THE VISIT OF THE GODS. Imitated from Schiller. NEVER, believe me, Appear the Immortals, Never alone: Scarce had I welcom'd the Sorrow-beguiler, Iacchus! but in came Boy Cupid, the Smiler; Lo! Phœbus, the Glorious, descends from his Throne! Terrestrial Hall! How shall I yield you Due entertainment, Celestial Quire? Me rather, bright guests! with your wings of upbuoyance Bear aloft to your homes, to your banquets of joyance, That the roofs of Olympus may echo my lyre! Hah! we mount! on their pinions they waft up my O give me the Nectar! Soul! O fill me the Bowl! Give him the Nectar! Pour out for the Poet! Hebe! pour free! Quicken his eyes with celestial dew, That Styx the destested no more he may view, And like one of us Gods may conceit him to be! Thanks, Hebe! I quaff it! Io Pæan, I cry! The Wine of the Immortals Forbids me to die! 1 AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN. Written in America, in the year 1810.* ALL hail! thou noble Land, Our Fathers' native soil! O stretch thy mighty hand, Gigantic grown by toil, O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore : For thou with magic might Canst reach to where the light Of Phoebus travels bright The world o'er! The Genius of our clime, From his pine-embattled steep, Shall hail the guest sublime; While the Tritons of the deep * This Poem, written by an American gentleman, a valued and dear friend, I communicate to the reader for its moral, no less than its poetic spirit. With their conchs the kindred league shall proclaim. Then let the world combine O'er the main our Naval Line Like the milky way shall shine Though ages long have past Since our Fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast, O'er untravell'd seas to roam, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins! And shall we not proclaim That blood of honest fame Which no tyranny can tame By its chains? While the language free and bold In which our Milton told How the vault of Heaven rung When Satan, blasted, fell with his host; While this, with rev'rence meet, Ten thousand echoes greet, From rock to rock repeat Round our coast; While the manners, while the arts, That mould a nation's soul, Still cling around our hearts Between let ocean roll, Our joint communion breaking with the Sun: Yet still from either beach The voice of blood shall reach, More audible than speech, ، We are One.24 * This alludes merely to the moral union of the two Countries. The Author would not have it supposed that the tribute of respect, offered in these Stanzas to the Land of his Ancestors, would be paid by him, if at the expense of the independence of that which gave him birth. |