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النشر الإلكتروني

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Each shadow of a shade offends
Th' embitter'd foes who once were friends.

That power alone who fram'd the soul,
And bade the springs of passion play,
Can all their jarring strings control,

And form on discord concord's sway.
'Tis he alone, whose breath of love
Did o'er the world of waters move,

Whose touch the mountains bends; Whose word from darkness call'd forth light, 'Tis he alone can reunite

The foes who once were friends.

To him, O Britain, bow the knee ! His awful, his august decree,

Ye rebel tribes, adore! Forgive at once, and be forgiven, Ope in each breast a little heaven, And discord is no more.

ODE XXXV.

FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1778.

ARM'D with her native force, behold,

How proudly through each martial plain Britannia stalks!""T was thus of old,

My warlike sons, a gallant train, Call'd forth their genuine strength, and spread Their banners o'er the tented mead; "T was thus they taught perfidious France to yield." She cries, and shows the lilies on her shield.

"Yes, goddess, yes! 't was thus of old,"
The Muse replies, "thy barons bold
Led forth their native troops, and spread
Their banners o'er the tented mead.
But nobler now the zeal that warms
Each patriot breast: for freedom's reign
Has burst the Norman's feudal chain,
And given new force to glory's charms.
No vassal bands

Rise at a tyrant lord's commands:
'T is for themselves, with honest rage,
The voluntary youths engage;
To guard their sacred homes they fight,
And in their own assert the public right.
Bound by choice, and choice alone,

Their leaders, and their laws are both their own:
Laws obey'd, because approv'd,
And chiefs that rule, because belov'd.
'Tis hence that flash of virtuous pride,
Which Britain's sons disdain to hide,

Glows on their cheeks, and through their eyes,
In active fire, the foe defies.

'T is hence, at home, they claim and find
Th' undoubted rights of human kind;
And, whilst they own a just control,
But yield a part to guard the whole.
"T is hence they spurn a servile chain,
While tyrant man's despotic reign

Enslaves the peopled Earth;
And hence, with equal zeal obey
A father-king, and hail the day
Which gave such monarchs birth."

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LET Gallia mourn! th' insulting foe, Who dar'd to aim the treach'rous blow, When lost, she thought, in deep dismay, Forlorn, distress'd, Britannia lay:

Deems she misfortune e'er can tame
The gen'rous inborn British flame?
Is Agincourt so little known?
Must fresh conviction curb her pride,
Each age new annals be supply'd,

Of Gallia's shame and our renown?

What though a while the tempest shrouds Her summits, and a night of clouds

Each rock and mountain wears;
Yet soon returns the flitting breeze,
And brighter o'er her subject seas
The queen of isles appears.

Let Gallia mourn! th' insulting foe,
Who sees, by all the winds that blow,
Her treasures wanted to the coast
She insolently deem'd was lost.

You Sun, that with meridian ray
Now gilds the consecrated day,

When Britain breathes her annual vow
For him, the guardian of her laws,
For him, who in her sacred cause

Bids the red bolt of vengeance glow:

That very Sun, when Ganges' stream
Redden'd beneath his rising beam,
Saw Britain's banners wave
In eastern air, with honest pride,
O'er vanquish'd forts, which Gallia tried,
But tried in vain to save.

That very Sun, ere evening dew

Has dimm'd his radiant orb, will view,
Where Lucia's mountains tower on high,
And seem to prop the western sky,
That oft-contested island own
Allegiance to the British throne.

Like her own oak, the forest's king,

Though Britain feels the blows around; Ev'n from the steel's inflictive sting, New force she gains, new scions spring, And flourish from the wound.

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sea.

United Bourbon's giant pride

Strains every nerve, each effort tries, With all but justice on its side,

That strength can give, or perfidy devise. Dread they not him who rules the sky,

Whose nod directs the whirlwind's speed,
Who bares his red right arm on high

For vengeance on the perjur'd head,
Th' Almighty Power, by whose august decree
The queen of isles alone is sovereign of the sea?

Vain-glorious France! deluded Spain !
Whom even experience warns in vain,
Is there a sea that dashing pours

Its big waves round your trembling shores,
Is there a promontory's brow

That does not Britain's vast achievements know?

