OCEAN.

ΑΝ

O D E.

Let the sea make a noise, let the floods clap their hands.

SWEET rural scene!
Of flocks and green!

At careless ease my limbs are spread;
All nature still,

But yonder rill;

And list'ning pines nod o'er my head:

II.

In prospect wide,

The boundless tide!

Waves cease to foam, and winds to roar;
Without a breeze,

The curling seas

Dance on, in measure to the shore.

III.

Who sings the source
Of wealth and force?

Vast field of commerce, and big war,

Where wonders dwell!

Where terrors swell!

And Neptune thunders from his car?

IV.

Where? Where are they,
Whom Paan's ray

Has touch'd, and bid divinely rave ?—
What! none aspire ?

I snatch the lyre,

And plunge into the foaming wave.

V.

The wave resounds!

The rock rebounds!

The Nereids to my song reply!
I lead the choir,

And they conspire,

With voice and shell, to lift it high.

VI.

They spread in air

Their bosoms fair,

Their verdant tresses pour behind:
The billows beat

With nimble feet,
With notes triumphant swell the wind.

The main the main !

Is Britain's reign;

Her strength, her glory, is her fleet:

The main the main !
Be Britain's strain;

As Tritons strong, as Syrens sweet.

IX.

Thro' nature wide

Is nought descry'd

So rich in pleasure or surprise;
When all-serene,

How sweet the scene!

How dreadful, when the billows rise;

X.

And storms deface
The fluid glass,

In which ere-while Britannia fair
Look'd down with pride,
Like Ocean's bride,

Adjusting her majestic air!

XI.

When tempests cease,
And, hush'd in peace,

The flatten'd surges smoothly spread,

Deep silence keep,

And seem to sleep

Recumbent on their oozy bed;

XII.

With what a trance,
The level glance,

Unbroken, shoots along the seas!

Which tempt from shore
The painted oar;

And every canvas courts the breeze!

VOL. I.

17

XIII.

When rushes forth
The frowning north

On black'ning billows, with what dread
My shudd'ring soul
Beholds them roll,

And hears their roarings o'er my head!

XIV.

With terror, mark
Yon flying bark!

Now centre-deep descend the brave;
Now, toss'd on high,

It takes the sky,

A feather on the tow'ring wave!

XV.

Now spins around

In whirls profound:

Now whelm'd; now pendant near the clouds ;
Now stunn'd, it reels

Midst thunders peals:

And now fierce lightning fires the shrouds.

XVI.

All Ether burns!

Chaos returns!

And blends, once more, the seas and skies:

No

space between

Thy bosom green,

O deep and the blue concave, lies.

XVII.

The northern blast,
The shatter'd mast,