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VIII.

Ye wing'd, ye rapid moments! ftay:--
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 ftrikes the liftening 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. LXII.

A SEA

A SE AP I E CE.

ODE THE FIRST.

THE BRITISH SAILOR'S EXULTATION.

L.

'N lofty founds let those delight

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 counsel of a friend,

And warn them of the vengeance they provoke.

II.

From whence arise these loud alarms?

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

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

III.

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

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

IV.

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

In Imoaking rivers runs her molten ore;
Thence monsters of enormous fize,
And hideous afpect, threatening rife,
Flame from the deck, from trembling bastions roar.
V.

Thefe minifters of fate fulfil,

On empires wide, an island's will,

When thrones unjuft 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 disdain;

From hope's tritmphant summit 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 aspire,

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.

Q 2

* Houfe of Lords.

VIII. Then

VIII.

Then furies rife! the battle raves!

And rends the skies! 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 sleep.

IX.

A thoufand 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 masts; 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 fting is fhot, whole fire is spent,
Whole glory blooms: how pale, how tame,
How lambent is Bellona's flame;
How her storms languish on the continent!

XI.

From the dread front of antient war Lefs terror frown'd; her scythed 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.

XII. The

XII.

The flame, the thunder, and the cloud,
The night by day, the fea of blood,
Hofts whirl'd in air, the yell of finking throngs,
The graveless dead, an ocean warm'd,
A firmament by mortals ftorm'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
Those fwarthy gods of toil and heat,
Loud peals on mountain anvils heat,
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 strokes fufpend, ye brawny throng!
Charm'd by the magic of my fong,

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

Begin and first take rapid flight,
*
:

Fierce flame, and clouds of thickest night,
And ghaftly 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

* Alluding to Virgil's Defcription of Thunder.

ODE

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