Ask Biscay's rolling flood,

Ask the proud Celtic steep,

How oft her navies rode

Triumphant o'er the deep?

Ask Lagos' summits that beheld your fate,

Ask Calpe's jutting front, fair cause of endless hate.

Yet midst the loudest blasts of Fame,

When most the admiring nations gaze,

What to herself does Britain claim?

-Not to herself she gives the praise,

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STILL O'er the deep does Britain reign,
Her monarch still the trident bears:
Vainglorious France, deluded Spain,
Have found their boasted efforts vain;
Vain as the fleeting shades when orient light appears.

As the young eagle to the blaze of day
Undazzled and undaunted turns his eyes,
So unappall'd, where glory led the way,

Midst storms of war, midst mingling seas and
skies,

The genuine offspring of the Brunswick name
Prov'd his high birth's hereditary claim,
And the applauding nation hail'd with joy
Their future hero in the intrepid boy.

The Muse

Prophetic, as the flame that spread
Round the young Julus' head,
Be that blest omen of success.
Catches thence ecstatic views;
Sees new laurels nobly won,
As the circling year rolls on;
Sees that triumphs of its own
Each distinguish'd month shall crown;
And, ere this festive day again
Returns to wake the grateful strain,
Sees all that host of foes,

Both to her glory and repose,

Bend their proud necks beneath Britannia's yoke,
And court that peace which their injustice broke.

Still o'er the deep shall Britain reign,
Her monarch still the trident bear;
The warring world is leagu'd in vain
To conquer those who know not fear.

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What power from Lusitania broke
The haughty Spaniard's galling yoke?
Who bade the Belgian mounds with freedom ring?
Who fix'd so oft with strength supreme
Unballanc'd Europe's nodding beam,

And rais'd the Austrian eagle's drooping wing?
"T was Britain!-Britain heard the nations groan,
As jealous of their freedom as her own!
Where'er her valiant troops she led,
Check'd and abash'd, and taught to fear,
The Earth's proud tyrants stopp'd their mad career;
To Britain Gallia bow'd; from Britain Julius fled.

Why then, when round her fair protectress' brow
The dark clouds gather, and the tempests blow,
With folded arms, at ease reclin'd,
Does Europe sit? or, more unkind,
Why fraudulently aid the insidious plan?
The foes of Britain are the foes of man.

Alas! her glory soars too high;

Her radiant star of liberty

Has bid too long th' astonish'd nations gaze;
That glory which they once admir'd,
That glory in their cause acquir'd,

[blaze.

That glory burns too bright, they cannot bear the

Then Britain, by experience wise, Court not an envious or a timid friend; Firm in thyself undaunted rise,

On thy own arm and righteous Heaven depend.
So as in great Eliza's days,

On self-supported pinions borne,
Again shalt thou look down with scorn

On an opposing world, and all its wily ways:
Grown greater from distress,

And eager still to bless,

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STILL does the rage of war prevail,

Still thirsts for blood th' insatiate spear? Waft not, ye winds, th' invidious tale,

Nor let th' untutor'd nations hear, That passion baffles reason's boasted reign, And half the peopled world is civilized in vain. What are morals, what are laws,

[same.

What religion's sacred name?
Nor morals soften, nor religion awes:
Pure though the precepts flow, the actions are the
Revenge, and pride, and deadly hate,
And avarice tainting deep the mind,
With all the fury fiends that wait,

As torturing plagues, on human kind,
When shown in their own native light,
In truth's clear mirrour heavenly bright,
Like real monsters rise;
But let illusion's powerful wand
Transform, arrange, the hideous band,
They cheat us in disguise;

We dress their horrid forms in borrow'd rays,
Then call them glory, and pursue the blaze.
O blind to Nature's social plan,

And Heaven's indulgent end!
Her kinder laws knit man to man,
As brother and as friend.

Nature, intent alone to bless,

Bids strife and discord cease;
"Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
And all her paths are peace."
Ev'n this auspicious day would wear
A brighter face of joy serene;
And not one ruffling gale of care

Disturb the halcyon scene;
On lighter wings would Zephyr move,
The Sun with added lustre shine,
Did Peace, descending from above,
Here fix her earthly shrine;
Here to the monarch's fondest prayer
A just attention yield,
And let him change the sword of war
For her protecting shield.

