« PreviousContinue »
What is the main ! ye kings renown'd!
Whence Tartar GRAND? or Mogul Great Britannia's centre, and your bound:
Trade gilt their titles, pour'd their state; Austrian ! where-e'er leviathan can roll,
While Afric's black, lascivious, slothful breed, Is Britain's home! and Britain's mine,
To clasp their ruin, fly fom loil; Where-e'er the ripening Sun can shine,
That meanest product on their soil, Parts are for emperors; for her, the whole. Their people sell : one half on t'other feed. Why, Austrian ! wilt thou hover still
Of Nature's wealth and commerce rent, On doubtful wing, and want the skill
Afric's a glaring monument :
(Curst, in a Paradise !) she pines : Another Churchill, no: so kind,
O'er generous glebe, o'er golden mines And other Blenheims, big with other fate. Her beggar'd, famishd, tradeless native roves : IU thou remember'st, ill dost own,
Not so thine, China, blooming-wide; Who rescued an ungrateful throne ;
Thy numerous fleets might bridge the tide ; III thou consider'st, that the kind are brave ; Thy products would exhaust both Indias' mines : III dost thou weigh, that in Time's womb
Shut be that gate of trade! Or woe A day may sleep, a day of doom,
To Britain's ! Europe 'twill o'erflow. As great to ruin, as was that to save.
Ungrateful song ! fler growth 3 inspires thy lines. How wonldst thou smile to hear my strain,
Britain ! To these, and such as these, Whose boasted inspiration 's vain
The river broad and foaming seas Yet what if my prediction should prove true ?
Which sever lands to mortals less renown'd, Know'st thou the fatal pair who shine
Devoid of naval skill or might; O'er Britain's trading empire thine
Those sever'd parts of earth unite : As one rejected, what, if one subdue ?
Trade's the full pulse, that sends their vigour
round. What navnl scene adorns the seat Of awful Britain's high debate ?,
Could, O! could one engrossing hand
The varions streams of trade command, Inspires her councils, and records her power !
That, like the Sun, would gazing nations awe; The nations know, in glowing balls On sinking thrones the tempest falls,
That awful power the world would brave, When her august assembled senates low'r.
Bold war, and empire proud, bis slave;
Mankind his subjects; and his will, their law. languarge fit for thought so bold !
Hast thou look'd round the spacions Earth? Would Britain have her anger told ;
From commerce, grandeur's bumble birth : Ah! never let a meaner language sound, Than that which prostrates human souls,
To George from Noah, empires living, doad, Through Heaven's dark vault impetuous
Their pride, their shame, their rise, their
fall, rolls, And Nature rocks, when angry Jove has frown'd.
Time's whole plain chronicle is all
One bright encomium, undesign'd, on trade. Not realm's unlounded, not a flood
Trade springs from peace, and wealth from Of natives, not expense of blood,
trade, Or reach of counsel gives the world a lord :
And power from wealth ! of power is made Trade calls him forth, and sets bim high,
The god on Earth : Hail, then, the dove of peace ! As mortal man, o'er men can fly :
Whose olive speaks the raging flood Trade leaves poor gleanings to the keenest sword.
Of war repress'd: what's loss of blood } Nay, her's the sword! For fleets hare wings;
War is the death of commerce and increase. Like lightning fly to distant kings;
Then perish war l-Detested war! Like gods descend at once on trembling states :
Shalt thou make gods? light Cæsar's star? Is war proclaim'd? Our wars are hurl'd What calls man fool so loud as this bas done, To farthest confines of the world,
From Nimrod's down to Bourbon's line ? Surprise your ports, and t'under at your gates. Why not adore too, as divine, The king of tempests, Æolus,
Wide-wasting storms, before the genial Sun ? Sends forth his pinion'd people, thus,
Peace is the merchant's summer clear! On rapid errands: as they fly, they roar,.
His harvest! barvest round the year! And carry sable clouds, and sweep
For peace with laurel every mast be bound; The land, the desert, and the deep !
Each deck carouse, each flag stream out, Earth shakes! pruud cities fall! and thrones adore! Each cannon sound, each sailor shout! The fools of Nature ever strike
For peace let every sacred ship be crown'd! On bare outsides ; and loathe, or like,
Sacred are ships, of birth divine ! As glitter bids; in endless errour vie ;
An angel drew the first design ; Admire the purple and the crown :
With which the patriarch Nature's tuins brav'd: Of human welfare and renown,
Two worlds abroad, an old and new, Trade 's the big heart; bright empire, but their He safe o'er foaming billows flew : eye.
