But mark the judgment of experienced time,
Tutor of nations. Doth light discord tear
A state? and impotent sedition's crime?
The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there;
The powers who to command and to obey
Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway
The rising race to manly concord tame?
Oft let the marshall'd field their steps unite,
And in glad splendour bring before their sight
One common cause, and one hereditary fame.
Nor yet be awed, nor yet your task disown,
Though war's proud votaries look on severe;
Though secrets taught erewhile to them alone,
They deem'd profaned by your intruding ear.
Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell,
Of new refinements, fiercer weapons, tell,
And mock the old simplicity, in vain:
To the time's warfare, simple or refined,
The time itself adapts the warrior's mind;
And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain.
Say then; if England's youth, in earlier days,
On glory's field with well-train'd armies vied,
Why shall they now renounce that generous praise?
Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride?
Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand,
And Albret rush'd on Henry's way-worn band,
With Europe's chosen sons in arms renown'd;
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd,
Nor Audley's squires, nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd.
They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.
Such were the laurels which your fathers won;
Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breast;
-Is there no voice that speaks to every son?
No nobler, holier call to you address'd?
O! by majestic freedom, righteous laws,
By heavenly truth's, by manly reason's cause,
Awake: attend; be indolent no more:
By friendship, social peace, domestic love,
Rise; arm; your country's living safety prove;
And train her valiant youth, and watch around her shore ̧
INSCRIPTION FOR A STATUE OF CHAUCER.-AKEN SIDE.
SUCH was old Chaucer. Such the placid mien
Of him who first with harmony inform'd
The language of our fathers. Here he dwelt
many a cheerful day. These ancient walls Have often heard him, while his legends blithe He sang; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles Of homely life through each estate and age, The fashions and the follies of the world
With cunning hand pourtraying.
From Blenheim's towers, O stranger, thou art come
Glowing with Churchill's trophies; yet in vain
Dost thou applaud them, if thy breast be cold To him, this other hero; who, in times
Dark and untaught, began with charming verse
To tame the rudeness of his native land.
FOR A BUST OF SHAKESPEARE.
O YOUTHS and virgins! O declining eld!
O pale misfortune's slaves! O ye, who dwell
Unknown with humble quiet; ye, who wait
In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings!
O sons of sport and pleasure! O thou wretch,
That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds
Of conscious guilt, or death's rapacious hand,
Which left thee void of hope! O ye, who roam
In exile! ye, who through the embattled field
Seek bright renown; or who for nobler palms
Contend, the leaders of a public cause!
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