Still shall each kind returning season
Sufficient for our wishes give;
For we will live a life of reason,

And that's the only life to live.

Our name, while virtue thus we tender,
Shall sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke;
And all the great ones much shall wonder
How they admire such little folk.

Through youth and age in love excelling
We'll hand in hand together tread;
Sweet smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,
And babes, sweet smiling babes, our bed.
How should I love the pretty creatures,
Whilst round my knees they fondly clung,
To see them look their mother's features,
To hear them lisp their mother's tongue!
And when, with envy, Time transported
Shall think to rob us of our joys;
You'll in your girls again be courted,
And I go wooing in my boys.

THE GENIUS OF BRITAIN.

AN IAMBIC ODE. ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT, HONOURABLE WILLIAM PITT.

1756.

O THOU, ordain'd at length by pitying fate
To save from ruin a declining state;

Adorn'd with all the scientific store

Which bloom'd on Roman or Athenian shore;

At whose command our passions fall or rise,
Breathe anger's menaces or pity's sighs,
Whose breast (O never let the flame expire!)
Glows ardent with the patriot's sacred fire;
Attend the bard, who scorns the venal lays
Which servile flattery spurious greatness pays;
Whose British spirit, emulating thine,
Could ne'er burn incense at corruption's shrine;
Who far from courts maintains superior state,
And thinks that to be free is to be great;
Careless of pride's imperial smile or frown,
A friend to all mankind, but slave to none;
Above temptation, and unawed by power,
Pleased with his present lot, nor wishes more,
Save that kind Heaven would one bless'd boon
bestow,

Which monarchs cannot grant, or courtiers know,
From each low view of selfish faction free,
To think, to speak, to live, O Pitt! like thee.

THE GENIUS OF BRITAIN.

As late o'er Britain's chalky coasts
The Genius of the island flew,
The venal swarm of foreign hosts 1
Inglorious basking in his view,

Deep in his breast he felt the new disgrace,
And honest blushes warm'd his godlike face.
Quick flash'd the lightning of his spear
Which blasted France on Cressy's field,
He wheel'd the blazing sword in air,

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,
Sudden the tears of anguish flow,

For sore he felt the' indignity;
Discordant passions shook his heavenly frame,
Now horror's damp, now indignation's flame.

‹ Ah! what avails (he cried) the blood
Shed by each patriot band of yore,
When Freedom's unpaid legions stood
Protectors of this seagirt shore,

When ancient wisdom deem'd each British sword
From hostile power could guard its valiant lord?

• 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
The Gallic legions tempted o'er,

When Henry's barons join'd again,
Those feather'd warriors left the shore;

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
When great Eliza ruled this state,
On English hearts she placed her throne,
And in their happiness her fate,
While blacker than the tempests of the north
The papal tyrant sent his curses forth.

'Lo! where my Thames's waters glide
At great Augusta's regal feet,
Bearing on each returning tide

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,
And tears indignant bathe his crystal urn.

'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,
A freeman best defends a freeman's right.

'Look back on every deathless deed
For which your sires recorded stand;
To battle let your nobles lead

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;
Bless'd with Heaven's favourite ordinance I fly,
To raise the' oppress'd, and humble tyranny.'

This said, the vision westward fled,
His wrinkled brow denouncing war;
The way fire-mantled Vengeance led,
And Justice drove his airy car;

Behind firm-footed Peace her olive bore,
And Plenty's horn pour'd blessings on the shore.