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VIII.

Ye wing'd, ye rapid moments! stay:
Oh friend! as deaf as rapid, they;
Life's little drama done, the curtain falls!
Doft thou not hear it? I can hear,

Though nothing strikes the listening ear;
his laft! Eternal loudly calls!

Time groans

IX.

Nor calls in vain; the call infpires
Far other counfels and defires,

Than once prevail'd; we stand on higher ground;
What scenes we fee!-Exalted aim!

With ardours new, our fpirits flame;
Ambition bleft! with more than laurels crown'd.

VOL. III.

P

À SEA

A SE A-PIECE.

ODE THE FIRST.

THE BRITISH SAILOR'S EXULTATION.

I.

N lofty founds let thofe delight

I who brave the foe, but fear the fight;

And, bold in word, of arms decline the ftroke:
Tis mean to boast; but great to lend
To foes the counfel of a friend,

And warn them of the vengeance they provoke.

II.

From whence arife thefe loud alarms?

Why gleams the fouth with brandish'd arms? War, bath'd in blood, from curft ambition springs: Ambition! mean, ignoble pride!

Perhaps their ardours may subside,
When weigh'd the wonders Britain's failor fings.

III.

Hear, and revere.-At Britain's nod, From each enchanted grove and wood Haftes the huge oak, or shadeless forest leaves; The mountain pines affume new forms,

Spread canvas-wings, and fly through storms, And ride o'er rocks, and dance on foaming waves. IV. She

IV.

She nods again: the labouring earth
Difclofes a tremendous birth;

In fmoaking rivers runs her molten ore;
Thence monsters of enormous fize,

And hideous afpect, threatening rise,
Flame from the deck, from trembling baítions roar.
V.

Thefe minifters of fate fulfil,

On empires wide, an island's will,

When thrones unjust wake vengeance: know, ye powers!
In fudden night, and ponderous balls,
And floods of flame, the tempeft falls,
When brav'd Britannia's awful fenate lowers.

*

VI.

In her grand council fhe furveys,

In patriot picture, what may raise,
Of infolent attempts, a warm difdain;

From hope's triumphant fummit thrown,
Like darted lightning, fwiftly down

The wealth of Ind, and confidence of Spain.
VII.

Britannia fheaths her courage keen,

And spares her nitrous magazine; Her cannon flumber, till the proud afpire,

And leave all law below them; then they blaze! They thunder from refounding feas, Touch'd by their injur'd master's foul of fire.

Q2

* House of Lords.

VIII. Then

VIII.

Then furies rife! the battle raves !

And rends the fkies! and warms the waves !
And calls a tempeft from the peaceful deep,
In spite of nature, spite of Jove,
While all-ferene, and hush'd above,
Tumultuous winds in azure chambers fleep.

IX.

A thousand deaths the bursting bomb Hurls from her difembowel'd womb; Chain'd, glowing globes, in dread alliance join'd, Red-wing'd by ftrong, fulphureous blafts, Sweep, in black whirlwinds, men and mafts; And leave fing'd, naked, blood-drown'd, decks behind

X.

Dwarf laurels rife in tented fields;
The wreath immortal ocean yields;

There war's whole sting is shot, whole fire is spent,
Whole glory blooms: how pale, how tame,
How lambent is Bellona's flame ;

How her ftorms ianguish on the continent !

ΧΙ.

From the dread front of antient war Lefs terror frown'd; her fcythed car, Her caftled elephant, and battering beam, Stoop to thofe engines which deny Superior terrors to the sky,

And boast their clouds, their thunder, and their flame.

5

XII. The

XII.

The flame, the thunder, and the cloud,
The night by day, the sea of blood,
Hofts whirl'd in air, the yell of finking throngs,
The graveless dead, an ocean warm'd,

A firmament by mortals storm'd,
To patient Britain's angry brow belongs.
XIII.

Or do I dream? Or do I rave?
Or fee I Vulcan's footy cave,

Where Jove's red bolts the giant brothers frame?
Thofe fwarthy gods of toil and heat,

Loud peals on mountain anvils beat,
And panting tempefts rouze the roaring flame.
XIV.

Ye fons of Ætna! hear my call
Unfinish'd let thofe baubles fall,

Yon fhield of Mars, Minerva's helmet blue:
Your ftrokes fufpend, ye brawny throng!
Charm'd by the magic of my fong,

Drop the feign'd thunder, and attempt the true.
XV.

Begin and firft take rapid flight,

:

Fierce flame, and clouds of thickest night,
And ghastly terror, paler than the dead;
Then borrow from the north his roar,
Mix groans, and deaths; one phial pour

Of wrong'd Britannia's wrath; and it is made;
Gaul starts and trembles-at your dreadful trade.

Q3

ODE

Alluding to Virgil's Defcription of Thunder

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