The gods made human race, a pilot, sav'd,
? The Spanish Armada in the House of Lords.
How sacred too the merchant's name !
Adore the gods, and plough the seas : When Britain blaz'd meridian famet;
These be thy arts, O Britain! these. Bright shone the sword, but brighter trade gave Let others pant for an immense command ; law;
Let others breathe war's fiery god; Mercbants in distant courts rever'd,
The proudest victor fears thy nod, Where prouder statesmen ne'er appeard, Long as the trident fills thy glorious hand. Merchants ambassadors ! and thrones in awe.
Glorious, while Heaven-born freedom lasts, 'T is theirs to know the tides, the times ;
Which trade's soft spurious daughter blasts;
Theirs are the seasons, months, and years; By glowing power in shades compress'd,
Which stalks around, and chains the groaning O that my song could add eternity!
Earth, Praise is the sacred oil that feeds
The burning lamp of god-like deeds ;
THIS SUBJECT NOW FIRST SUNG.
FERABLE TO PINDAR'S SUBJECTS. HOW BRITAIN If to my subject rose my soul,
SHOULD BE SUNG BY ALL.
Thee, Trade! I first, who boast po store, As we the Greeks of mighty name,
Who owe thee nought, thus snatch from shore, May they Britannia's fleet proclaim, The shore of prose, where thou hast slumber'd Look up, and read her story in the skies.
And send thy flag triumphant down Ye Syrens, sing; ye Tritons, blow;
The tide of time, to sure renown; Ye Nereids, dance ; ye billows, flow;
O bless my country! and thou pay'st my song. Roll to my measures, O ye starry throng; Ye winds, in concert breathe around;
Thou art the Briton's noblest theine, Ye navies, to the concert bound
Why, then, unsung? My simple aim From pole to pole! to Britain all belong.
To dress plain sense, and fire the generous blood;
Not sport imaginations raia,
But list, with yon ethereal train,
The shining Muse, to serve the public good.
Of antient art and antient praise,
The springs are open'd in my lays:
Olympic heroes' ghosts around me throng,
And think their glory sung anew;
Till chiefs of equal fame they view;
Nor grudge to Britous bold their Theban song. BRITAIN! tbus blest, thy blessing know; Or bliss, in vain! the gods bestow;
Not Pindar's theme with mine compares, Its end fulfil, means cherish, source adore :
As far surpast, as useful cares Vain swellings of thy soul repress;
Transcend diversion light and glory vain: They most may lose, who most possess ;
The wreath fantastic, shouting throng, Then let bliss awe, and tremble at thy store.
And panting steed, to him belong
The charioteer's, not empire's golden rein.
Nor, Chandos! thou the Muse despise,
(Such Pindar's breast) thon Therou of our time ! Prospects immortal; that deride
Seldom to man the gods impart A Tyrian wealth, a Persian pride,
A Pindar's bead, or Theron's heart;
In life, or song, now rare the true sublime !
None, British-born, will sure disdain
This new, bold, moral, patriot strain, Traffic with gods! What transports roll ;
Though not with genius with some virtue crown'd; What boundless import to the soul !
(How vain the Muse !) the lay may last,
Thus twin'd around the British mast, The poor man's empire! and the subject's crown!
The British mast, with nobler laurels bound !
Weak ivy curls round naval oak, 4 In Queen Elizabeth's reign.
And smiles at wind and storin unbroke ;
By strength not hers sublime: thus, proud to soar, ,
To Britain's grandeur cleaves my strain;
And lives, and echoes through the plain, While o'er the billow Britain's thunders roar.
“ Ye Syrens, sing ; ye Tritons, blow; Be dumb, ye grovelling sons of verse,
Ye Nereids, dance; ye billows, flow; Who sing oot actions, but rehearse.
Foll to my measures, O ye starry throng! And fool the viuse with impotent desire;
Ye winds, in concert breathe around; Ye sacrilegious! who presume
Ye natives, to the concert bound To tarnish Pritain's naval bloom,
From pole to pole! to Britain all belong; Sing Britain's fame, with all ber hero's Britain to Heaven; from Heaven descends my: Gre.
END OF VOL. XIII.
Richard Taylor and Co. Printers, Shoe-lane, London,