Vil.

Believe me, Kings! at Britain's nod,
From each enchanted grove and wood,

Huge oaks stalk down th' unshaded mountain's side;
The lofty pines assume new forms,

Fly round the globe, and live in storms,

And tread and triumph on the wand'ring tide.

VIII.

She nods again: the lab'ring earth

Discloses a stupendous birth;

In smoking rivers runs her molten ore;

Thence monsters of enormous size,

And hideous nature, frowning rise,

Flame from the deck, from trembling bastions roar.

JX.

These ministers of Wrath fulfil,

On empires wide, an island's will:

Ye Nations! know; know, all ye sceptred Powers!

In sulph'rous night, and massy balls,

And floods of flame, the tempest falls,

When stern Britannia's awful senate low'rs.

X.

Bold is the style when hearts are bold:
Would Britain have her anger told?
O! never let a meaner language sound
Than that which thro' black ether rolls,
Than that which prostrates human souls,

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And rocks pale realms, when angry Jove has frown'd,

In peace she sheaths her courage keen,
And spares her nitrous magazine;
Her cannon slumber at the world's desire;
But give just cause, at once they blaze,
At once they thunder from the seas,
Touch'd by their injur'd master's soul of fire

XII.

Then furies rise! the battle raves!

And rends the skies, and warms the waves,
And calls a tempest from the peaceful deep,
In spite of Nature, spite of Jove,

Whilst all serene, and hush'd above,

The boist'rous winds in azure chambers sleep.

XIII.

This, this, my Monarchs! is the scene

For hearts of proof, for gods of men ;"

Here War's whole sting is shot, whole heart is spent!

You sport in arms; how pale, how tame,

How lambent is Bellona's flame!

How her storms languish on the Continent!

XIV.

A swarm of deaths the mighty bomb

Now scatters from her glowing womb;

Now the chain'd bolts in dread alliance join'd,
Red-wing'd with an expanding blast,
Sweep, in black whirlwinds, man and mast,
And leave a sing'd and naked huil behind..

XV.

Now---but I'm struck with pale despair.
My Patrons! what a burst was there!

The strong ribb'd barks at once disploding flyl
Insatiate Death! compendious Fate!

Deep wound to some brave bleeding state!
One moment's guilt a thousand heroes die,

XVI.

The great, gay, graceful, young, and brave,
(Short obsequies!) the sable wave

Involves in endless night. Ye graveless Dead
Where are your conquests! now you rove

Pale, pensive thro' the coral grove,

Or shrink from Britain in your cozy bed.

XVII.

While virgins fair, with tender toil,

Of fragrant blooms their gardens spoil,

Low lie the brows for which the wrath's design'd,

In sea-weed wrapt. Alas! how vain

The hope, the joy, the grief, the pain,

The love, and godlike valour, of mankind!

XVIII.

Of brass his heart who durst explore,

Shut up in triple brass and more,

Who when explor'd the secret durst explain,
How, in one instant, at one blow,
The maiden's sigh, the mothers three.

Of half a widow'd land to render vain.

XIX.

See! yon' cowl'd friar in his cell,

With sulphur, flame, and crucible:

And can the charms of gold that saint inspire!
O cursed cause! O curs'd event!

O wondrous pow'r of accident!

He rivals gods, and sets the globe on fire.

XX.

But the rank growth of modern ill
Too well deserv'd that fatal skill,

The skill by which destruction swiftly runs,
And seas, and lands, and worlds, lays waste
With far more terror, far more haste,
Than ancient Nimrod and his haughty sons.

XXI.

In frown and force old War must yield:
The chariot sith'd, which mow'd the field,
The ram, the castled elephant, were tame,
Tame to rang'd ordnance, which denies,
Superior terror to the skies,

And claims the cloud, the thunder and the flame.

XXII.

The flame, the thunder, and the cloud,

The night by day, the sea of blood,

Hosts whirl'd in air, the yell, the sinking throng,
The graveless dead, and ocean warm'd,

A firmament by mortals storm'd,

To wrong'd Britannia's angry brow belong.

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XXIII.

Or do I dream or do I rave?

Or do I see the gloomy cave

Where Jove's red bolts the giant brothers frame?
The swarthy gods of toil and heat

Loud peals on mountain anvils beat,

And panting tempests rouse the roaring flame.

XXIV.

Ye sons of Ætna! hear my call;

Let your unfinish'd labours fall,

That shield of Mars, Minerva's helmet blue:

Suspend your toils, ye brawny Throng!

Charm'd by the magic of my song,

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

XXV.

Begin: and, first, take winged flight,

Fierce flames, and clouds of thickest night.
And trembling Terror, paler than the dead;
Then borrow from the North his roar,
Mix groans and death; one phial pour
Of dread Britannia's wrath, and it is made.

XXVI.

Yet Peace celestial! may thy charms
Still fire our breasts, tho' clad in arms:
If scenes of blood avenging Fates decree,
For thee the sword brave Britons wield;
For thee charge o'er th' embattled field,
Or plunge thro' seas, thro' crimson seas, for thee,

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