Shed the dim blaze of radiance richly clear.-
Still may such arts of Peace engage
Their Patron's care! But should the rage
Of war to battle rouse the new-born year,
Britain arise, and wake the slumbering fire,
Vindictive dart thy quick-rekindling ire!
Or, arm'd to strike, in mercy spare the foe;
And lift thy thundering hand, and then withhold the blow!
ODE ON HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTHDAY,
WHAT native Genius taught the Britons bold
To guard their sea-girt cliffs of old?
'Twas Liberty she taught disdain
Of death, of Rome's imperial chain.
She bade the Druid harp to battle sound,
In tones prophetic through the gloom profound
Of forests hoar, with holy foliage hung;
From grove to grove the pealing prelude rung;
Belinus call'd his painted tribes around,
And, rough with many a veteran scar,
Swept the pale legions with the scythed car,
While baffled Cæsar fled, to gain
An easter triumph on Pharsalia's plain;
ver. 32. The allusion is to the painted window at the east end of St George's Chapel, representing our Saviour's Resurrection, painted by Jervais, and his pupil Forrest, after a design of Mr West. - Belinus:' Cassivellaunus, Cassibellaunus, or, as he is called by the old English historians, Cassibelinus. The Britons united under him, and resisted the second invasion of Cæsar, fiftyfour years before Christ.
And left the stubborn isle to stand elate
Amidst a conquer'd world, in lone majestic state!
A kindred spirit soon to Britain's shore
The sons of Saxon Elva bore;
Fraught with th' unconquerable soul,
Who died, to drain the warrior-bowl,
In that bright Hall, where Odin's Gothic throne
With the broad blaze of brandish'd falchions shone;
Where the long roofs rebounded to the din
Of spectre chiefs, who feasted far within :
Yet, not intent on deathful deeds alone,
They felt the fires of social zeal,
The peaceful wisdom of the public weal;
Though nursed in arms and hardy strife
They knew to frame the plans of temper'd life;
The king's, the people's, balanced claims to found
On one eternal base, indissolubly bound.
Sudden, to shake the Saxon's mild domain, Rush'd in rude swarms the robber Dane, From frozen wastes, and caverns wild, To genial England's scenes beguiled; And in his clamorous van exulting came The demons foul of Famine and of Flame : Witness the sheep-clad summits, roughly crown'd With many a frowning fosse and airy mound, Which yet his desultory march proclaim !— Nor ceased the tide of gore to flow, Till Alfred's laws allured th' intestine foe; And Harold calm'd his headlong rage To brave achievement, and to counsel sage; For oft in savage breasts the buried seeds Of brooding Virtue live, and Freedom's fairest deeds!
But see, triumphant o'er the southern wave,
The Norman sweeps!—Though first he gave
New grace to Britain's naked plain,
With Arts and Manners in his train;
And many a fane he rear'd, that still sublime
In massy pomp has mock'd the stealth of time;
And castle fair, that, stript of half its towers,
From some broad steep in shatter'd glory lowers:
Yet brought he slavery from a softer clime;
Each eve, the curfew's notes severe
(That now but soothes the musing poet's ear)
At the new tyrant's stern command,
Warn'd to unwelcome rest a wakeful land;
While proud Oppression o'er the ravish'd field High raised his armed hand, and shook the feudal shield.
Stoop'd then that Freedom to despotic sway,
For which, in many a fierce affray,
The Britons bold, the Saxons bled,
His Danish javelins Leswin led1
O'er Hastings' plain, to stay the Norman yoke?
She felt, but to resist, the sudden stroke :
The tyrant-baron grasp'd the patriot steel,
And taught the tyrant-king its force to feel;
And quick revenge the regal bondage broke.
And still, unchanged and uncontroll❜d,
Its rescued rights shall the dread empire hold;
For lo, revering Britain's cause,
A King new lustre lends to native laws!
The sacred Sovereign of this festal day
On Albion's old renown reflects a kindred ray!
''Leswin led:' Leswin, or more properly Leoswin, brother of Harold killed fighting by his side at the battle of Hastings.
ODE FOR HIS MAJESTY'S BIRTHDAY,
As when the demon of the Summer storm
Walks forth the noontide landscape to deform,
Dark grows the vale, and dark the distant grove,
And thick the bolts of angry Jove
Athwart the watery welkin glide,
And streams th' aërial torrent far and wide:
If by short fits the struggling ray
Should dart a momentary day,
Th' illumined mountain glows awhile,
By faint degrees the radiant glancé
Purples th' horizon's pale expanse,
And gilds the gloom with hasty smile :
Ah! fickle smile, too swiftly past!
Again resounds the sweeping blast,
With hoarser din the demon howls;
Again the blackening concave scowls ;
Sudden the shades of the meridian night
Yield to the triumph of rekindling light;
The reddening sun regains his golden sway,
And Nature stands reveal'd in all her bright array.
Such was the changeful conflict that possess'd
With trembling tumult every British breast,
When Albion, towering in the van sublime
Of Glory's march, from clime to clime
Envied, beloved, revered, renown'd,
Her brows with every blissful chaplet bound,
When, in her mid career of state,
She felt her monarch's awful fate!
Till Mercy from th' Almighty throne
Look'd down on man, and waving wide
Her wreath, that, in the rainbow dyed,
With hues of soften'd lustre shone,
And bending from her sapphire cloud,
O'er regal grief benignant bow'd;
To transport turn'd a people's fears,
And stay'd a people's tide of tears:
Bade this blest dawn with beams auspicious spring, With hope serene, with healing on its wing; And gave a Sovereign o'er a grateful land Again with vigorous grasp to stretch the scepter'd hand.
O favour'd king, what rapture more refined,
What mightier joy can fill the human mind,
Than what the monarch's conscious bosom feels,
At whose dread throne a nation kneels,
And hails its father, friend, and lord,
To life's career, to patriot sway restored;
And bids the loud responsive voice
Of union all around rejoice?
For thus to thee when Britons bow,
Warm and spontaneous from the heart,
As late their tears, their transports start,
And Nature dictates duty's vow.
To thee, recall'd to sacred health,
Did the proud city's lavish wealth,
Did crowded streets alone display
The long-drawn blaze, the festal ray
Meek Poverty her scanty cottage graced,
And flung her gleam across the lonely waste!
Th' exulting isle in one wide triumph strove,
One social sacrifice of reverential love!
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