BRITANNIA
.
A
POEM
.
Written
in
the
Year
1719.
—
Et
tantas
audetis
tollere
Moles
?
Quos
Ego
—
sed
motos
praestat
componere
fluctus
.
Post
mihi
non
simili
Poena
commissa
luetis
.
Maturate
fugam
,
Regique
haec
dicite
vestro
:
Non
illi
Imperium
Pelagi
,
Saevumque
Tridentem
,
Sed
mihi
sorte
datum
.
—
VIRG.
BRITANNIA
.
A
POEM
.
AS
on
the
sea-beat
shore
Britannia
sat
,
Of
her
degenerate
sons
the
faded
fame
,
Deep
in
her
anxious
heart
,
revolving
sad
:
Bare
was
her
throbbing
bosom
to
the
gale
,
That
hoarse
,
and
hollow
,
from
the
bleak
surge
blew
;
Loose
flow'd
her
tresses
;
rent
her
azure
robe
.
Hung
o'er
the
deep
from
her
majestic
brow
She
tore
the
laurel
,
and
she
tore
the
bay
.
Nor
ceas'd
the
copious
grief
to
bathe
her
cheek
;
Nor
ceas'd
her
sobs
to
murmur
to
the
Main
.
Peace
discontented
nigh
,
departing
,
stretch'd
Her
dove-like
wings
.
And
War
,
tho'
greatly
rous'd
,
Yet
mourn'd
his
fetter'd
hands
.
While
thus
the
Queen
Of
nations
spoke
;
and
what
she
said
the
Muse
Recorded
,
faithful
,
in
unbidden
verse
.
Even
not
yon
sail
,
that
,
from
the
sky-mixt
wave
,
Dawns
on
the
sight
,
and
wafts
the
Royal
Youth
,
A
freight
of
future
glory
to
my
shore
;
Even
not
the
flattering
view
of
golden
days
,
And
rising
periods
yet
of
bright
renown
,
Beneath
the
Parents
,
and
their
endless
line
Thro'
late
revolving
time
,
can
sooth
my
rage
;
While
,
unchastis'd
,
the
insulting
Spaniard
dares
Infest
the
trading
flood
,
full
of
vain
War
Despise
my
Navies
,
and
my
Merchants
seize
;
As
,
trusting
to
false
peace
,
they
fearless
roam
The
world
of
waters
wild
,
made
,
by
the
toil
,
And
liberal
blood
of
glorious
ages
,
mine
:
Nor
bursts
my
sleeping
thunder
on
their
head
.
Whence
this
unwonted
patience
?
this
weak
doubt
?
This
tame
beseeching
of
rejected
peace
?
This
meek
forbearance
?
this
unnative
fear
,
To
generous
Britons
never
known
before
?
And
fail'd
my
Fleets
for
this
;
on
Indian
tides
To
float
,
unactive
,
with
the
veering
winds
?
The
mockery
of
war
!
while
hot
disease
,
And
sloth
distemper'd
,
swept
off
burning
crowds
,
For
action
ardent
;
and
amid
the
deep
,
Inglorious
,
sunk
them
in
a
watry
grave
.
There
now
they
lie
beneath
the
rowling
flood
,
Far
from
their
friends
,
and
country
unaveng'd
;
And
back
the
weeping
war-ship
comes
again
,
Dispirited
,
and
thin
;
her
sons
asham'd
Thus
idly
to
review
their
native
shore
;
With
not
one
glory
sparkling
in
their
eye
,
One
triumph
on
their
tongue
.
A
passenger
,
The
violated
Merchant
comes
along
;
That
far-sought
wealth
,
for
which
the
noxious
gale
He
drew
,
and
sweat
beneath
Equator
suns
,
By
lawless
force
detain'd
;
a
force
that
soon
Would
melt
away
,
and
every
spoil
resign
,
Were
once
the
British
lyon
heard
to
roar
.
