Part 22 (1/2)

Let greatness prove its t.i.tle to be great.

'Tis power's supreme prerogative to stamp On other minds an image of its own.

Bend the strong influence of high place, to stem The stream that sweeps away the country's weal; The Stygian stream, the torrent of our guilt.

Far as thou mayst give life to virtue's cause; Let not the ties of personal regard Betray the nation's trust to feeble hands: Let not fomented flames of private pique Prey on the vitals of the public good: Let not our streets with blasphemies resound, Nor lewdness whisper where the laws can reach: Let not best laws, the wisdom of our sires, Turn satires on their sunk degenerate sons, The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds of their blood! and serve no point But with more emphasis to call them fools: Let not our rank enormities unhinge Britannia's welfare from divine support.

Such deeds the minister, the prince adorn; No power is shown but in such deeds as these: All, all is impotence but acting right; And where's the statesman but would show his power?

To prince and people thou, of equal zeal!

Be it henceforward but thy second care To grace thy country, and support the throne; Though this supported, that adorn'd so well, A throne superior our first homage claims; To Caesar's Caesar our first tribute due: A tribute which, unpaid, makes specious wrong And splendid sacrilege of all beside: Ill.u.s.trious followers; we must first be just; And what so just as awe for the supreme?

Less fear we rugged ruffians of the north, Than virtue's well-clad rebels nearer home Less Loyola's disguis'd, all-aping sons, Than traitors lurking in our appet.i.tes; Less all the legions Seine and Tagus send, Than unrein'd pa.s.sions rus.h.i.+ng on our peace: Yon savage mountaineers are tame to these.

Against those rioters send forth the laws, And break to reason's yoke their wild careers.

Prudence for all things points the proper hour, Though some seem more importunate and great.

Tho' Britain's generous views and interests spread Beyond the narrow circle of her sh.o.r.es, And their grand entries make on distant lands; Though Britain's genius the wide wave bestrides, And, like a vast Colossus, towering stands With one foot planted on the continent; Yet be not wholly wrapp'd in public cares, Tho' such high cares should call as call'd of late; The cause of kings and emperors adjourn, And Europe's little balance drop awhile; For greater drop it: ponder and adjust The rival interests and contending claims Of life and death, of now and of for-ever; Sublimest theme; and needful as sublime.

Thus great Eliza's oracles renown'd, Thus Walsingham and Raleigh, (Britain's boasts!) Thus every statesman thought that ever-died.

There's inspiration in a sable hour, And Death's approach makes politicians wise.

When thunderstruck, that eagle Wolsey fell; When royal favour, as an ebbing sea, Like a leviathan, his grandeur left, His gasping grandeur! naked on the strand, Naked of human, doubtful of divine, a.s.sistance; no more wallowing in his wealth, Spouting proud foams of insolence no more, On what, then, smote his heart, uncardinal'd, And sunk beneath the level of a man!

On the grand article, the sum of things!

The point of the first magnitude! that point Tubes mounted in a court, but rarely reach; Some painted cloud still intercepts their sight.

First right to judge; then choose; then persevere, Steadfast, as if a crown or mistress call'd.- These, these are politics will stand the test, When finer politics their masters sting, And statesmen fain would shrink to common men.

These, these are politics will answer now, (When common men would fain to statesmen swell,) Beyond a Machiavel's or Tencin's scheme.

All safety rests on honest counsels: these Immortalize the statesman, bless the state, Make the prince triumph, and the people smile; In peace rever'd, or terrible in arms, Close-leagued with an invincible ally, Which honest counsels never fail to fix In favour of an unabandon'd land; A land-that starts at such a land as this, A parliament, so principled, will sink All ancient schools of empire in disgrace, And Britain's glory, rising from the dead, Will fill the world, loud fame's superior song.

Britain!-that word p.r.o.nounc'd is an alarm; It warms the blood, though frozen in our veins; Awakes the soul, and sends her to the field, Enamour'd of the glorious face of Death.

Britain!-there's n.o.ble magic in the sound.

O what ill.u.s.trious images arise!

Embattled, round me, blaze the pomps of war!

By sea, by land, at home, in foreign climes, What full-blown laurels on our fathers' brows!

Ye radiant trophies! and imperial spoils!

Ye scenes!-astonis.h.i.+ng to modern sight!

Let me, at least, enjoy you in a dream.

Why vanish? Stay, ye G.o.dlike strangers! stay: Strangers!-I wrong my countrymen: they wake; High beats the pulse: the n.o.ble pulse of war Beats to that ancient measure, that grand march Which then prevail'd, when Britain highest soar'd, And every battle paid for heroes slain.

No more our great forefathers stain our cheeks With blushes; their renown our shame no more.

In military garb, and sudden arms, Up starts old Britain; crosiers are laid by; Trade wields the sword, and agriculture leaves Her half-turn'd furrow: other harvests fire A n.o.bler avarice, avarice of renown!

And laurels are the growth of every field.

In distant courts is our commotion felt; And less like G.o.ds sit monarches on their thrones.

What arm can want or sinews or success, Which, lifted from an honest heart, descends, With all the weight of British wrath, to cleave The papal mitre, or the Gallic chain, At every stroke, and save a sinking land?

Or death or victory must be resolv'd; To dream of mercy, O how tame! how mad!

Where, o'er black deeds the crucifix display'd, Fools think Heaven purchas'd by the blood they shed; By giving, not supporting, pains and death!

Nor simple death! where they the greatest saints Who most subdue all tenderness of heart; Students in torture! where, in zeal to him, Whose darling t.i.tle is the Prince of Peace, The best turn ruthless butchers, for our sakes; To save us in a world they recommend, And yet forbear, themselves with earth content; What modesty!-such virtues Rome adorn!

And chiefly those who Rome's first honours wear, Whose name from Jesus, and whose hearts from h.e.l.l!

And shall a pope-bred princeling crawl ash.o.r.e, Replete with venom, guiltless of a sting, And whistle cut-throats, with those swords that sc.r.a.p'd Their barren rocks for wretched sustenance, To cut his pa.s.sage to the British throne?

One that has suck'd in malice with his milk, Malice, to Britain, liberty, and truth?

Less savage was his brother-robber's nurse, The howling nurse of plundering Romulus, Ere yet far worse than pagan harbour'd there.

Hail to the brave! be Britain Britain still: Britain! high favour'd of indulgent Heaven!

Nature's anointed empress of the deep!

The nurse of merchants, who can purchase crowns!

Supreme in commerce! that exuberant source Of wealth, the nerve of war; of wealth, the blood, The circling current in a nation's veins, To set high bloom on the fair face of peace!

This once so celebrated seat of power, From which escap'd the mighty Caesar triumph'd!

Of Gallic lilies this eternal blast!

This terror of armadas! this true bolt, Ethereal-temper'd, to repress the vain Salmonean thunders from the papal chair!

This small isle wide-realm'd monarchs eye with awe!

Which says to their ambition's foaming waves, ”Thus far, nor farther!”-Let her hold, in life, Nought dear disjoin'd from freedom and renown; Renown, our ancestors' great legacy, To be transmitted to their latest sons.