AT ST. JAMES's ON THE FOURTH OF JUNE, 1776, BY HIS MAJESTY's BAND OF MUSICIANS. BY WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, ESQ. YE western gales, whose genial breath You sooth the sultry heats of noon, This is your season, lovely gales, Why, therefore, in yon dubious sky, "Sits Expectation in the air.”— Why do alternate hope and fear Suspend some great event? Can Britain fail?-the thought were vain; While yet, ye winds, your breezy balm Propitious gales, O wing your way ODE XLIII. TO THE NAVAL OFFICERS OF GREAT BRITAIN. WRITTEN IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE TRIAL OF ADMIRAL KEPPEL, FEBRUARY THE ELEVENTH, 1779. BY WILLIAM MASON, M. A. HENCE to thy Hell! thou fiend accurst, Of sin's incestuous brood the worst, Whom to pale Death the spectre bore : Detraction hence! 'tis Truth's command, . She launches, from her seraph hand, The shaft that strikes thee to th' infernal shore. Old ENGLAND'S Genius leads her on To vindicate his darling son, Whose fair, and veteran fame Thy venom'd tongue had dar'd defile; Feels the warm influence of her heav'nly flame. But chief in those, their country's pride, To Virtue, Valour, Glory true, They keep their radiant prize in view, They know that titles, stars, and strings, Hireling courtiers, venal peers, Theirs her amaranthine crown. Yes, gallant train, on your unsullied brows, To give prophetic fervor to his strain, Forth from the mighty bosom of the main A giant deity ascends; Down his broad breast his hoary honours fall! He wields the trident of th' Atlantic vast; An awful calm around his pomp is cast, O'er many a league the glassy sleep extends. He speaks; and distant thunder, murmuring round, In long-drawn volley rolls a symphony profound. "Ye thunders cease! the voice of Heav'n "To me the Spirit of the deep; "Tempests are mine; from shore to shore, "I bid my billows when to roar, "Mine the wild whirlwind's desolating sweep. “ But meek and placable, I come "To deprecate Britannia's doom, "And snatch her from her fate; "Ev'n from herself I mean to save "My sister sov❜reign of the wave; "A voice immortal never warns too late. "Queen of the isles! with empire crown'd, "Only to spread fair Freedom round, "Wide as my waves could waft thy name; "Why did thy cold reluctant heart "Refuse that blessing to impart, "Deaf to great Nature's universal claim? "Why rush, through my indignant tide, "To stain thy hands with parricide? "Ah, answer not the strain! "Thy wasted wealth, thy widows' sighs, "Thy half-repentant embassys "Bespeak thy cause unblest, thy councils vain. "Sister, sov'reign of the wave! "Turn from this ill-omen'd war ; "Turn to where the truly brave "Will not blush thy wrath to bear : |