11.

"Our monarch comes! nor comes alone!!!
New glories kindle round his throne.
The visions rise! I triumph as I gaze,
By Pindar led, I turn'd of late

The volume dark, the folds of Fate,

And now am present to the future blaze.

By George and Jove it is decreed,

The mighty Months in pomp proceed,
Fair daughters of the Sun !----O thou divine,
Bless'd Industry! a smiling earth

From thee alone derives its birth;

By thee the ploughshare and its master shine.

From thee, mast, cable, anchor, oar,

From thee the cannon, and his roar;

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On oaks nurs'd, rear'd by thee, wealth, empire grows. O golden fruit! oak well might prove

The sacred tree, the tree of Jove;
All Joye can give the naval oak bestows.

V.

What cannot Industry complete?
When punic war first flam'd, the great,
Bold, active, ardent Roman Fathers meet:
"Fell all your groves," a Flamen cries;
As soon they fall, as soon they rise;
One moon a forest, and the next a fleet.

* L. Florus.

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VI.

Is sloth indulgence? 'tis a toil;
Enervates man, and damns the soil;
Defeats creation, plunges in distress,
Cankers our being; all devours.

A full exertion of our pow'rs,

Thence, and thence only, glows our happiness.

The stream may stagnate, yet be clear,

The sun suspend his swift career,

Yet healthy Nature feel her wonted force;

Ere man his active springs resign'd,

Can rust in body and in mind,

Yet taste of bliss, of which he chokes the source.

VIII.

Where, Industry! thy daughter fair?

Recall her to her native air:

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Here was Trade born, here bred, here flourish'd long;

And ever shall she flourish here:

What tho' she languish'd? 'twas but fear;

She's sound of heart; her constitution's strong..

Earth lies before thee, ev'ry climate court,

And see! she's rous'd; absolv'd from fears,
Her brow in cloudless azure rears,

Spreads all her sail, and opens ev'ry port.

X.

See, cherish'd by her sister, Peace,

She levies gain on ev'ry Place,

Religion, habit, custom, tongue, and name!

Again she travels with the sun,

Again she draws a golden zone,

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Round earth and main; bright zone of wealth and

XI.

Ten thousand active hands, that hung

In shameful sloth, with nerves unstrung,

The nation's languid load, defy the storms,
The sheets unfurl, and anchors weigh,

The long-moor'd vessels wing to sea,

[fame!

Worlds worlds salute, and peopled ocean swarms.

XII.

His sons, Po, Ganges, Danube, Nile,

Their sedgy foreheads lift and smile;
Their urns inverted prodigally pour

Streams charg'd with wealth, and vow to buy

Britannia for their great ally,

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With climes paid down. What can the gods do more?

XIII.

Cold Russia costly furs, from far

Hot China sends her painted jar,

France gen'rous wines to crown it, Arab sweet,

With gales of incense swells our sails,
Nor distant Ind our Merchant fails,
Her richest ore the ballast of our fleet.

XIV.

Luxuriant Isle! what tide that flows,

Or stream that glides, or wind that blows,

Or genial sun that shines, or show'r that pours,

But flows, glides, breathes, shines, pours for thee? How ev'ry heart dilates to see

Each land's each season blending on thy shores?

XV.

All these one British harvest make?

The servant Ocean, for thy sake,

Both sinks and swells; his arms thy bosom wrap,
And fondly give, in boundless dow'r,
To mighty George's growing pow'r,
The wafted world into thy loaded lap.

XVI.

Commerce brings riches, riches crown
Fair Virtue with the first renown:
A large revenue, and a large expense
When hearts for others' welfare glow,
And spend as free as gods bestow,

Gives the full bloom to mortal excellence.

XVII.

Glow, then, my Breast! abound, my Store!

This, and this boldly I implore:

Their want and apathy let Stoicks boast;

Passion and riches, good or ill,

As us'd by man, demand our skill;

All blessings wound us when discretion's lost.

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XVIII.

Wealth, in the virtuous and the wise,
'Tis vice and folly to despise:

Let those in praise of poverty refine,
Whose heads or hearts pervert its use,
The narrow-soul'd or the profuse:
The truly great find morals in the mine.

XIX.

Happy the man! who, large of heart,
Has learn'd the rare, illustrious art

Of being rich: stores starve us or they cloy,
From gold if more than chymic skill
Extract not what is brighter still:

'Tis hard to gain, much harder to enjoy.

XX.

Plenty's a means, and joy her end:

Exalted minds their joys extend.

A Chandos shines when others' joys are done;
As lofty turrets by their height,

When humble scenes resign their light,

Retain the rays of the declining sun.

Pregnant with blessings, Britain! swear
No sordid son of thine shall dare

Offend the donor of thy wealth and peace;
Who now his whole creation drains

To pour into thy tumid veins

That blood of nations, commerce and increase.

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Volume IV.

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