BRITANNIA. A POEM.

BRITANNIA . A POEM . Written in the Year 1719. — Et tantas audetis tollere Moles ? Quos Ego — sed motos praestat componere fluctus . Post mihi non simili Poena commissa luetis . Maturate fugam , Regique haec dicite vestro : Non illi Imperium Pelagi , Saevumque Tridentem , Sed mihi sorte datum . — VIRG.

BRITANNIA . A POEM . AS on the sea-beat shore Britannia sat , Of her degenerate sons the faded fame , Deep in her anxious heart , revolving sad : Bare was her throbbing bosom to the gale , That hoarse , and hollow , from the bleak surge blew ; Loose flow'd her tresses ; rent her azure robe . Hung o'er the deep from her majestic brow She tore the laurel , and she tore the bay . Nor ceas'd the copious grief to bathe her cheek ; Nor ceas'd her sobs to murmur to the Main . Peace discontented nigh , departing , stretch'd Her dove-like wings . And War , tho' greatly rous'd , Yet mourn'd his fetter'd hands . While thus the Queen Of nations spoke ; and what she said the Muse Recorded , faithful , in unbidden verse . Even not yon sail , that , from the sky-mixt wave , Dawns on the sight , and wafts the Royal Youth , A freight of future glory to my shore ; Even not the flattering view of golden days , And rising periods yet of bright renown , Beneath the Parents , and their endless line Thro' late revolving time , can sooth my rage ; While , unchastis'd , the insulting Spaniard dares Infest the trading flood , full of vain War Despise my Navies , and my Merchants seize ; As , trusting to false peace , they fearless roam The world of waters wild , made , by the toil , And liberal blood of glorious ages , mine : Nor bursts my sleeping thunder on their head . Whence this unwonted patience ? this weak doubt ? This tame beseeching of rejected peace ? This meek forbearance ? this unnative fear , To generous Britons never known before ? And fail'd my Fleets for this ; on Indian tides To float , unactive , with the veering winds ? The mockery of war ! while hot disease , And sloth distemper'd , swept off burning crowds , For action ardent ; and amid the deep , Inglorious , sunk them in a watry grave . There now they lie beneath the rowling flood , Far from their friends , and country unaveng'd ; And back the weeping war-ship comes again , Dispirited , and thin ; her sons asham'd Thus idly to review their native shore ; With not one glory sparkling in their eye , One triumph on their tongue . A passenger , The violated Merchant comes along ; That far-sought wealth , for which the noxious gale He drew , and sweat beneath Equator suns , By lawless force detain'd ; a force that soon Would melt away , and every spoil resign , Were once the British lyon heard to roar . Whence is it that the proud Iberian thus , In their own well-asserted element , Dares rouze to wrath the Masters of the Main ? Who told him , that the big incumbent war Would not , ere this , have roll'd his trembling ports In smoaky ruin ? and his guilty stores , Won by the ravage of a butcher'd world , Yet unatton'd , sunk in the swallowing deep , Or led the glittering prize into the Thames ? There was a time ( Oh let my languid sons Resume their spirit at the rouzing thought ! ) When all the pride of Spain , in one dread fleet , Swell'd o'er the lab'ring surge ; like a whole heaven Of clouds , wide-roll'd before the boundless breeze . Gaily the splendid Armament along Exultant plough'd , reflecting a red gleam , As sunk the sun , o'er all the flaming vast ; Tall , gorgeous , and elate ; drunk with the dream Of easy conquest ; while their bloated war , Stretch'd out from sky to sky , the gather'd force Of ages held in its capacious womb . But soon , regardless of the cumbrous pomp , My dauntless Britons came , a gloomy few , With tempest black , the goodly scene deform'd , And laid their glory waste . The bolts of fate Resistless thunder'd thro' their yielding sides ; Fierce o'er their beauty blaz'd the lurid flame ; And seiz'd in horrid grasp , or shatter'd wide , Amid the mighty waters , deep they sunk . Then too from every promontory chill , Rank fen , and cavern where the wild wave works , I swept confederate winds , and swell'd a storm . Round the glad isle , snatch'd by the vengeful blast , The scatter'd remnants drove ; on the blind shelve , And pointed rock , that marks the indented shore , Relentless dash'd , where loud the Northern Main Howls thro' the fractur'd Caledonian isles . Such were the dawnings of my liquid reign ; But since how vast it grew , how absolute , Even in those troubled times , when dreadful Blake Aw'd angry Nations with the British Name , Let every humbled state , let Europe say , Sustain'd , and ballanc'd , by my naval arm . Ah what must these immortal spirits think Of your poor shifts ? These , for their country's good , Who fac'd the blackest danger , knew no fear , No mean submission , but commanded peace . Ah how with indignation must they burn ? ( If ought , but joy , can touch etherial breasts ) With shame ? with grief ? to see their feeble sons Shrink from that empire o'er the conquer'd feas , For which their wisdom plan'd , their councils glow'd , And their veins bled thro' many a toiling age . Oh first of human blessings ! and supreme ! Fair Peace ! how lovely , how delightful thou ! By whose wide tie , the kindred sons of men , Like brothers live , in amity combin'd , And unsuspicious faith ; while honest toil Gives every joy , and to those joys a right , Which idle , barbarous Rapine but usurps . Pure is thy reign ; when , unaccurs'd by blood , Nought , save the sweetness of indulgent showers , Trickling distils into the vernant glebe ; Instead of mangled carcasses , sad-seen , When the blythe sheaves lie scatter'd o'er the field , When only shining shares , the crooked knife , And hooks imprint the vegetable wound ; When the land blushes with the rose alone , The falling fruitage , and the bleeding vine . Oh , Peace ! thou source , and soul of social life ; Beneath whose calm , inspiring influence , Science his views enlarges , Art refines , And swelling Commerce opens all her ports ; Blest be the Man divine , who gives us Thee ! Who bids the trumpet hush his horrid clang , Nor blow the giddy nations into rage ; Who sheaths the murderous blade ; the deadly gun Into the well-pil'd armory returns ; And , every vigour from the work of death , To grateful industry converting , makes The country flourish , and the city smile . Unviolated , him the virgin sings ; And him the smiling mother to her train . Of him the shepherd , in the peaceful dale , Chaunts ; and , the treasures of his labour sure , The husbandman of him , as at the plough , Or team , he toils . With him the sailor sooths , Beneath the trembling moon , the midnight wave ; And the full city , warm , from street to street , And shop to shop , responsive , rings of him . Nor joys one land alone ; his praise extends Far as the sun rolls the diffusive day ; Far as the breeze can bare the gifts of peace , Till all the happy nations catch the song . What would not Peace ! the Patriot bear for thee ? What painful patience ? What incessant care ? What mixt anxiety ? What sleepless toil ? Even from the rash protected what reproach ? For he thy value knows ; thy friendship he To human nature : but the better thou , The richer of delight , sometimes the more Inevitable War , when russian force Awakes the fury of an injur'd state . Then the good easy man , whom reason rules ; Who , while unhurt , knew nor offence , nor harm , Rouz'd by bold insult , and injurious rage , With sharp , and sudden check , th' astonish'd sons Of violence confounds ; firm as his cause , His bolder heart ; in awful justice clad ; His eyes effulging a peculiar fire : And , as he charges thro' the prostrate war , His keen arm teaches faithless men , no more To dare the sacred vengeance of the just . And what , my thoughtless sons , should fire you more , Than when your weil-earn'd empire of the deep The least beginning injury receives ? What better cause can call your lightning forth ? Your thunder wake ? Your dearest life demand ? What better cause , than when your country sees The sly destruction at her vitals aim'd ? For oh it much imports you , 'tis your all , To keep your Trade intire , intire the force , And honour of your Fleets ; o'er that to watch , Even with a hand severe , and jealous eye . In intercourse be gentle , generous , just , By wisdom polish'd , and of manners fair ; But on the sea be terrible , untam'd , Unconquerable still : let none escape , Who shall but aim to touch your glory there . Is there the man , into the lyon's den Who dares intrude , to snatch his young away ? And is a Briton seiz'd ? and seiz'd beneath The slumbring terrors of a British Fleet ? Then ardent rise ! Oh great in vengeance rise ; O'erturn the proud , teach rapine to restore : And as you ride sublimely round the world , Make every vessel stoop , make every state At once their welfare and their duty know . This is your glory ; this your wisdom ; this The native power for which you were design'd By fate , when fate design'd the firmest state , That e'er was seated on the subject sea ; A state , alone , where Liberty should live , In these late times , this evening of mankind , When Athens , Rome , and Carthage are no more , The world almost in slavish sloth dissolv'd . For this , these rocks around your coast were thrown ; For this , your oaks , peculiar harden'd , shoot Strong into sturdy growth ; for this , your hearts Swell with a sullen courage , growing still As danger grows ; and strength , and toil for this Are liberal pour'd o'er all the fervent land . Then cherish this , this unexpensive power , Undangerous to the publick ever prompt , By lavish Nature thrust into your hand : And , unencumber'd with the bulk immense Of conquest , whence huge empires rose and fell , Self-crush'd , extend your reign from shore to shore , Where-e'er the wind your high behests can blow , And fix it deep on this eternal base . For should the sliding fabrrick once give way , Soon slacken'd quite , and past recovery broke , It gathers ruin as it rolls along , Steep-rushing down to that devouring gulph , Where many a mighty empire buried lies . And should the big redundant flood of Trade , In which ten thousand thousand Labours join Their several currents , till the boundless tide Rolls in a radiant deluge o'er the land , Should this bright stream , the least inflected , point Its course another way , o'er other lands The various treasure would resistless pour , Ne'er to be won again ; its antient tract Left a vile channel , desolate , and dead , With all around a miserable waste . Not Egypt , were , her better heaven , the Nile Turn'd in the pride of flow ; when o'er his rocks , And roaring cataracts , beyond the reach Of dizzy vision pil'd , in one wide flash An Ethiopian deluge foams amain ; ( Whence wond'ring fable trac'd him from the sky ) Even not that prime of earth , where harvests crowd On untill'd harvests , all the teeming year , If of the fat o'erflowing culture robb'd , Were then a more uncomfortable wild , Steril , and void ; than of her trade depriv'd , Britons , your boasted isle : her Princes sunk ; Her high-built honour moulder'd to the dust ; Unnerv'd her force ; her spirit vanish'd quite ; With rapid wing her riches fled away ; Her unfrequented ports alone the sign Of what she was ; her Merchants scatter'd wide ; Her hollow shops shut up ; and in her streets , Her fields , woods , markets , villages , and roads , The cheerful voice of labour heard no more . Oh let not then waste Luxury impair That manly soul of toil , which strings your nerves , And your own proper happiness creates ! Oh let not the soft , penetrating plague Creep on the free-born mind ! and working there , With the sharp tooth of many a new-form'd want , Endless , and idle all , eat out the heart Of Liberty ; the high conception blast ; The noble sentiment , the impatient scorn Of base subjection , and the swelling wish For general good , erazing from the mind : While nought save narrow Selfishness succeeds , And low design , the sneaking passions all Let loose , and reigning in the rankled breast . Induc'd at last , by scarce-perceiv'd degrees , Sapping the very frame of government , And life , a total dissolution comes ; Sloth , ignorance , dejection , flattery , fear , Oppression raging o'er the waste he makes ; The human being almost quite extinct ; And the whole state in broad Corruption sinks . Oh shun that gulph : that gaping ruin shun ! And countless ages roll it far away From you , ye heaven-belov'd ! may Liberty , The light of life ! the sun of human kind ! Whence Heroes , Bards , and Patriots borrow flame , Even where the keen depressive North descends , Still spread , exalt , and actuate your powers ! While slavish Southern climates beam in vain . And may a publick spirit from the Throne , Where every Virtue sits , go copious forth Live o'er the land ! the finer Arts inspire ; Make thoughtful Science raise his pensive head , Blow the fresh Bay , bid Industry rejoice , And the rough Sons of lowest Labour smile . As when , profuse of Spring , the loosen'd West Lifts up the pining year , and balmy breathes Youth , life , and love , and beauty o'er the world . But haste we from these melancholly shores , Nor to deaf winds , and waves , our fruitless plaint Pour weak ; the country claims our active aid ; That let us roam ; and where we find a spark Of publick virtue , blow it into flame . And now my sons , the sons of freedom ! meet In awful senate ; thither let us fly ; Burn in the Patriot's thought , flow from his tongue In fearless truth ; myself , transform'd , preside , And shed the spirit of Britannia round . This said ; her fleeting form , and airy train , Sunk in the gale ; and nought but ragged rocks Rush'd on the broken eye ; and nought was heard But the rough cadence of the dashing wave .

The END .