Adore the gods, and plough the seas:
These be thy arts, O Britain! these.
Let others pant for an immense command;
Let others breathe War's fiery god :
The proudest victor fears thy nod,

Long as the trident fills thy glorious hand.

Glorious while heaven-born freedom lasts,
Which Trade's soft spurious daughter blasts:
For what is tyranny? a monstrous birth
From luxury, by bribes caress'd,

By glowing pow'r in shades compress'd,

Which stalks around, and chains the groaning earth.

VOL. III.

THE CLOSE,

CONTENTS.

This subject now first sung. How sung. Preferable to Pindar's subject. How Britain should be sung by all,

THEE, Trade! I first, who boast no store, Who owe thee nought, thus snatch from shore, The shore of prose, where thou hast slumber'd long, And send thy flag triumphant down

The tide of time to sure renown:

O bless my country! and thou pay'st my song.

Thou art the Briton's noblest theme;

Why then unsung? my simple aim

To dress plain sense, and fire the gen'rous blood,
Nor sport imaginations vain;

But list with yon ethereal train*

The shining muse, to serve the public good.

Of ancient art, and ancient praise,

The springs are open'd in my lays† :

*The stars.

t-Tibi res antiquæ laudis, et artis Ingredior, sanctos ausus recludere fontes ; Ascræumque cano Romana per oppida carmen.

Virg.

Olympic heroes' ghosts around me throng,
And think their glory sung anew,

Till chiefs of equal fame they view,

Nor grudge to Britons bold their Theban song.
Not Pindar's theme with mine compares;
As far surpass'd as useful cares

Transcend diversion light, and glory vain :
The wreath fantastic, shouting throng,
And panting steed, to him belong;

The charioteer's, not empire's golden rein.

Nor, Chandos! thou the Muse despise
That would to glowing Ætna rise,

(Such Pindar's breast) thou Theron of our time! Seldom to man the gods impart

A Pindar's head or Theron's heart.

In life or song how rare the true sublime!

None British born will sure disdain

This new, bold, moral, patriot strain,

Tho' not with genius, with some virtue crown'd ;

(How vain the muse!) the lay may last,

Thus twin'd around the British mast,

The British mast with nobler laurels bound!

Weak ivy curls round naval oak,

And smiles at winds and storms unbroke;

By strength not her's sublime: thus proud to soar, TeBritain's grandeur cleaves my strain,

And lives and echoes through the plain,
While o'er the billows Britain's thunders roar.

Be dumb, ye grov❜ling sons of verse,
Who sing not actions, but rehearse,
And fool the muse with impotent desire;
Ye sacrilegious! who presume

To tarnish Britain's naval bloom,

Sing Britain's fame, with all her hero's fire.

CHORUS.

;

Ye Syrens, sing; ye Tritons, blow;
Ye Nereids, dance; ye billows, flow
Roll to my measures, O ye starry throng!
Ye winds, in concert breathe around;
Ye navies, to the concert bound

From pole to pole; to Britain all belong :

Britain to heaven: from heaven descends my song.

;

VERSES

Occasioned by

THAT FAMOUS PIECE OF THE

CRUCIFIXION.

DONE BY MICHAEL ANGELO*.

WHILE his Redeemer on his canvass dies,
Stabb'd at his feet his brother welt'ring lies;
The daring artist, cruelly serene,

Views the pale cheek and the distorted mien;
He drains off life by drops, and, deaf to cries,
Examines ev'ry spirit as it flies:

He studies torment; dives in mortal wce;
To rouse up ev'ry pang, repeats his blow;
Each rising agony, each dreadful grace,
Yet warm, transplanting to his Saviour's face.
O glorious theft! O nobly wicked draught!
With its full charge of death each feature fraught!
Such wondrous force the magic colours boast,
From his own skill he starts, in horror lost.

*Who obtained leave to treat a malefactor, condemned to be broke upon the wheel, as he pleased for this purpose. The man being extended, this wonderful artist directed that he should be stabbed in such parts of the body as he apprehended would occasion the most excruciating torture, that he might represent the agonies of death in the most natural $ 2

manner.