Part 18 (1/2)
Our soil's strong growth, And our bold natives' hardy mind; Sure heaven bespoke Our hearts and oak, To give a master to mankind.
That n.o.blest birth Of teeming earth, Of forests fair, that daughter proud, To foreign coasts Our grandeur boasts, And Britain's pleasure speaks aloud:
Now big with war, Sends fate from far, If rebel realms their fate demand, Now, sumptuous spoils Of foreign soils Pours in the bosom of our land.
Hence Britain lays In scales, and weighs The fate of kingdoms, and of kings; And as she frowns, Or smiles, on crowns A night, or day of glory, springs.
Thus ocean swells The streams and rills, And to their borders lifts them high; Or else withdraws The mighty cause, And leaves their famish'd channels dry.
How mixt, how frail, How sure to fail, Is every pleasure of mankind!
A damp destroys My blooming joys, While Britain's glory fires my mind.
For who can gaze On restless seas, Unstruck with life's more restless state?
Where all are tost, And most are lost, By tides of pa.s.sion, blasts of fate?
The world's the main, How vext! how vain!
Ambition swells, and anger foams; May good men find, Beneath the wind, A noiseless sh.o.r.e, unruffled homes!
The public scene Of harden'd men Teach me, O teach me to despise!
The world few know But to their woe, Our crimes with our experience rise;
All tender sense Is banish'd thence, All maiden nature's first alarms What shock'd before Disgust no more, And what disgusted has its charms.
In landscapes green True bliss is seen, With innocence, in shades, she sports; In wealthy towns Proud labour frowns, And painted sorrow smiles in courts.
These scenes untried Seduc'd my pride, To fortune's arrows bar'd my breast; Till wisdom came, A h.o.a.ry dame!
And told me pleasure was in rest.
”O may I steal Along the vale Of humble life, secure from foes!
My friend sincere!
My judgment clear!
And gentle business my repose!
”My mind be strong To combat wrong!
Grateful, O king! for favours shown!
Soft to complain For others' pain!
And bold to triumph o'er my own!
”(When fortune's kind) Acute to find, And warm to relish every boon!
And wise to still Fantastic ill, Whose frightful spectres stalk at noon!
”No fruitless toils!
No brainless broils!
Each moment levell'd at the mark!
Our day so short Invites to sport; Be sad and solemn when 'tis dark.
”Yet, prudence, still Rein thou my will!
What's most important, make most dear!