounce the praiſe no longer in thy pow'r,
Diſplay thy virtue tho' without a dow'r,
Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind,
And ſhut thy eyes that others may be blind.
—Forgive me, Romans! that I bear to ſmile
When ſhameleſs mouths your majeſty defile,
[124] Paint you a thoughleſs, frantick, headlong, crew,
And caſt their own impieties on you:
For witneſs Freedom! to whoſe ſacred pow'r
My ſoul was vow'd from reaſon's earlieſt hour,
How have I ſtood exulting to ſurvey
My country's virtues op'ning in thy ray!
How with the ſons of ev'ry foreign ſhore
The more I match'd them honour'd her's the more!
O Race erect! whoſe native ſtrength of ſoul
Which kings, nor prieſts, nor ſordid laws, control,
Burſts the tame round of animal affairs,
And ſeeks a nobler centre for its cares,
Intent the laws of life to comprehend,
And fix dominion's limits by its end,
Who bold and equal in their love or hate,
By conſcious reaſon judging ev'ry ſtate,
The man forget not tho' in rags he lies,
And know the mortal thro' a crown's diſguiſe,
Thence prompt alike with witty ſcorn to view
Faſtidious Grandeur lift his ſolemn brow,
Or all awake at Pity's ſoft command
Bend the mild ear and ſtretch the gracious hand,
Thence large of heart from envy far remov'd,
When publick toils to virtue ſtand approv'd,
Not the young lover fonder to admire,
Nor more indulgent the delighted ſire,
Yet high and jealous of their freeborn name
Fierce as the flight of Jove's deſtroying flame,
[125] Where'er Oppreſſion works her wanton ſway
Proud to confront and dreadful to repay;
But if to purchaſe Curio's ſage applauſe
My country muſt with him renounce her cauſe,
Quit with a ſlave the path a patriot trod,
Bow the meek knee and kiſs the regal rod,
Then ſtill, ye Pow'rs! inſtruct his tongue to rail,
Nor let his zeal nor let his ſubject fail,
Elſe ere he change the ſtyle bear me away
To where the Gracchi where the Bruti
* ſtay!
O long rever'd and late reſign'd to ſhame!
If this uncourtly page thy notice claim,
When the loud cares of bus'neſs are withdrawn,
Nor welldreſt beggars round thy footſteps fawn,
In that ſtill thoughtful ſolitary hour
When Truth exerts her unreſiſted pow'r,
Breaks the falſe opticks ting'd with Fortune's glare,
Unlocks the breaſt and lays the paſſions bare,
Then turn thy eyes on that important ſcene,
And aſk thyſelf—if all be well within?
Where is the heartfelt worth and weight of ſoul
Which labour could not ſtop nor fear control?
Where the known dignity, the ſtamp of awe,
Which half-abaſh'd the proud and venal ſaw?
[126] Where the calm triumphs of an honeſt cauſe?
Where the delightful taſte of juſt applauſe?
Where the ſtrong reaſon, the commanding tongue,
On which the Senate fir'd or trembling hung?
All vaniſh'd, all are ſold!—and in their room,
Couch'd in thy boſom's deep diſtracted gloom,
See the pale form of barb'rous Grandeur dwell,
Like ſome grim idol in a ſorc'rer's cell!
To her in chains thy dignity was led,
At her polluted ſhrine thy honour bled;
With blaſted weeds thy awful brow ſhe crown'd,
Thy pow'rful tongue with poiſon'd philters bound,
That baffled Reaſon ſtraight indignant flew,
And fair Perſuaſion from her ſeat withdrew:
For now no longer Truth ſupports thy cauſe,
No longer Glory prompts thee to applauſe;
No longer Virtue breathing in thy breaſt,
With all her conſcious majeſty confeſt,
Still bright and brighter wakes th' almighty flame
To rouſe the feeble and the wilful tame,
And where ſhe ſees the catching glimpſes rowl
Spreads the ſtrong blaze and all involves the ſoul;
But cold reſtraints thy conſcious fancy chill,
And formal paſſions mock thy ſtruggling will;
Or if thy Genius e'er forget his chain,
And reach impatient at a nobler ſtrain,
Soon the ſad bodings of contemptuous mirth
Shoot thro' thy breaſt and ſtab the gen'rous birth,
[127] Till blind with ſmart from truth to frenzy toſt,
And all the tenour of thy reaſon loſt,
Perhaps thy anguiſh drains a real tear,
While ſome with pity ſome with laughter hear.
