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Our hopes and fears are much to blame;

Shall monarchis awe? or crowns inflame ?
From grofs mistake our idle tumult springs;

Those men the filly world disarm,

Elude the dart, dissolve the charm,
Who know the sender worth of men and things.

The present object, present day,

Are idle phantoms, and away;
What 's lasting only does exist. Know This,

Life, fame, friends, freedom, empire, all,

Peace, Commerce, Freedom, nobly fall
To launch us on the flood of endless bliss.

How foreign these, though most in view!

Go, look your whole existence through ;
Thence, form your rule ; thence fix your estimate,

For so the gods : but as the gains,

How great the toil! 'Twill cost more pains,
To vanquish Folly, than reduce a State.

Hence, Reason! the first palm is thine,

Old Britain learnt from thee to shine.
By thee, Trades swarming throng, gay Freedom's smile,

Armies, in war of fatal frown,

Of peace the pride, Arts flowing down, Enrich, exalt, defend, instruct our isle.




Arts from Commerce. Why Britons should pursue it.

What wealth includes. 'An Historical digression which kind is most frequent in Pindar. The wealth and wonderful glory of Tyre. The approach of her ruin. The cause of it. Her crimes through all ranks and orders. Her miserable fall. The neighbouring kings just reflection on it. An awful image of the Divine Power and Vengeance. From what Tyre fell, and how deep her calamity.


COMMERCE gives arts, as well as gain;

By Commerce wafted o'er the main,
They barbarous climes enlighten as they run ;

Arts, the rich traffick of the soul !

May travel, thus, from pole to pole, And gild the world with Learning's brighter sun.


Commerce gives learning, virtue, gold !

Ply Commerce, then, ye Britons bold, Inur'd to winds and seas ! left Gods repent :

The Gods that thron'd you in the wave,

And, as the trident's emblem, gave
A triple realm, that awes the continent :

III. And

And awes with wealth ; for wealth is power :

When Jove descends a golden shower,
'Tis navies, armies, empire, all, in one.--

View, emulate, outshine old Tyre;

In scarlet rob’d, with gems on fire,
Her merchants, princes! every deck, a throne !

She sate an empress! aw'd the flood !

Her fiable column Ocean trod;
She call'd the nations, and ihe callid the seas,

By Both obey'd : the Syrian sings;

The Cyprian's art her viol strings;
Togarmagh's steed along her valley neighs.

The fir of Senir makes her floor,

And Bafhan's oak, transform’d, her oar;
High Lebanon her mast; far Dedan warms

Her mantled hoft; Arabia feeds ;

Her sail of purple Egypt spreads ;
Arvad sends mariners; the Persian, arms.

The world's last limit bounds her fame

The golden city was her nanie !
Those stars on earth, the topaz, onyx, blaze

Beneath her foot: extent of coast,

And rich as Nile's, let others boait ; Hers che far nobler harve of the seas.

VII. O mer


O merchant land! as Eden fair!

Antient of Empires ! Nature's care !
The strength of Ocean! bead of Plenty's Springs !

The pride of Isles ! In wars rever'd !

Mother of crafts ! lov’d! courted! fear'd!
Pilot of kingdoms ! and support of kings!

Great mart of nations !-But she fell:

Her pamper'd fons revolt ! rebel !
Against his favourite isle loud roars the main !

The tempest howls ! her sculptur'd dome

Soon, the wolf's refuge; dragon's home !
The land, one altar! a whole people, Nain !

The destin’d day puts on her frown ;

The fable hour is coming down :
She 's on her march from yon Almighty throne :

The sword and storm are in her hand ;

She trumpets fhrill her dread command :
Dark be the light of earth! the boaft, unknown!

For, oh! her fins as red as blood,

As crimson deep, outcry the flood;
The Queen of Trade is bought! once wise and just,

Now, venal is her council's tongue :

How riot, violence, and wrong, Turn gold to dross, her blossom into duft! 5

XI. To

To things inglorious, far beneath

Those high-born souls they proudly breathe,
Her sordid noble finks! her mighty, bow!

Is it for this, the groves around

Return the tabret's sprightly found ?
Is it for this, her great-ones toss the brow ?

What burning feuds 'twixt brothers reign !

To nuptials cold, how glows the vein,
Confounding kindred, and misleading right?

The Spurious lord it o'er the land !

Bold Blasphemy dares make a stand, Affault the sky, and brandish all her might :

XIII. Tyre's artizan, sweet orator,

Her merchant, sage, big man of war, Her judge, her prophet, nay her boary beads,

Whofe brows with wisdom should be crown'd,

Her very priests in guilt abound :
Hence, the world's cedar all her honours sheds.

What death of truth! what thirst of gald!

Chiefs warm in peace, in battle cold !
What youth unletter'd! base ones lifted high!
What public boasts ! what private views !

What desert temples ! crowded stews !
What women !-practis'd but to rowl an eye!


XV. O!

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