In these late times, this evening of mankind,
When Athens, Rome, and Carthage are no more,
The world almost in flavish floth diffolv'd.
For this, thefe rocks around your coaft were thrown,
For this, your oaks, peculiar harden'd, fhoot
Strong into sturdy growth; for this, your hearts
Swell with a fullen courage, growing still
As danger grows; and ftrength, and toil for this
Are liberal pour'd o'er all the fervent land.
Then cherish this, this unexpenfive power,
Undangerous to the public, ever prompt,
By lavish Nature thrust into your hand:
And, unincumber'd with the bulk immenfe
Of conqueft, whence huge empires rofe, and fell
Self-crush'd, extend your reign from shore to fhore,
Where-e'er the wind your high behefts can blow; 210
And fix it deep on this eternal base.
For fhould the fliding fabrick once give way,
Soon flacken'd quite, and paft recovery broke,
It gathers ruin as it rolls along,
Steep rushing down to that devouring gulf,
Where many a mighty empire buried lies.
And fhould the big redundant flood of trade,
In which ten thousand thousand labours join
Their feveral currents, till the boundless tide
Rolls in a radiant deluge o'er the land;
Should this bright stream, the least inflected, point
Its courfe another way, o'er other lands
The various treasure would resistless pour,
Ne'er to be won again; its ancient tract
Left a vile channel, defolate 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 vifion pil'd, in one wide flash
An Ethiopian deluge foams amain
(Whence wondering fable trac'd him from the sky); Ev'n not that prime of earth, where harvests crowd On untill'd harvefts, 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 boafted ifle: her princes funk;
Her high-built honour moulder'd to the duft;
Unnerv'd her force; her spirit vanish'd quite;
With rapid wing her riches fled away;
Her unfrequented ports alone the fign
Of what she was; her merchants scatter'd wide;
Her hollow fhops fhut up; and in her streets,
Her fields, woods, markets, villages, and roads, 245 The chearful voice of labour heard no more.
Oh, let not then wafte Luxury impair
That manly foul of toil, which strings your nerves,
And your own proper happiness creates !
Oh, let not the foft, penetrating plague
Creep on the free-born mind; and working there,
With the sharp tooth of many a hew-form'd want,
Endlefs, and idle all, eat out the heart
Of Liberty; the high conception blast;
The noble fentiment, th' impatient scorn
Of base subjection, and the fwelling with
For general good, erazing from the mind:
While nought fave narrow selfishness fucceeds,
And low defign, the fneaking paffions all
Let loofe, and reigning in the rankled breast.
Induc'd at last, by fcarce-perceiv'd degrees,
Sapping the very frame of government,
And life, a total diffolution comes;
Sloth, ignorance, dejection, flattery, fear.
Oppreffion raging o'er the wafte he makes;
The human being almoft quite extinct;
And the whole ftate in broad corruption finks.
Oh, fhun that gulf: that gaping ruin fhun!
And countless ages roll it far away
From you, ye heaven-belov'd! may Liberty,
The light of life, the fun of human-kind!
Whence heroes, bards, and patriots borrow flame,
Ev'n where the keen depreffive north descends,
Still spread, exalt, and actuate your powers!
While flavish fouthern climates beam in vain!
And may a public fpirit from the throne,
Where every virtue fits, go copious forth
Live o'er the land, the finer arts inspire,
Make thoughtful Science raife his penfive head,
Blow the fresh bay, bid Induftry rejoice,
And the rough fons of lowest Labour smile.
As when, profufe of fpring, the loosen'd west
Lifts up the pining year, and balmy breathes
Youth, life, and love, and beauty o'er the world.
But hafte we from these melancholy fhores,
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 public virtue, blow it into flame.
Lo! now my fons, the fons of freedom! meet
In aweful fenate; thither let us fly;
Burn in the patriot's thought, flow from his tongue
In fearless truth; myself, transform'd, prefide,
And shed the spirit of Britannia round.
This faid; 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 dafhing wave.
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