XI.
Ten thousand active hands, that hung

In shameful sloth with nerves unstrung,
The nations languid load, defy the storms,

The sheets unfurl, and anchor's weigh,

The long-moor’d vesiel wing to sea,
Worlds, worlds falute, and peopled ocean swarms,

XII.
His sons, Po, Ganges, Danube, Nile,

Their sedgy foreheads lift, and smile;
Their urns inverted prodigally pour

Streams, charg’d with wealth, and vow to buy

Britannia for their great ally,
With climes paid down ; what can the gods do more?.

XIII.
Cold Russia costly furs from far,

Hot China sends her painted jar,
France generous wines to crown it, Arab sweet

With gales of incense swells cur fails,

Nor diitant Ind our merchant fails,
Her richest ore the ballast of our fleet.

XIV.
Luxuriant ille! What tide that flows,

Or stream that glides, or wind that blows,
Or genial sun that shines, or shower that pours,

But flows, glides, breathes, shines, pours for thee?
How
every

heart dilates to see
Each land's each season blending on thy shores !

XV. All

R3

XV.
All these one British harvest make !

The servant Ocean for thy fake
Both finks and swells: his arms thy bosom wrap,

And fondly give, in boundless dower,

To mighty George's growing power,
The wafted world into thy loaded lap.

XVI.
Commerce brings riches, riches crown

Fair Virtue with the first renown :
A large revenue, and a large expence,

When hearts for others welfare glow,

And spend as free as gods bestow, .
Gives the full bloom to mortal excellence.

XVII.
Glow then

my breast ! abound my store !
This, and this boldly, I implore,
Their want and apathy let Stoicks boast :

Pasions and riches, good or ill,

As us'd by man, demand our skill;
All blessings wound us, when discretion 's loft.

XVIII.
Wealth, in the virtuous and the wife,

'Tis vice and folly to despise : Let those in praise of poverty refine,

Whose heads or hearts pervert its use,

The narrow-foul'd, or the profuse, The truly-great find morals in the mine ;

XIX. Happy

XIX.
Happy the man who, large of heart,

Has learnt the rare, illustrious art
of being rich : stores farve us, or they cloy ;

From gold, if more than chemic skill,

Extract not what is brighter ftill:
'Tis hard to gain, much harder to enjoy.

XX.
Plenty 's a means, and joy her end :

Exalted minds their joys extend:
A Chandos shines, when others' joys are done :

As lofty turrets, by their height,

When humbler scenes resign their light, Retain the rays of the declining sun.

XXI.

Pregnant with blessings, Britain ! swear

No fordid son of thine shall dare
Offend the donor of thy wealth and peace;

Who now his whole creation drains
То

pour into thy tumid veins
That blood of nations ! commerce and increase.

XXII.
How various Nature! turgid Erain

Here nodding floats the golden plain ;
There, worms weave filken webs; bere, glowing vines

Lay forth their purple to the sun,

Beneath the soil, there harvests run, And kings' revenves ripen in the mines.

XXIII, What

RA

XXIII.
What 's various Nature ? Art divine

Man's foul to soften and refine;
Heaven different growths to different lands imparts,

That all may stand in need of all,

And interest draw around the ball,
A net to catch and join all human hearts.

XXIV.
Thus has the
great Creator's

pen His law supreme, to mortal men, In their neceflities distinctly writ:

Ev'n appetite fupplies the place
Of absent virtue, abfent

grace,
And human want performs for human wit.

XXV.
Vast naval ensigns strow'd around

The wondering foreigner confound!
How stands the deep-aw'd continent aghaft,

As her proud scepter d sons survey,
At

every port, on every quay,
Huge mountains rise, of cable, anchor, mast:

XXVI.
Th' unwieldy tun! the ponderous bale !

Each prince his own clime set to sale
Sees here, by subjects of a British king :

How earth 's abridg'd! all nations range

A narrow spot, our throng’d Exchange! And send the streams of plenty from their spring.

XXVII. Nor

XXVII.
Nor earth alone, all Nature bends

In aid to Britain's glorious ends :
Toils she in trade? or bleeds in honest wars?

Her keel each yielding sea enthrals,

Each willing wind her canvas calls,
Her pilot into service lists the stars.

XXVIII.
In fize confin’d, and humbly made,

What though we creep beneath the shade,
And seem as emmets on this point, the ball ?

Heaven lighted-up the human soul,

Heaven bid its rays transpierce the whole,
And, giving godlike Reason, gave us All. ,

XXIX.
Thou golden chain ’twixt God and men,

Blest Reason! guide my life and pen;
All ills, like ghosts, fly trembling at thy light:

Who thee obeys, reigns over all;

Smiles, though the stars around him fall;
A God is nought but Reason Infinite.

XXX.
The man of Reason is a God

Who scorns to stoop to Fortune's nod;
Sole Agent he beneath the shining sphere,

Others are passive, are impellid,

Are frighten'd, flatter'd, funk, or swellid, As acciilent is pleas’d to domineer.

XXXI. Our