CHORUS.

Wake! O wake the joyful song!
Ye Sylvans, that dance on the plain,
Ye Tritons, that sport on the main,
The musical current prolong!

O! while consenting Britons praise,
These motive measures deign to hear;
For thee my muse awakes her lays,
For thee th' unequal viol plays,
The tribute of a soul sincere.

Nor thou, illustrious Chief, refuse
The incense of a nautic muse !

For ah ! to whom shall Neptune's sons complain
But him whose arms unrival'd rule the main.
Deep on my grateful breast,

Thy favour is imprest :

No happy son of wealth or fame,

To court a royal patron came!

A hapless youth whose vital page

Was one sad lengthen'd tale of wo,
Where ruthless fate, impelling tides of rage,
Bade wave on wave in dire succession flow,
To glittering stars and titled names unknown,
Preferr'd his suit to thee alone.

The tale your sacred pity mov'd;
You felt, consented, and approv'd;

Then touch my strings, ye blest Pierian quire!
Exalt to rapture every happy line!
My bosom kindle with Promethean fire!
And swell each note with energy divine,
No more to plaintive sounds of wo
Let the vocal numbers flow!
Perhaps the chief to whom I sing
May yet ordain auspicious days
To wake the lyre with nobler lays,
And tune to war the nervous string.
For who, untaught in Neptune's school,
Though all the powers of genius he possess,
Though disciplin'd by classic rule,

With daring pencil can display

The fight that thunders on the watry way,
And all its horrid incidents express?

To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong!
Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song.

CHORUS.

To him, my Muse, these warlike strains belong! Source of thy hope, and patron of thy song.

ODE VII.

THE ROYAL VOYAGE.

BY SIR JAMES MARRIOT.

HIGH on the bounding bark the Royal Fair
Mounts o'er the billows of the watry way;
Serene as Cynthia through the fields of air,
Queen of the Night extends her cloudless ray,
When all the forests tremble to the gleam,
And the transparent seas reflect the silver beam.

But see the whitening surge, the gathering clouds;
Hark! the winds whistle through the shrouds,
They bow the mast, they rend the sail,
The sea worn mariner is pale,

And views the blackening storm, and hears th' increasing gale.

But not, O Royal Maid,

Let Fear thy breast invade :

Know, happy Fair! approv'd by heaven,
To thee the empire of the Main is given,
In vain loud winds the deep deform,
Love shall triumphant ride the storm.

Peace! every roaring child of troubled air:
Unmov'd the Queen of sea-girt Albion sings:
Her flying fingers touch the strings;
Around their Queen the trembling train repair:
Her courage lifts their own;
Her music sooths their care.

Happy Queen of Albion's isle,

On whom the Loves and Graces smile: Haste from Germania's plain, and death-devoted shore, Soon thy weary steps shall try

A happier land, a milder sky,

Where no din of arms shall roar,

Nor winds, nor swelling seas assault thee more.

Thus, 'midst the storms which blow

O'er Thracian hills of snow,

Orpheus tun'd the golden lyre,

And saw the beasts of death retire.

Thus, fearless of the night and watry grave,

Leander's bosom met the wave,

While Love before him flew his way to guide,

And through the foaming tide

Gave to his nervous arm redoubled power,

While Hymen shook the torch bright on the distant

tower.

Hail! happy fires of mutual love, unknown

To purchas'd dalliance and tumultuous joy;
True Pleasure sits on Virtue's awful throne;
There all the Loves their golden shafts employ :

Mild and unclouded the eternal flame,

Reward of virtuous Love, and Heaven's best blessing

came.

Swift the wing'd hours shall urge their stealing way,
Nor oft the waning moon shall know decay

Ere a new race shall rise of scepter'd kings.
From thee, Strelisian Fair, the future hero springs.
See, the long lines of royal youths extend,
To Britain's throne new subjects bend;

Where'er her glittering standards rise,
In other seas, in other skies,

Shall spread the godlike fame of mildest victories:
Auspicious youths be born!

Arise! O haste! your native soil adorn!

Not valarous arms alone

Shall guard the regal throne;

But shining arts, and holy laws,

And ancient Freedom's well-defended cause,

Shall lift secure your praise sublime

Through all the radiant paths of time,

On Dorubernian cliffs the Muse hath told,
Prophetic child of Druids old,

Whereon she sits, and hears from either pole

In every wind victorious thunders roll.