Whence
is
it
that
the
proud
Iberian
thus
,
In
their
own
well-asserted
element
,
Dares
rouze
to
wrath
the
Masters
of
the
Main
?
Who
told
him
,
that
the
big
incumbent
war
Would
not
,
ere
this
,
have
roll'd
his
trembling
ports
In
smoaky
ruin
?
and
his
guilty
stores
,
Won
by
the
ravage
of
a
butcher'd
world
,
Yet
unatton'd
,
sunk
in
the
swallowing
deep
,
Or
led
the
glittering
prize
into
the
Thames
?
There
was
a
time
(
Oh
let
my
languid
sons
Resume
their
spirit
at
the
rouzing
thought
!
)
When
all
the
pride
of
Spain
,
in
one
dread
fleet
,
Swell'd
o'er
the
lab'ring
surge
;
like
a
whole
heaven
Of
clouds
,
wide-roll'd
before
the
boundless
breeze
.
Gaily
the
splendid
Armament
along
Exultant
plough'd
,
reflecting
a
red
gleam
,
As
sunk
the
sun
,
o'er
all
the
flaming
vast
;
Tall
,
gorgeous
,
and
elate
;
drunk
with
the
dream
Of
easy
conquest
;
while
their
bloated
war
,
Stretch'd
out
from
sky
to
sky
,
the
gather'd
force
Of
ages
held
in
its
capacious
womb
.
But
soon
,
regardless
of
the
cumbrous
pomp
,
My
dauntless
Britons
came
,
a
gloomy
few
,
With
tempest
black
,
the
goodly
scene
deform'd
,
And
laid
their
glory
waste
.
The
bolts
of
fate
Resistless
thunder'd
thro'
their
yielding
sides
;
Fierce
o'er
their
beauty
blaz'd
the
lurid
flame
;
And
seiz'd
in
horrid
grasp
,
or
shatter'd
wide
,
Amid
the
mighty
waters
,
deep
they
sunk
.
Then
too
from
every
promontory
chill
,
Rank
fen
,
and
cavern
where
the
wild
wave
works
,
I
swept
confederate
winds
,
and
swell'd
a
storm
.
Round
the
glad
isle
,
snatch'd
by
the
vengeful
blast
,
The
scatter'd
remnants
drove
;
on
the
blind
shelve
,
And
pointed
rock
,
that
marks
the
indented
shore
,
Relentless
dash'd
,
where
loud
the
Northern
Main
Howls
thro'
the
fractur'd
Caledonian
isles
.
Such
were
the
dawnings
of
my
liquid
reign
;
But
since
how
vast
it
grew
,
how
absolute
,
Even
in
those
troubled
times
,
when
dreadful
Blake
Aw'd
angry
Nations
with
the
British
Name
,
Let
every
humbled
state
,
let
Europe
say
,
Sustain'd
,
and
ballanc'd
,
by
my
naval
arm
.
Ah
what
must
these
immortal
spirits
think
Of
your
poor
shifts
?
These
,
for
their
country's
good
,
Who
fac'd
the
blackest
danger
,
knew
no
fear
,
No
mean
submission
,
but
commanded
peace
.
Ah
how
with
indignation
must
they
burn
?
(
If
ought
,
but
joy
,
can
touch
etherial
breasts
)
With
shame
?
with
grief
?
to
see
their
feeble
sons
Shrink
from
that
empire
o'er
the
conquer'd
feas
,
For
which
their
wisdom
plan'd
,
their
councils
glow'd
,
And
their
veins
bled
thro'
many
a
toiling
age
.
Oh
first
of
human
blessings
!
and
supreme
!
Fair
Peace
!
how
lovely
,
how
delightful
thou
!
By
whose
wide
tie
,
the
kindred
sons
of
men
,
Like
brothers
live
,
in
amity
combin'd
,
And
unsuspicious
faith
;
while
honest
toil
Gives
every
joy
,
and
to
those
joys
a
right
,
Which
idle
,
barbarous
Rapine
but
usurps
.
