POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS, An ODE

Sleep'st thou, fair maid, Aeolian Virgin, sleep'st thou in the cave Of drowsy silence, all array'd In indolence supine? Does listless Morpheus wave His torpid-striking wand thy brows around, Damping thy faculties divine? Arise, fair maid, arise! Shake off the tardiness of dull delay; Quick bid the sacred lyre resound, Quick tune th' harmonious lay: 'Tis Brunswick claims the verse, prepare Thine eagle-plumes, and light as air Sail through the azure-vaulted skies.

But first remove Far from thy hallow'd presence, the base train Of fawning Flattery; she to prove Her love, falls bestial down Licking the dust: disdain So lowly to debase thine honest head, And soil thy verdant laurel crown; Back to thy shades retire, Immerge in solitude thy form august; Thy shining locks with darkness braid; Still rest in silence, if the lust Of fame entice thy voice to sing The meanest of mankind, a King, Whom vice and tyranny inspire.

The worthless great to praise Befits the hireling's prostituted pen, Who sells for fordid gold his venal lays. Though oft along the winding Seine, Though oft in days of elder date, On the green margin of the Tuscan stream, Dazzled by pomp's external state, Th' ignoble bard has strung the glozing lyre Of specious falsehood; yet the British Muse, Free-born, should spurn th' illusive theme; And fraught with conscious dignity, refuse On Folly's sons to waste her sacred fire, Or soothing regal grandeur, weave For undeserving Pride her ever-blooming wreathe.

Such caution here Is vain: those fabling strains nor George requires, Neither art thou inclin'd to spare. Where Truth shall point the way, Thy progress he desires, And thou secure from harm shalt onward fly: Directed by her steady ray, Should meager Envy scowl Thy steps before, and grimly-threat'ning lance Keen arrows from her poisonous eye, Unmov'd thou shalt advance, Smile in her face, without a wound Hear her fierce serpents hiss around, And all her ill-shap'd monsters howl.

Chaste Virgin, say Where shall begin the song? before my eyes So various are the Forms which stray, That all confus'd my mind, And smit with wild surprise, Scarce keeps its proper function. Here behold, Upon a craggy rock reclin'd, High stretch'd out o'er the main, Despair and Horrour on her faded brow, Sits Gallia! while her arms enfold The anguish of her breast, as now Wide o'er the deep she looks, now o'er Th' exhausted land, her humbled power She weeps, thick falls the briny rain.

Chang'd is the scene, and here Suppliant the savage chiefs of Indian race, In lowly guise, with aspect meek appear, The rugged features of their face No more with death and terror clad, Oft wont with wild foot through the dreary shade To range with Slaughter, oft when mad With rage, and hot revenge, and fierce desire Of blood and prey, in the dead silent night, For still repose and slumber made, Have rais'd th' awakening yell of dread affright, Have basely slain the unresisting sire, The babe from its fond mother tore, Soon welt'ring in her own, and her lov'd infants' gore.

Well skill'd in guile, And treacherous as th' unsteady gale, which waves Its fickle pinion with a smile Now o'er the tranquil sea; But soon with fury raves, And lifts its tortur'd billows to the sky; Where the bright chariot of the day Bursts from his eastern goal, Striking the face of darkness with affright, And makes her ghastly shadows fly Before the piercing light: Dread Eastern Tyrants wear the chain, Trust their deep policy in vain, And crafty wiliness of soul.

Where-e'er his arms Proceed, the blooming form of Victory Array'd in her full blaze of charms, Girds laurels round the brow Of British Mars; his eye Gazes entranc'd upon the lovely maid, And rapturous thoughts endow His soul with ecstasy. Say then, bright Queen of song, wilt thou entwine A chaplet for his honour'd head? Wilt thou among th' assembled Nine Extol th' intrepid deeds of War, The thunder of his rapid car, His spear, and brazen panoply.

Ah, no; for what though here, No vile ambition instigates to fight; Yet learn, O Brunswick, name for ever dear To Albion's sons, that at the sight Of angry Justice from the eye Of mild Humanity the pitying drop Descends; with tenderest sympathy Each mourning Virtue casts the head aside, And every child of Reason and of Sense; Ah then, be 't thine with haste to stop The fatal steps of War and Death, dispense With generous thought, and true heroic pride, The blessings which attend the train Of hallow'd Peace, and dignify her glorious reign.

And, lo, they come! Soft o'er the flowers of the velvet mead Content and meck-ey'd Quiet roam, Or join the choral dance By frolic Laughter led: And liberal Science rears her blushing face, And Merit dares advance From the dark haunt of Scorn, Where she stray'd pensive many a long long day: And every Muse and sister Grace On thee shall beam the living ray: Thy memory priz'd, when those whose reign Ambition guided, shall remain The curse of ages yet unborn.

And see, to bless Thy life, to soften Grandeur's aking fears With the chaste conjugal caress, To soothe the weighty toils Of state, and ease its cares, Where Charlotte every female virtue brings! Oh happy state, in mutual smiles, Where souls communion mingle! there Love revels all-luxuriant and free, There modest Transport waves her wing, There dwells exulting Harmony With chaste Delight, there ne'er is seen Angry Suspicion's coward mien, Nor doubts nor jealousies appear.

Hail'd by a nation's voice, Long happy pair, long may you wear the crown, By merit yours; long may the land rejoice, Rul'd by a Prince who boasts himself her own. And when, howe'er belov'd, howe'er Call'd on to stay, the laws of fate, Which not transcendent goodness spare, Shall snatch you hence from a lamenting world; Heir to his father's virtues, may a son, Another George, direct th' affairs of state, And mount with glory his paternal throne, As now, far off be angry Faction hurl'd, Diffusive Peace, oh spread thy bounties wide! And may another nymph like Charlotte be his bride.