—Can art, alas! or genius, guide the head
Where truth and freedom from the heart are fled?
Can leſſer wheels repeat their native ſtroke
When the prime function of the ſoul is broke?
But come, unhappy Man! thy ſates impend;
Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou haſt a friend;
Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like thine,
Renounce thy titles and thy robes reſign;
For ſee the hand of Deſtiny diſplay'd
To ſhut thee from the joys thou haſt betray'd!
See the dire fane of Infamy ariſe
Dark as the grave and ſpacious as the ſkies,
Where from the firſt of time thy kindred train,
The chiefs and princes of th' unjuſt, remain!
Eternal barriers guard the pathleſs road
To warn the wand'rer of the curs'd abode,
But prone as whirlwinds ſcour the paſſive ſky
The heights ſurmounted down the ſteep they fly.
There black with frowns relentleſs Time awaits,
And goads their footſteps to the guilty gates,
And ſtill he aſks them of their unknown aims,
Evolves their ſecrets and their guilt proclaims,
And ſtill his hands deſpoil them on the road
Of each vain wreath by lying bards beſtow'd,
[128] Break their proud marbles, cruſh their feſtal cars,
And rend the lawleſs trophies of their wars.
At laſt the gates his potent voice obey,
Fierce to their dark abode he drives his prey,
Where ever arm'd with adamantine chains
The watchful demon o'er her vaſſals reigns,
O'er mighty names and giant pow'rs of luſt,
The Great, the Sage, the Happy, and Auguſt
*;
No gleam of hope their baleful manſion cheers,
No ſound of honour hails their unbleſs'd cars,
But dire reproaches from the friend betray'd,
The childleſs fire and violated maid,
But vengeful vows for guardian laws eſſac'd,
From towns enſlav'd and continents laid waſte,
But long Poſterity's united groan,
And the ſad charge of horrours not their own,
For ever thro' the trembling ſpace reſound,
And ſink eaxh impious forehead to the ground.
Ye mighty foes of Liberty and Reſt
Give way; do homage to a mightier gueſt!
Ye daring Spirits of the Roman race,
See Curio's toil your proudeſt claims efface!
—Aw'd at the name fierce Appius
† riſing bends,
And hardy Cinna from his throne attends:
[129] "He comes," they cry, "to whom the Fates aſſign'd
"With ſurer arts to work what we deſign'd,
"From year to year the ſtubborn herd to ſway,
"Month all their wrongs and all their rage obey,
"Till own'd their guide and truſted with their pow'r
"He mock'd their hopes in one deciſive hour,
"Then tir'd and yielding led them to the chain,
"And quench'd the ſpirit we provok'd in vain."
But thou, Supreme! by whoſe eternal hands
Fair Liberty's heroick empire ſtands,
Whoſe thunders the rebellious deep control,
And quell the triumphs of the traitor's ſoul,
O turn this dreadful omen far away!
On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay,
Relume her ſacred fire ſo near ſuppreſt,
And ſix her ſhrine in ev'ry Roman breaſt.
Tho' bold Corruption boaſt around the land
"Let Virtue if ſhe can my baits withſtand!"
Tho' bolder now ſhe urge th' accurſed claim,
Gay with her trophies rais'd on Curio's ſhame,
Yet ſome there are who ſcorn her impious mirth,
Who know what conſcience and a heart are worth.
—O Friend and Father of the human mind,
Whoſe art for nobleſt ends our frame deſign'd!
