Drive ye this hostile omen far away; Their own fell efforts on her foes repay; Your wealth, your arts, your fame, be her's alone; Still gird your swords to combat on her side; Still frame your laws her generous test to' abide, And win to her defence the altar and the throne.
Protect her from yourselves, ere yet the flood
Of golden luxury, which commerce pours,
Hath spread that selfish fierceness through your
Which not her lightest discipline endures; [blood,
Snatch from fantastic demagogues her cause:
Dream not of Numa's manners, Plato's laws:
A wiser founder, and a nobler plan,
O sons of Alfred! were for you assign'd:
Bring to that birthright but an equal mind,
And no sublimer lot will fate reserve for man.
QUEEN of my songs, harmonious maid!
Ah why hast thou withdrawn thy aid?
Ah why forsaken thus my breast
With inauspicious damps oppress'd?
Where is the dread prophetic heat,
With which my bosom wont to beat?
Where all the bright mysterious dreams
Of haunted groves and tuneful streams,
That woo'd my genius to divinest themes?
Say, goddess, can the festal board,
Of young Olympia's form ador'd;
Say, can the pomp of promis'd fame
Relume thy faint, thy dying flame?
Or have melodious airs the power
To give one free, poetic hour?
Or, from amid the' Elysian train,
The soul of Milton shall I gain,
To win thee back with some celestial strain?
O powerful strain! O sacred soul;
His numbers every sense controul :
And now again my bosom burns ;
The Muse, the Muse herself returns.
Such on the banks of Tyne, confess'd,
I hail'd the fair immortal guest,
When first she seal'd me for her own,
Made all her blissful treasures known,
And bade me swear to follow Her alone.
No, foolish youth,-To virtuous fame
If now thy early hopes be vow'd,
If true ambition's nobler flame
Command thy footsteps from the crowd,
Lean not to Love's enchanting snare;
His songs, his words, his looks beware,
Nor join his votaries, the young and fair.
By thought, by dangers, and by toils,
The wreath of just renown is worn;
Nor will Ambition's awful spoils
The flowery pomp of ease adorn :
But love unbends the force of thought;
By love unmanly fears are taught;
And love's reward with gaudy sloth is bought.
Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays,
And heard from many a zealous breast,
The pleasing tale of Beauty's praise
In wisdom's lofty language dress'd;
Of beauty powerful to impart
Each finer sense, each comelier art,
And soothe and polish man's ungentle heart.
If then, from love's deceit secure,
Thus far alone thy wishes tend,
Go; see the white-wing'd evening hour
On Delia's vernal walk descend:
Go, while the golden light serene,
The grove, the lawn, the soften'd scene,
Becomes the presence of the rural queen.
Attend, while that harmonious tongue
Each bosom, each desire commands:
Apollo's lute by Hermes strung,
And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands,
Attend. I feel a force divine,
O Delia, win my thoughts to thine ;
That half the colour of thy life is mine.
Yet conscious of the dangerous charm,
Soon would I turn my steps away;
Nor oft provoke the lovely harm,
Nor lull my reason's watchful sway.
But thou, my friend,-I hear thy sighs:
Alas, I read thy downcast eyes;
And thy tongue falters; and thy colour flies.
So soon again to meet the fair?
So pensive all this absent hour?
-O yet, unlucky youth, beware,
While yet to think is in thy power.
In vain with friendship's flattering name
Thy passion veils its inward shame;
Friendship, the treacherous fuel of thy flame!
Once, I remember, new to love,
And dreading his tyrannic chain,
I sought a gentle maid to prove
What peaceful joys in friendship reign:
Whence we forsooth might safely stand,
And pitying view the love-sick band,
And mock the winged boy's malicious hand.
Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day,
To smiles and sweet discourse resign'd;
While I exulted to survey
One generous woman's real mind:
Till friendship soon my languid breast Each night with unknown cares possess'd, Dash'd my coy slumbers, or my dreams distress'd.
Fool that I was-And now, even now
While thus I preach the Stoic strain,
Unless I shun Olympia's view,
An hour unsays it all again.
O friend!-when Love directs her eyes
To pierce where every passion lies,
Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise?
SIR FRANCIS HENRY DRAKE, BART.
BEHOLD; the Balance in the sky
Swift on the wintry scale inclines:
To earthy caves the dryads fly,
And the bare pastures Pan resigns.
Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread,
With recent soil the twice-mown mead,
Tainting the bloom which Autumn knows:
He whets the rusty coulter now,
He binds his oxen to the plough,
And wide his future harvest throws.
Now, London's busy confines round,
By Kensington's imperial towers,
From Highgate's rough descent profound,
Essexian heaths, or Kentish bowers,
Where'er I pass, I see approach,
Some rural statesman's eager coach
Hurried by senatorial cares :
While rural nymphs (alike, within,
Aspiring courtly praise to win,)
Debate their dress, reform their airs.
Say, what can now the country boast,
O Drake, thy footsteps to detain,
When peevish winds and gloomy frost
The sunshine of the temper stain?
Say, are the priests of Devon grown
Friends to this tolerating throne,
Champions for George's legal right?
Have general freedom, equal law,
Won to the glory of Nassau
Each bold Wessexian squire and knight?
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