Pure
is
thy
reign
;
when
,
unaccurs'd
by
blood
,
Nought
,
save
the
sweetness
of
indulgent
showers
,
Trickling
distils
into
the
vernant
glebe
;
Instead
of
mangled
carcasses
,
sad-seen
,
When
the
blythe
sheaves
lie
scatter'd
o'er
the
field
,
When
only
shining
shares
,
the
crooked
knife
,
And
hooks
imprint
the
vegetable
wound
;
When
the
land
blushes
with
the
rose
alone
,
The
falling
fruitage
,
and
the
bleeding
vine
.
Oh
,
Peace
!
thou
source
,
and
soul
of
social
life
;
Beneath
whose
calm
,
inspiring
influence
,
Science
his
views
enlarges
,
Art
refines
,
And
swelling
Commerce
opens
all
her
ports
;
Blest
be
the
Man
divine
,
who
gives
us
Thee
!
Who
bids
the
trumpet
hush
his
horrid
clang
,
Nor
blow
the
giddy
nations
into
rage
;
Who
sheaths
the
murderous
blade
;
the
deadly
gun
Into
the
well-pil'd
armory
returns
;
And
,
every
vigour
from
the
work
of
death
,
To
grateful
industry
converting
,
makes
The
country
flourish
,
and
the
city
smile
.
Unviolated
,
him
the
virgin
sings
;
And
him
the
smiling
mother
to
her
train
.
Of
him
the
shepherd
,
in
the
peaceful
dale
,
Chaunts
;
and
,
the
treasures
of
his
labour
sure
,
The
husbandman
of
him
,
as
at
the
plough
,
Or
team
,
he
toils
.
With
him
the
sailor
sooths
,
Beneath
the
trembling
moon
,
the
midnight
wave
;
And
the
full
city
,
warm
,
from
street
to
street
,
And
shop
to
shop
,
responsive
,
rings
of
him
.
Nor
joys
one
land
alone
;
his
praise
extends
Far
as
the
sun
rolls
the
diffusive
day
;
Far
as
the
breeze
can
bare
the
gifts
of
peace
,
Till
all
the
happy
nations
catch
the
song
.
What
would
not
Peace
!
the
Patriot
bear
for
thee
?
What
painful
patience
?
What
incessant
care
?
What
mixt
anxiety
?
What
sleepless
toil
?
Even
from
the
rash
protected
what
reproach
?
For
he
thy
value
knows
;
thy
friendship
he
To
human
nature
:
but
the
better
thou
,
The
richer
of
delight
,
sometimes
the
more
Inevitable
War
,
when
russian
force
Awakes
the
fury
of
an
injur'd
state
.
Then
the
good
easy
man
,
whom
reason
rules
;
Who
,
while
unhurt
,
knew
nor
offence
,
nor
harm
,
Rouz'd
by
bold
insult
,
and
injurious
rage
,
With
sharp
,
and
sudden
check
,
th'
astonish'd
sons
Of
violence
confounds
;
firm
as
his
cause
,
His
bolder
heart
;
in
awful
justice
clad
;
His
eyes
effulging
a
peculiar
fire
:
And
,
as
he
charges
thro'
the
prostrate
war
,
His
keen
arm
teaches
faithless
men
,
no
more
To
dare
the
sacred
vengeance
of
the
just
.
And
what
,
my
thoughtless
sons
,
should
fire
you
more
,
Than
when
your
weil-earn'd
empire
of
the
deep
The
least
beginning
injury
receives
?
What
better
cause
can
call
your
lightning
forth
?
Your
thunder
wake
?
Your
dearest
life
demand
?
What
better
cause
,
than
when
your
country
sees
The
sly
destruction
at
her
vitals
aim'd
?
For
oh
it
much
imports
you
,
'tis
your
all
,
To
keep
your
Trade
intire
,
intire
the
force
,
And
honour
of
your
Fleets
;
o'er
that
to
watch
,
Even
with
a
hand
severe
,
and
jealous
eye
.