If I, tho' fated to the ſtudious ſhade,
Which party-ſtrife nor anxious pow'r invade,
If I aſpire in publick virtue's cauſe
To guide the Muſes by ſublimer laws,
[130] Do thou her own authority impart,
And give my numbers entrance to the heart:
Perhaps the verſe might rouſe her ſmother'd flame,
And ſnatch the fainting patriot back to fame;
Perhaps by worthy thoughts of humankind
To worthy deeds exalt the conſcious mind,
Or daſh Corruption in her proud career,
And teach her ſlaves that Vice was born to fear.
LOVE. AN ELEGY.
Too much my heart of Beauty's pow'r hath known,
Too long to Love hath Reaſon left her throne,
Too long my Genius mourn'd his myrtle chain,
And three rich years of youth conſum'd in vain.
My wiſhes lull'd with ſoft inglorious dreams
Forgot the patriot's and the ſage's themes;
Thro' each Elyſian vale and Fairy grove,
Thro' all th' enchanted paradiſe of Love,
Miſled by ſickly Hope's deceitful flame,
Averſe to action, and renouncing fame.
At laſt the viſionary ſcenes decay,
My eyes exulting bleſs the newborn day
Whoſe faithful beams detect the dang'rous road
In which my heedleſs feet ſecurely trod,
And ſtrip the phantoms of their lying charms
That lur'd my ſoul from Wiſdom's peaceful arms.
[131]For ſilver ſtreams and banks beſpread with flow'rs,
For moſſy couches and harmonious bow'rs,
Lo! barren heaths appear and pathleſs woods,
And rocks hung dreadful o'er unfathom'd floods:
For openneſs of heart, for tender ſmiles,
Looks fraught with love, and wrath-diſarming wiles,
Lo! ſullen Spite and perjur'd Luſt of Gain,
And cruel Pride and crueller Diſdain;
Lo! cordial Faith to idiot airs re [...]in'd,
Now coolly civil now tranſporting kind;
For graceful Eaſe, lo! Affectation walks,
And dull Half-ſenſe for Wit and Wiſdom talks:
New to each hour what low delight ſucceeds,
What precious furniture of hearts and heads!
By nought their prudence but by getting known,
And all their courage in deceiving ſhown.
See next what plagues attend the lover's ſtate,
What frightful forms of Terrour, Scorn, and Hate!
See burning Fury heav'n and earth defy!
See dumb Deſpair in icy fetters lie!
See black Suſpicion bend his gloomy brow,
The hideous image of himſelf to view!
And fond Belief with all a lover's flame
Sinks in thoſe arms that points his head with ſhame!
There wan Dejection falt'ring as he goes,
In ſhades and ſilence vainly ſeeks repoſe,
Muſing thro' pathleſs wilds conſumes the day,
Then loſt in darkneſs weeps the hours away.
[132] Here the gay crowd of Luxury advance,
Some touch the lyre and others urge the dance;
On ev'ry head the roſy garland glows,
In ev'ry hand the golden goblet flows,
The Siren views them with exulting eyes,
And laughs at baſhful Virtue as ſhe flies.
But ſee behind where Scorn and Want appear,
The grave remonſtrance and the witty ſneer;
See fell Remorſe in action prompt to dart
Her ſhaky poiſon thro' the conſcious heart!
And Sloth to cancel with oblivious ſhame
The fair memorial of recording Fame!
Are theſe delights that one would wiſh to gain?
Is this th' Elyſium of a ſober brain?
To wait for happineſs in female ſmiles,
Bear all her ſcorn, be caught with all her wiles,
With pray'rs, with bribes, with lies, her pity crave,
Bleſs her hard bonds, and boaſt to be her ſlave,
To feel for trifles a diſtracting train
Of hopes and terrours equally in vain,
This hour to tremble and the next to glow?
Can Pride, can Senſe, can Reaſon, ſtoop ſo low,
When Virtue at an eaſier price diſplays
The ſacred wreaths of honourable praiſe,
When Wiſdom utters her divine decree
To laugh at pompous Folly and be free?
