Still shall each kind returning season And that's the only life to live. Our name, while virtue thus we tender, Through youth and age in love excelling THE GENIUS OF BRITAIN. AN IAMBIC ODE. ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT, HONOURABLE WILLIAM PITT. 1756. O THOU, ordain'd at length by pitying fate Adorn'd with all the scientific store Which bloom'd on Roman or Athenian shore; At whose command our passions fall or rise, Which monarchs cannot grant, or courtiers know, THE GENIUS OF BRITAIN. As late o'er Britain's chalky coasts Deep in his breast he felt the new disgrace, And on his shoulders spread the shield, Six thousand Hessians imported to protect this island!!! As when o'er Agincourt's blood-purpled lands Pale Terror stalk'd through all the Gallic bands, Soon as he cast his eyes below, Deep heaved the sympathetic sigh, For sore he felt the' indignity; ‹ Ah! what avails (he cried) the blood When ancient wisdom deem'd each British sword • What though the Danish raven spread A while his wings o'er English ground, The bird of prey funereal fled When Alfred call'd his peers around, Whose fleets triumphant riding on the flood, Deep stain'd each chalky cliff with Denmark's blood. 'Alfred on natives could depend, And scorn'd a foreign force to' employ, He thought, who dared not to defend Were never worthy to enjoy; The realm's and monarch's interest deem'd but one, And arm'd his subjects to maintain their own. • What though weak John's divided reign When Henry's barons join'd again, Learn, Britons, hence, you want no foreign friends, The lion's safety on himself depends. Reflect on Edward's glorious name; On my fifth Henry's martial deeds; Think on those peers of deathless fame Who met their king on Thames's meads, When sovereign might acknowledged reason's That Heaven created man for liberty. [plea, 'Though Rome's fell star malignant shone 'Lo! where my Thames's waters glide From distant realms a golden fleet, Which homeward wafts the fruits of every zone, And makes the wealth of all the world 'Shall on his silver waves be borne Of armed slaves a venal crew? Lo! the old god denotes his scorn your own. And shudders at the' unusual view, Down to his deepest cave retires to mourn, 'O! how can vassals, born to bear The galling weight of slavery's chain, A patriot's noble ardour share, Or freedom's sacred cause maintain? Britons, exert your own unconquer'd might, 'Look back on every deathless deed The sons of toil, a hardy band; The sword on each rough peasant's thigh be worn, And war's green wreaths the shepherd's front adorn. 'But see, upon his utmost shores America's sad genius lies, Each wasted province he deplores, And casts on me his languid eyes; This said, the vision westward fled, Behind firm-footed Peace her olive bore, |