"Britain in vain extends her care To climes remote for aids in war; Still farther must it stretch, to crush the foe: Can crown her arms, or fix her throne; Ally Supreme! we turn to Thee: We learn obedience from the sea; With seas and winds, henceforth, Thy laws fulfil; ""Tis Thine to beam sublime renown, Or quench the glories of a crown; 'Tis Thine to doom, 'tis Thine from Death to free, To turn aside his levelled dart, Or pluck it from the bleeding heart :— There we cast anchor, we confide in Thee. "Thou, who hast taught the North to roar, Of frightful aspect! when proud foes invade, "The Right alone is bold and strong; Black hovering clouds appal the Wrong With dread of vengeance. Nature's awful Sire! Less than one moment shouldst Thou frown, Thrones tremble, empires sink, or worlds expire. "Let George the Just chastise the vain. The boundless swell of Gallic pride, "And when (all milder means withstood) THE FOREIGN ADDRESS: OR, THE BEST ARGUMENT FOR PEACE. OCCASIONED BY THE BRITISH FLEET, AND THE POSTURE OF AFFAIRS, WHEN THE PAR LIAMENT MET, 1734. Musa dedit FIDIBUS divos, puerosque deorum. HORATIUS, De Arte Poeticâ, 83. MDCCXXXIV. YE guardian gods, who wait on kings, Of rising thought, solicit, I beseech, For a poor stranger, come from far; "Ease of access and the soft hour of speech." 'Tis gained :-Hail, monarchs great and wise! From distant climes and dusky skies, O'er seas and lands I flew, your ear to claim : Yours is the sun, and purple vine; Deep in the frozen north I pine; Nor vine nor sun could warm me like my theme. A theme how great! On yonder tide, A leafless forest spreading wide, The labour of the deep, my Muse surveys; A fleet, whose empire o'er the wave, You grant, Time strengthens, Nature gave; Now big with death, the terror of the seas! Ye great by sea! ye shades adored, Who fired the bomb, and bathed the sword! Arise, arise, arise! 'tis Britain charms: Arise, ye boast of former wars, And, pointing to your glorious scars, To sing the sovereign of the main : Such wonders as may pass for sport Or vision in a southern court: [me glow, But, mighty thrones! those truths which make Your fathers saw, your sons shall see: Then quit your infidelity; Some truths 'tis better to believe than know. Believe me, kings: at Britain's nod, From each enchanted grove and wood, Huge oaks stalk down th' unshaded mountain's side; The lofty pines assume new forms, Fly round the globe, and live in storms, She nods again: the labouring earth In smoking rivers runs her molten ore; And hideous nature, frowning, rise, Flame from the deck, from trembling bastions roar. Britannia's vengeance and the gods' provoke. As yet, Peace sheaths her courage keen, And rends the skies, and warms the waves, The boisterous winds in azure chambers sleep. This, this, my monarchs, is the scene For hearts of proof, for gods of men; Here War's whole sting is shot, whole heart is spent. You sport in arms: how pale, how tame, How lambent is Bellona's flame, How her storms languish, on the continent! A swarm of deaths the mighty bomb Sweep, in black whirlwinds, man and mast, Now but I'm struck with pale despair: My patrons! what a burst was there! The strong-ribb'd barks at once disploding fly. Insatiate Death! compendious Fate! Deep wound to some brave bleeding state! The great, gay, graceful, young, and brave, While virgins fair, with tender toil, CC |