I bid adieu then to theſe woful ſcenes,
I bid adieu to all the ſex of queens;
[133] Adieu to ev'ry ſuff'ring ſimple ſoul
That lets a woman's will his eaſe control.
There laugh ye Witty! and rebuke ye Grave!
For me I ſcorn to boaſt that I'm a ſlave;
I bid the whining brotherhood be gone:
Joy to my heart! my wiſhes are my own.
Farewell the female heav'n the female hell,
To the great god of Love a glad farewell.
Is this the triumph of thy awful name?
Are theſe the ſplendid hopes that urg'd thy aim
When firſt my boſom own'd thy haughty ſway,
When thus Minerva heard thee boaſting ſay,
"Go, martial Maid! elſewhere thy arts employ,
"Nor hope to ſhelter that devoted boy;
"Go teach the ſolemn ſons of Care and Age,
"The penſive ſtateſmen and the midnight ſage;
"The young with me muſt other leſſons prove,
"Youth calls for Pleaſure, Pleaſure calls for Love;
"Behold his heart thy grave advice diſdains,
"Behold I bind him in eternal chains?"
Alas! great Love, how idle was the boaſt!
Thy chains are broken and thy leſſons loſt;
Thy wilful rage has tir'd my ſuff'ring heart,
And paſſion, reaſon, forc'd thee to depart.
But wherefore doſt thou linger on thy way,
Why vainly ſearch for ſome pretence to ſtay
When crowds of vaſſals court thy pleaſing yoke
And countleſs victims bow them to the ſtroke?
[134] Lo! round thy ſhrine a thouſand youths advance,
Warm with the gentle ardours of romance
Each longs t' aſſert th cauſe with feats of arms,
And make the world conſeſs Dulcinea's charms.
Ten thouſand girls with flow'ry chaplets crown'd
To groves and ſtreams thy tender triumph [...]ound,
Each bids the ſtream in murmurs ſpeak her flame,
Each calls the grove to ſigh her ſhepherd's name:
But if thy pride ſuch eaſy honours ſcorn,
If nobler trophies muſt thy toil adorn,
Behold yon' flow'ry antiquated maid
Bright in the bloom of threeſcore years diſplay'd,
Her ſhalt thou bind in thy delightful chains,
And thrill with gentle pangs her wither'd veins,
Her froſty cheek with crimſon bluſhes dye,
With dreams of rapture melt her maudlin eye.
Turn then thy labours to the ſervile crowd,
Entice the wary and control the proud,
Make the ſad miſer his beſt gains forego,
The ſolemn ſtateſman ſigh to be a beau,
The bold coquette with fondeſt paſſion burn,
The Bacchanalian o'er his bottle mourn,
And that chief glory of thy pow'r maintain
"To poiſe ambition in a female brain."
Be theſe thy triumphs, but no more preſume
That my rebellious heart will yield thee room:
I know thy puny force thy ſimple wiles,
I break triumphant thro' thy ſlimſy toils:
[135] I ſee thy dying lamp's laſt languid glow,
Thy arrows blunted and unbrac'd thy bow;
I feel diviner fires my breaſt inflame
To active ſcience and ingenuous fame,
Reſume the paths my earlieſt choice began,
And loſe with pride the lover in the man.
A BRITISH PHILIPPICK, OCCASIONED BY THE INSULTS OF THE SPANIARDS, AND THE PRESENT PREPARATIONS FOR WAR, 1738.
WHENCE this unwonted tranſport in my breaſt?
Why glow my thoughts? and whither would the Muſe
Aſpire with rapid wing? Her country's cauſe
Demands her efforts: at that ſacred call
She ſummons all her ardour, throws aſide
The trembling lyre, and with the warriour's trump
She means to thunder in each Britiſh ear;
And if one ſpark of honour or of fame,
Diſdain of inſult, dread of infamy,
One thought of publick virtue, yet ſurvive,
She means to wake it, rouſe the gen'rous flame,
With patriot zeal inſpirit ev'ry breaſt,
And [...]ire each Britiſh heart with Britiſh wrongs.
