xxvir.

Ev'n now for peace the gods are press'd;

We woo the nations to be bless'd;

For peace, victorious Kings! we call to you:
For peace on pinions of the dove,

Soft emblem of eternal love!

Thro' trackless air and desert skies I flew.

XXVII.

My former lays,* of rough contents,
Of waves, and wars, and armaments,
Were but as peals of ordnance to confess
Your height of dignity, to clear
Your deaf, your late obstructed ear,

And wake attention to more mild address.

XXIX.

Have I not heard you both declare

Your hearts detest the purple war,

And melt in anguish for the world's repose!
Hail, then! all hail! your wish is crown'd,
Your godlike zeal thro' time renown'd,

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Thro' Europe bless'd, with joy her heart o'erflows.

XXX.

Your friend, your brother of the North,

To meet your arms comes smiling forth,
And leads soft-handed Peace: how pow'rful he !
His num'rous race, the blossoms bright
Of golden empire, radiant sight!

Endless beam on into eternity.

* The foregoing stanzas.

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180

XXXI.

What long allies!---the virgin train

Your most obdurate foes may gain;

See how her charms in lineal lustre shine!
Thro' ev'ry genuine branch the fire

Has darted rays of temper'd fire:

The mother breath'd soft air, and bloom divine.

XXXII.

How fair the field! ye Aonian bees! *
The flow'rs ambrosial, fondly seize,
Luxurious draw the sweet Hyblean strain;
That gods may lean from heav'n to hear,
And my thron'd Patron's ravish'd ear
The soul's rich nectar drink, and thirst again.

XXXIII.

Ev'n mine they taste, and with success:
Ambition's fumes my strains repress;
The fever flies; no noxious thoughts ferment;
No frenzy, faking friends for foes;

The pulse subsides; they seek repose;
Nor I my winged embassy repent.

XXXIV.

No: by the blood of Blenheim's plain
I swear the rumour'd war is vain :
Shall Gallic faith and friendship ever cease!
I swear by Europe's lovely dread,
I swear by great Eliza's shade,

The wise Ibernian is the friend of peace.

* Ye poets,

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XXXV.

Yet, lest I fail, (for prophets old

Not all infallibly foretold)

We set our naval terrors in array.
Know, Britons! an Augustus reigns;
If foes compel, send forth your chains,
While haughty thrones, uncensur'd, might obey. 210

XXXVI.

O, could I sing as you have fought,
I'd raise a monument of thought

Bright as the sun!---How you burn at my heart!
How the drums all around

Soul-rising resound!

Swift drawn from the thigh,

How the swords flame on high!

How the cannons' deep knell

Fates of kingdoms foretel!

How to battle, to battle, our fathers brave part, 220 How to battle, to conquest, to triumph, we dart!

XXXVII.

But who gives conquest? he whose ray

To darkness turns the blaze of day;

Whose boundless favour far outflows the main;
Whose pow'r the raging waves can still,

And curb more rebel human will.--

With peace O bless us! or in war sustain.

XXXVIII.

Dost thou sustain ?------ Ye twinkling Fry!
That swim the seas, glide gently by;

Tho' your scales glitter, tho' your numbers swarm, Ah! gently glide for life's dear sake,

Nor dare leviathan awake,

Who spouts a river, and who breathes a storm.

XXXIX.

And now who censures this Address?

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Thus crowns, states, common men make peace; They swell, sooth, double, dive, swear, pray, defy; And when rank Int'rest has prevail'd,

And Artifice the treaty seal'd,

Stark Love and Conscience own the bastard tie.

XL.

Ambassadors! ye mouths of kings!

Ye missive monarchs! empire's wings!

What tho' the Muse your province proudly chose?

'Tis a reprisal fairly made,

Her province you long since invade,

Ye perfect Poets! in the vale of prose.

XLI.

More safe, O Muse! that humble vale,
Than the proud surge and stormy gale:
Thy dangerous seas with wrecks are cover'd o'erf
Dulness and Frenzy curse thy streams,
Rocks, infamous for murder'd names!

O! strike thy swelling sails, and make to shore.

XLII.

While warmer climes, in cooler strains,
Or tented fields, or dusty plains,

Volume IV.

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The bleeding horse and horseman hurl to ground, 'Tis mine to sing, and sing the first,

That mighty shock, that dreadful burst

Of war, which bellows thro' the seas profound.

XLIII.

Nor mean the song, or great my blame;

When such the patrons, such the theme,

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Who might not glow, soar, paint, with rage divine? Truth, simple Truth, I proudly dress'd

In Fancy's robe, her flow'ry vest

Dipp'd in the curious colours of the Nine.

XLIV.

But, ah! 'tis past; I sink; I faint;

Nor more can glow, or soar, or paint;
The refluent captures from my bosom roll;
To heav'n returns the sacred maid,
And all her golden visions fade,
Ne'er to revisit my tumultuous soul.

XLV.

My vocal Shell! which Thetis form'd

Beneath the waves which Venus warm'd

With all her charms, (if ancient tales be true)
And in thy pearly bosom glow'd

Ere Paan silver chords bestow'd;

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My Shell! which Clio gave, which kings applaud, Which Europe's bleeding Genius call'd abroad, Adieu, pacific Lyre! my laurell'd Thrones! adieu. Hear, Atticus! your sailor's song: I sing, I live for you.