In
intercourse
be
gentle
,
generous
,
just
,
By
wisdom
polish'd
,
and
of
manners
fair
;
But
on
the
sea
be
terrible
,
untam'd
,
Unconquerable
still
:
let
none
escape
,
Who
shall
but
aim
to
touch
your
glory
there
.
Is
there
the
man
,
into
the
lyon's
den
Who
dares
intrude
,
to
snatch
his
young
away
?
And
is
a
Briton
seiz'd
?
and
seiz'd
beneath
The
slumbring
terrors
of
a
British
Fleet
?
Then
ardent
rise
!
Oh
great
in
vengeance
rise
;
O'erturn
the
proud
,
teach
rapine
to
restore
:
And
as
you
ride
sublimely
round
the
world
,
Make
every
vessel
stoop
,
make
every
state
At
once
their
welfare
and
their
duty
know
.
This
is
your
glory
;
this
your
wisdom
;
this
The
native
power
for
which
you
were
design'd
By
fate
,
when
fate
design'd
the
firmest
state
,
That
e'er
was
seated
on
the
subject
sea
;
A
state
,
alone
,
where
Liberty
should
live
,
In
these
late
times
,
this
evening
of
mankind
,
When
Athens
,
Rome
,
and
Carthage
are
no
more
,
The
world
almost
in
slavish
sloth
dissolv'd
.
For
this
,
these
rocks
around
your
coast
were
thrown
;
For
this
,
your
oaks
,
peculiar
harden'd
,
shoot
Strong
into
sturdy
growth
;
for
this
,
your
hearts
Swell
with
a
sullen
courage
,
growing
still
As
danger
grows
;
and
strength
,
and
toil
for
this
Are
liberal
pour'd
o'er
all
the
fervent
land
.
Then
cherish
this
,
this
unexpensive
power
,
Undangerous
to
the
publick
ever
prompt
,
By
lavish
Nature
thrust
into
your
hand
:
And
,
unencumber'd
with
the
bulk
immense
Of
conquest
,
whence
huge
empires
rose
and
fell
,
Self-crush'd
,
extend
your
reign
from
shore
to
shore
,
Where-e'er
the
wind
your
high
behests
can
blow
,
And
fix
it
deep
on
this
eternal
base
.
For
should
the
sliding
fabrrick
once
give
way
,
Soon
slacken'd
quite
,
and
past
recovery
broke
,
It
gathers
ruin
as
it
rolls
along
,
Steep-rushing
down
to
that
devouring
gulph
,
Where
many
a
mighty
empire
buried
lies
.
And
should
the
big
redundant
flood
of
Trade
,
In
which
ten
thousand
thousand
Labours
join
Their
several
currents
,
till
the
boundless
tide
Rolls
in
a
radiant
deluge
o'er
the
land
,
Should
this
bright
stream
,
the
least
inflected
,
point
Its
course
another
way
,
o'er
other
lands
The
various
treasure
would
resistless
pour
,
Ne'er
to
be
won
again
;
its
antient
tract
Left
a
vile
channel
,
desolate
,
and
dead
,
With
all
around
a
miserable
waste
.
Not
Egypt
,
were
,
her
better
heaven
,
the
Nile
Turn'd
in
the
pride
of
flow
;
when
o'er
his
rocks
,
And
roaring
cataracts
,
beyond
the
reach
Of
dizzy
vision
pil'd
,
in
one
wide
flash
An
Ethiopian
deluge
foams
amain
;
(
Whence
wond'ring
fable
trac'd
him
from
the
sky
)
Even
not
that
prime
of
earth
,
where
harvests
crowd
On
untill'd
harvests
,
all
the
teeming
year
,
If
of
the
fat
o'erflowing
culture
robb'd
,
Were
then
a
more
uncomfortable
wild
,
Steril
,
and
void
;
than
of
her
trade
depriv'd
,
Britons
,
your
boasted
isle
:
her
Princes
sunk
;
Her
high-built
honour
moulder'd
to
the
dust
;
Unnerv'd
her
force
;
her
spirit
vanish'd
quite
;
With
rapid
wing
her
riches
fled
away
;
Her
unfrequented
ports
alone
the
sign
Of
what
she
was
;
her
Merchants
scatter'd
wide
;
Her
hollow
shops
shut
up
;
and
in
her
streets
,
Her
fields
,
woods
,
markets
,
villages
,
and
roads
,
The
cheerful
voice
of
labour
heard
no
more
.
