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The river broad, and foaming seas
Devoid of naval skill or might;
Those sever'd parts of earth unite :
The various streams of Trade command,
That awful Power the world would brave,
Bold War, and Empire proud, his slave;
From Commerce, Grandeur 's humble birth:
Their pride, their shame, their rise, their fall,
Time’s whole plain chronicle is all
And Power from Wealth ; of Power is made The God on Earth : hail, then, the dove of Peace!
Whose olive speaks the raging flood
Of war repress’d: what 's loss of blood ? War is the death of Commerce and Increase.
Shalt thou make Gods ? light Cæsar's star?
From Nimrod's down to Bourbon's line?
Why not adore too, as divine,
His harvest! harvest round the year!
Each deck carouse, each flag stream out,
Each cannon found, each sailor shout!
An angel drew the first design ;
Two worlds aboard, an old and new,
He safe o’er foaming billows flew :
When Britain blaz’d meridian Fame *;
Merchants in distant courts rever'd,
Where prouder Statesmen ne’er appear’d, Merchants Emballadors ! and Thrones in awe !
XXXI, 'Tis * In Queen Elizabeth's reign.
The march of stars; the births of climes;
Theirs are the seasons, months, and years;
And each a different garland wears :-
The burning lamp of god-like deeds;
bound? O noble voyage! glorious round ! Launch from the Thames, and end among the stars.
Your fame should last while oceans roll:
As we the Geeeks of mighty name,
May they Britannia's fleet proclaim,
Ye Nereids, dance; ye Billows, flow;
Ye Winds! in concert breathe around;
Ye Navies ! to the concert bound
The most happy should be the most virtuous. Of
Eternity. What Britain's arts should be. Whence
Or bliss, in vain! the Gods bestow;
Vain swellings of thy foul repress;
They most may lose, who most pollefs; Then let bliss awe, and tremble at thy store.
Her chearful, not enamour'd guest :
Prospects immortal! that deride
A Tyrian wealth, a Persian pride, And make it perfect fortitude to live.
O for Eternity! a scene
To fair adventurers serene !
Traffick with Gods! What transports roll !
What boundless import to the soul!
These be thy arts, O Britain! these.
Let others breathe war's fiery God;
The proudest victor fears thy nod, Long as the trident fills thy glorious hand.
Glorious, while Heaven-born Freedom lafts;
Which Trade's soft spurious daughter blafts; For what is Tyranny? A monstrous birth
From Luxury, by bribes caress’d,
By glowing Power in shades compress'd; Which stalks around, and chains the groaning earth,
This subje£t now first sung. How sung. Preferable
to Pindar's subjects. How Britain should be sung
THEE, Trade! I first, who boast no store,
Who owe thee nought, thus snatch from fore, The shore of Prose, where thou hast slumber'd long;
And send thy flag triumphant down
The tide of Time, to sure renown; bless my country! and thou pay'ft my fong.