Alas, the vain attempt! What influence now
Can the Muſe boaſt? or what attention now
Is paid to fame or virtue? Where is now
The Britiſh ſpirit, gen'rous, warm, and brave,
[136] So frequent wont from tyranny and wo
To free the ſuppliant nations? Where indeed
If that protection once to ſtrangers giv'n
Be now withheld from ſons! each nobler thought
That wa [...]'d our [...]ires is loſt and bury'd now
In luxury and avarice. Baneful vice!
H [...]w it unmans a nation! Yet I'll try;
[...] aim to ſhake this vile degen'rate ſloth,
I'll dare to rouſe Britannia's dreaming ſons
To fame, to virtue, and impart around
A gen'rous feeling of compatriot woes.
Come then the various pow'rs of forceful Speech,
All that can move, awaken, fire, tranſport!
Come the bold ardour of the Theban bard,
Th' arouſing thunder of the patriot Greek,
The ſoft perſuaſion of the Roman ſage!
Come all! and raiſe me to an equal height,
A r [...]pture worthy of my glorious cauſe,
Leſt my beſt efforts failing ſhould debaſe
The ſacred them [...], for with no common wing
The Muſe attempts to ſoar. Yet what need theſe?
My country's fame, my freeborn Britiſh heart,
Shall be my beſt inſpirers, raiſe my flight
High as the Theban's pinion, and with more
Than Greek or Roman flame exalt my ſoul.
Oh! could I give the vaſt ideas birth
Expreſſive of the thoughts that flame within,
No more ſhould lazy Luxury detain
[137] Our ardent youth, no more ſhould Britain's ſons
Sit tamely paſſive by, and careleſs hear
The pray'rs, ſighs, groans, (immortal inſamy!)
Of fellow Britons with oppreſſion ſunk
In bitterneſs of ſoul demanding aid,
Calling on Britain their dear native land,
The land of Liberty, ſo greatly ſam'd
For juſt redreſs, the land ſo often dy'd
With her beſt blood, for that arouſing cauſe
The freedom of her ſons; thoſe ſons that now
Far from the manly bleſſings of her ſway
Drag the vile fetters of a Spaniſh lord.
And dare they, dare the vanquiſh'd ſons of Spain,
Enſlave a Briton? Have they then forgot,
So ſoon forgot, the great th' immortal day
When reſcu'd Sicily with joy beheld
The ſwift-wing'd thunder of the Britiſh arm
Diſperſe their navies, when their coward bands
Fled like the raven from the bird of Jove,
From ſwift impending vengeance fled in vain?
Are theſe our lords? and can Britannia ſee
Her ſoes oft' vanquiſh'd thus defy her pow'r,
Inſult her ſtandard and enſlave her ſons,
And not ariſe to juſtice? Did our ſires,
Unaw'd by chains, by exile, or by death,
Preſerve inviolate her guardian rights,
To Britons ever ſacred, that their ſons
Might give them up to Spaniards?—Turn your eyes,
[138] Turn ye degen'rate! who with haughty boaſt
Call yourſelves Britons, to that diſmal gloom,
That dungeon dark and deep, where never thought
Of joy or peace can enter; ſee the gates
Harſh-creaking open; what an hideous void,
Dark as the yawning grave! while ſtill as death
A frightful ſilence reigns: there on the ground
Behold your brethren chain'd like beaſts of prey,
There mark your num'rous glories, there behold
The look that ſpeaks unutterable wo,
The mangled limb, the faint the deathful eye,
With famine ſunk, the deep-heart burſting groan
Suppreſs'd in ſilence; view the loathſome food
Refus'd by dogs; and oh the ſtinging thought!