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O WONDROUS power of inborn worth,
When danger calls its spirit forth,
And strong necessity compels

The secret springs to burst their narrow cells!
Though foes unnumber'd gird her round,
Though not one friend is faithful found,
Though impious scorn derides,

Yet still unmov'd amidst the band,
Like her own rocks, does Britain stand,
And braves th' insulting tides.

A world in arms assaults her reign,
A world in arms assaults in vain.

'T is Britain calls, ye nations, hear! Unbrace the corselet, drop the spear, No more th' insidious toil pursue, Nor strive to weaken what you can 't subdue. "T is Britain calls: with fatal speed

You urge, by headlong fury led,

Your own impending fate.

Too late you'll weep, too late you'll find, 'T was for the glory of mankind

That Britain should be great.

In Britain's voice 't is Freedom calls,
For Freedom dies if Britain falls.

She cannot fall; the same Almighty hand
That rais'd her white rocks from the main,
Does still her arduous cause maintain,

Still grasps the shield that guards her favour'd land.
Obedient to his word,

Not to destroy, but to reclaim,

Th' avenging angel waves the flaming sword:
Revere his awful name!

Repentant in the dust,

Confess his judgments just;

Th' avenging sword shall cease to wave,

And whom his mercy spares, his power shall save.

ODE XLIII.

FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1782.

STILL does reluctant Peace refuse,

Though courted by each generous mind, To shed her panacean dews,

And heal the madness of mankind!

Must this auspicious day again

[pray'r!

Be clouded with one anxious care, And powers malignant render vain The monarch's fondest wish, the people's general

O no! in yonder pregnant sky,

Whence all our hopes and blessings spring, New bursting scenes of glory lie,

And future joys are on the wing:
The ling'ring morn, that coyly sheds
On broken clouds and mountain-heads
At first a glimmering ray,

Now brighter and now brighter glows,
Wide and more wide the lustre flows,

Till all is future day,

And Earth, rejoicing in ethereal light, [night. Forgets the dreary damps, and live-long shades of

Satiate of war, whose mad excess

No bound, no kind restriction knows,
But marks its progress with distress,

The willing world shall seek repose;
And Belgia waking from her dreams
Of Gallic frauds, illusive schemes,
Shall add new strength to concord's chain,
And know her ancient friends again.

While those, whom nearer ties unite,
Whom all the charities combine,
Shall backward turn their trembling sight,
And deprecate the wrath divine:
Midst bleeding heaps of brothers slain,
Midst desolation's horrid reign,

And all its complicated woes,

With wild affright in every face,

Shall strain more close the strict embrace,
And wonder they could e'er be foes.

O pleasing hope, O blest presage
Of joys to last from age to age!

[prove,

For what Heaven's self commands must Heaven ap-
Returning amity, and mutual love!

And hark! on yonder western main
Imperious France is taught to know,
That Britain reassumes her reign:

Her thunders only slept to strike the deeper blow.

Ye nations, hear! the Gallic star,

Shorn of its beams, th' horizon leaves;

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Ye nations, hear! nor fondly deem

Britannia's ancient spirit fled;

Or glosing weep her setting beam,
Whose fierce meridian rays her rivals dread-
Her genius slept-her genius wakes-

Nor strength deserts her, nor high Heaven forsakes.

To Heaven she bends, and Heaven alone,
Who all her wants, her weakness knows,
And supplicates th' eternal throne

To spare her crimes, and heal her woes.
Proud man with vengeance still

Pursues, and aggravates e'en fancied ill;
Far gentler means offended Heaven employs,
With mercy Heaven corrects— -chastises, not de-
stroys.

When hope's last gleam can hardly dare
To pierce the gloom and soothe despair;
When flames th' uplifted bolt on high,
In act to cleave th' offended sky,

Its issuing wrath can Heaven repress,
And win to virtue by success.
Then O! to Heaven's protecting hand
Be praise, be prayer address'd,
Whose mercy bids a guilty land
Be virtuous and be bless'd!