Oh
let
not
then
waste
Luxury
impair
That
manly
soul
of
toil
,
which
strings
your
nerves
,
And
your
own
proper
happiness
creates
!
Oh
let
not
the
soft
,
penetrating
plague
Creep
on
the
free-born
mind
!
and
working
there
,
With
the
sharp
tooth
of
many
a
new-form'd
want
,
Endless
,
and
idle
all
,
eat
out
the
heart
Of
Liberty
;
the
high
conception
blast
;
The
noble
sentiment
,
the
impatient
scorn
Of
base
subjection
,
and
the
swelling
wish
For
general
good
,
erazing
from
the
mind
:
While
nought
save
narrow
Selfishness
succeeds
,
And
low
design
,
the
sneaking
passions
all
Let
loose
,
and
reigning
in
the
rankled
breast
.
Induc'd
at
last
,
by
scarce-perceiv'd
degrees
,
Sapping
the
very
frame
of
government
,
And
life
,
a
total
dissolution
comes
;
Sloth
,
ignorance
,
dejection
,
flattery
,
fear
,
Oppression
raging
o'er
the
waste
he
makes
;
The
human
being
almost
quite
extinct
;
And
the
whole
state
in
broad
Corruption
sinks
.
Oh
shun
that
gulph
:
that
gaping
ruin
shun
!
And
countless
ages
roll
it
far
away
From
you
,
ye
heaven-belov'd
!
may
Liberty
,
The
light
of
life
!
the
sun
of
human
kind
!
Whence
Heroes
,
Bards
,
and
Patriots
borrow
flame
,
Even
where
the
keen
depressive
North
descends
,
Still
spread
,
exalt
,
and
actuate
your
powers
!
While
slavish
Southern
climates
beam
in
vain
.
And
may
a
publick
spirit
from
the
Throne
,
Where
every
Virtue
sits
,
go
copious
forth
Live
o'er
the
land
!
the
finer
Arts
inspire
;
Make
thoughtful
Science
raise
his
pensive
head
,
Blow
the
fresh
Bay
,
bid
Industry
rejoice
,
And
the
rough
Sons
of
lowest
Labour
smile
.
As
when
,
profuse
of
Spring
,
the
loosen'd
West
Lifts
up
the
pining
year
,
and
balmy
breathes
Youth
,
life
,
and
love
,
and
beauty
o'er
the
world
.
But
haste
we
from
these
melancholly
shores
,
Nor
to
deaf
winds
,
and
waves
,
our
fruitless
plaint
Pour
weak
;
the
country
claims
our
active
aid
;
That
let
us
roam
;
and
where
we
find
a
spark
Of
publick
virtue
,
blow
it
into
flame
.
And
now
my
sons
,
the
sons
of
freedom
!
meet
In
awful
senate
;
thither
let
us
fly
;
Burn
in
the
Patriot's
thought
,
flow
from
his
tongue
In
fearless
truth
;
myself
,
transform'd
,
preside
,
And
shed
the
spirit
of
Britannia
round
.
This
said
;
her
fleeting
form
,
and
airy
train
,
Sunk
in
the
gale
;
and
nought
but
ragged
rocks
Rush'd
on
the
broken
eye
;
and
nought
was
heard
But
the
rough
cadence
of
the
dashing
wave
.
The
END
.