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Oh friend ! as deaf as rapid, they ;
Dost thou not hear it? I can hear,
Though nothing strikes the listening ear;
Far other counsels and desires,
What scenes we see !--Exalted aim !
With ardours new, our spirits flame; Ambition blest! with more than laurels crown'd.
A SE . A . P I I E C Ε.
ODE THE FIRST.
THE BRITISH SAILOR'S EXULTATION.
N lofty sounds let those delight
And, bold in word, of arms decline the stroke:
"Tis mean to boast; but great to lend
To foes the counsel of a friend,
Why gleams the south with brandish'd arms ? War, bath'd in blood, from curst ambition springs :
Ambition ! mean, ignoble pride!
Perhaps their ardours may subfide,
From each enchanted grove and wood
The mountain pines assume new forms,
Spread canvas-wings, and fly through storms, And ride o'er rocks, and dance on foaming waves.
Discloses a tremendous birth;
Thence monsters of enormous size,
And hideous aspect, threatening rife,
On empires wide, an island's will,
In sudden night, and ponderous balls,
And floods of fame, the tempeft falls,
In patriot picture, what may raise,
From hope's triumphant fummit thrown,
Like darted lightning, fiviftly down
And spares her nitrous magazine;
And leave all law below them; then they blaze !
They thunder from resounding seas, Touch'd by their injur'd master's foul of fire.
VIII. Then * House of Lords.
Then furies rise ! the battle raves !
And rends the skies ! and warms the wayes ! And calls a tempest from the peaceful deep,
In spite of nature, spite of Jove,
While all-ferere, and hush'd above,
Hurls from her disembowel'd womb;
Red-wing d by strong, fulphureous blafts,
Sweep, in black whirlwinds, men and masts ; And leave fing'd, naked, blood-drown’d, decks behind.
The wreath immortal ocean yields;
Whole glory blooms: how pale, how tame,
How lambent is Bellona's fiame;
Less terror frown'd; her scythed car,
Stoop to those engines which deny
Superior terrors to the sky, And boast their clouds, their thunder, and their fame. 5
The night by day, the sea of blood,
The graveless dead, an ocean warm’d,
A firmament by mortals storm’d,
Or see I Vulcan's footy cave;
Those swarthy gods of toil and beat,
Loud peals on mountain anvils beat,
Unfinish'd let those baubles fall,
Your strokes fufpend, ye brawny throng!
Charm'd by the magic of my song,
Fierce flame, and clouds of thickest night,
Then borrow from the north his roar,
and deaths; one phial pour
O DE Alluding to Virgii's Description of Thunder