So shall the rising year regain
The erring seasons' wonted chain;
The rolling months that gird the sphere,
*Again their wonted liveries wear;
And health breathe fresh in every gale,
And plenty clothe each smiling vale
With all the blessings Nature yields
To temperate suns from fertile fields.

So shall the proud be taught to bow,

Pale envy's fierce contentions cease, The sea once more its sovereign know, And glory gild the wreath of Peace.

ODE XLV.

FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1783.

Ar length the troubled waters rest,
And, shadowing Ocean's calmer breast,
Exulting Commerce spreads her woven wings:
Free as the winds that waft them o'er,

Her issuing vessels glide from shore to shore, And in the bending shrouds the careless sea-boy sings.

Is peace a blessing?-Ask the mind That glows with love of human kind, That knows no guile, no partial weakness knows, Contracted to no narrow sphere,

The world, the world at large is umpire here; They feel, and they enjoy, the blessings peace be

stows.

Then, oh! what bliss his bosom shares, Who, conscious of ingenuous worth, Can nobly scorn inferior cares,

And send the generous edict forth; To distant sighs of modest woe

Can lend a pitying list'ning ear, Nor see the meanest sorrows flow Without a sympathising tear.

Though Rapine with her fury train
Rove wide and wild o'er Earth and main,
In act to strike, though Slaughter cleave the air,
At his command they drop the sword,
And in their midway course his potent word
Arrests the shafts of death, of terrour, of despair.

When those who have the power to bless,
Are readiest to relieve distress,
When private virtues dignify a crown,

The genuine sons of freedom feel

A duty which transcends a subject's zeal, And dread the man's reproach more than the monarch's frown.

Then to this day be honours paid

The world's proud conqu'rors never knew;
Their laurels shrink, their glories fade,
Expos'd to reason's sober view.
But reason, justice, truth rejoice,

When discord's baneful triumphs cease,

And hail, with one united voice,

The friend of man, the friend of peace.

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ENOUGH of arms-to happier ends
Her forward view Britannia bends;
The gen'rous hosts, who grasp'd the sword,
Obedient to her awful word,

Though martial glory cease,
Shall now, with equal industry,

Like Rome's brave sons, when Rome was free,
Resume the arts of peace.

O come, ye toil-worn wand'rers, come
To genial hearths, and social home,

The tender housewife's busy care;
The board with temperate plenty crown'd;
The smiling progeny around,

That listen to the tale of war.
Yet be not war the fav'rite theme,

For what has war with bliss to do?
Teach them more justly far to deem,
And own experience taught it you.
Teach them, 't is in the will of Fate,
Their frugal industry alone
Can make their country truly great,
And in her bliss secure their own.
Be all the songs that soothe their toil,
And bid the brow of labour smile,

When through the loom the shuttle glides,
Or shining share the glebe divides,
Or, bending to the woodman's stroke,

To waft her commerce, falls the British oak-
Be all their songs, that soften these,
Of calm content and future well-earn'd ease;
Nor dread lest inborn spirit die :

One glorious lesson, early taught,
Will all the boasted powers supply

Of practis'd rules and studied thought.
From the first dawn of reason's ray
On the young bosom's yielding clay,
Strong be their country's love impress'd,
And with your own example fire their breast:
Tell them 't is theirs to grasp the sword
When Britain gives the awful word;

To bleed, to die, in Britain's cause, And guard, from faction nobly free, Their birth-right blessing, liberty,

True liberty, that loves the laws.

ODE XLVII.

FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTH-DAY, JUNE 4, 1784. HAIL to the day, whose beams, again Returning, claim the choral strain, And bid us breathe our annual vows To the first power that Britain knows; The power which, though itself restrain'd, And subject to that just control Which, many an arduous conflict gain'd, Connects, unites, and animates the whole.

Yon radiant Sun, whose central force
Winds back each planet's vagrant course,
And through the systems holds imperial sway,
Bound by the same inherent laws,

Ev'n whilst it seems the active cause,
Promotes the general good, as much confin'd as they.

That wondrous plan, through ages sought,
Which elder Egypt never taught,
Nor Greece with all her letter'd lore,
Nor struggling Rome, could e'er explore,
Though many a form of rule she tried;

That wondrous plan has Britain found,
Which curbs licentiousness and pride,
Yet leaves true liberty without a wound.

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