View the dark Spaniard glorying in their wrongs,
The deadly prieſt triumphant in their woes,
And thund'ring worſe damnation on their ſouls,
While that pale form in all the pangs of death
Too faint to ſpeak, yet eloquent of all
His native Britiſh ſpirit yet untam'd,
Raiſes his head, and with indignant ſrowns
Of great defiance and ſuperiour ſcorn
Looks up and dies.—Oh! I'm all on fire!
But let me ſpare the theme, leſt future times
Should bluſh to hear that either conquer'd Spain
Durſt offer Britain ſuch outrageous wrong
Or Britain tamely bore it.—
Deſcend ye guardian Heroes of the land!
[139] Scourges of Spain deſcend! behold your ſons,
See how they run the ſame heroick race,
How prompt how ardent in their country's cauſe,
How greatly proud t'aſſert their Britiſh blood,
And in their deeds reflect their fathers' fame!
Ah! would to Heav'n ye did not rather ſee
How dead to virtue in the publick cauſe,
How cold, how careleſs, how to glory deaf,
They ſhame your laurels and belie their birth!
Come ye great Spirits, Cav'ndiſh, Rawleigh, Blake!
And ye of later name, your country's pride,
Oh come! diſperſe theſe lazy fumes of ſloth,
Teach Britiſh hearts with Britiſh fires to glow;
In wak'ning whiſpers rouſe our ardent youth,
Blazon the triumphs of your better days,
Paint all the glorious ſcenes of rightful war
In all its ſplendours; to their ſwelling ſouls
Say how ye bow'd th' inſulting Spaniards' pride,
Say how ye thunder'd o'er their proſtrate heads,
Say how ye broke their lines and fir'd their ports,
Say how not death in all its ſrightful ſhapes
Could damp your ſouls or ſhake the great reſolve
For right and Britain; then diſplay the joys
The patriot's ſoul exalting while he views
Tranſported millions hail with loud acclaim
The guardian of their civil ſacred rights;
(How greatly welcome to the virtuous man
Is death for others' good!) the radiant thoughts
[140] That beam celeſtial on his paſſing ſoul,
Th' unfading crowns awaiting him above,
The exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme,
Who in his actions with complacence views
His own reflected ſplendour; then deſcend
Tho' to a lower yet a nobler ſcene;
Paint the juſt honours to his relicks paid,
Shew grateful millions weeping o'er his grave,
While his fair fame in each progreſſive age
For ever brightens, and the wiſe and good
Of ev'ry land in univerſal choir
With richeſt incenſe of undying praiſe
His urn encircle, to the wond ring world
His num'rous triumphs blazon, while with awe,
With filial rev'rence, in his ſteps they tread,
And copying ev'ry virtue ev'ry fame
Tranſplant his glories into ſecond life,
And with unſparing hand make nations bleſt
By his example. Vaſt immenſe rewards
For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind
Encounters here! Yet, Britons! are ye cold?
Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call
Of your poor injur'd countrymen? Ah! no:
I ſee ye are not; ev'ry boſom glows
With native greatneſs, and in all its ſtate
The Britiſh ſpirit riſes. Glorious change!
Fame, Virtue, Freedom, welcome! Oh! forgive
The Muſe, that ardent in her ſacred cauſe
[141] Your glory queſtion'd; ſhe beholds with joy,
She owns, ſhe triumphs, in her wiſh'd miſtake.
See from her ſeabeat throne in awful march
Britannia tow'rs! upon her laurel creſt
The plumes majeſtick nod; behold ſhe heaves
Her guardian ſhields, and terrible in arms
For battle ſhakes her adamantine ſpear;
Loud at her foot the Britiſh Lion roars,
Frighting the nations: haughty Spain full ſoon
Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons! forth
Your country's daring champions; tell your foes,
Tell them in thunders o'er their proſtrate land,
You were not born for ſlaves: let all your deeds
Shew that the ſons of thoſe immortal men,
The ſtars of ſhining ſtory, are not ſlow
In virtue's path to emulate their ſires,
T' aſſert their country's rights, avenge her ſons,
And hurl the bolts of Juſtice on her ſoes.