VIII. Ye wing'd, ye rapid moments! ftay:-- Time groans IX. Nor calls in vain; the call infpires Than once prevail'd; we stand on higher ground; 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: 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, 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 In Imoaking rivers runs her molten ore; Thefe minifters of fate fulfil, On empires wide, an island's will, When thrones unjuft wake vengeance: know, ye powers! VI. In her grand council fhe furveys, From hope's tritmphant summit thrown, The wealth of Ind, and confidence of Spain. VII. Britannia fheaths her courage keen, And leave all law below them; then they blaze! 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! 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; There war's whole fting is fhot, whole fire is spent, 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, Or do I dream? Or do I rave? Where Jove's red bolts the giant brothers frame Ye fons of Ætna! hear my call; Yon fhield of Mars, Minerva's helmet blue: Drop the feign'd thunder, and attempt the true. Begin and first take rapid flight, Fierce flame, and clouds of thickest night, Mix groans and deaths; one phial pour Q3 * Alluding to Virgil's Defcription of Thunder. ODE |