ODE TO THE NAVAL OFFICERS OF GREAT BRITAIN.
ODE TO THE NAVAL OFFICERS OF GREAT BRITAIN.
WRITTEN, IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE TRIAL OF ADMIRAL KEPPEL, FEBRUARY THE ELEVENTH, 1779.
BY W. MASON, M. A.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR T. CADELL IN THE STRAND. MDCCLXXIX.
[PRICE SIXPENCE.]
ADVERTISEMENT.
THIS Ode was written at the time of its date, and a few manuscript copies of it then given to the Author's friends, with permission to circulate them among their acquaintance. A mode of publication which he adopted for the present, till an opportunity might offer itself of printing it in some future collection of his Poems; in which he hoped (more out of respect to the subject than to himself) that it might be preserved, as long as any thing he has written should merit preservation. But, since an inaccurate copy has lately stolen into a public newspaper; he has thought proper to print a more correct edition of it, in this seperate form. For, while the enemys of Mr. Keppel seem to attack his cause with increasing virulence, it is surely right to continue the application of every honest antidote.
In the Press, and speedily will be published,
By the same Author, THE THIRD BOOK OF THE ENGLISH GARDEN.
ODE.
I.1.
HENCE to thy Hell! thou fiend accurst,
Of Sin's incestuous brood, the worst
Whom to pale Death the spectre bore:
Alluding to the well known allegory of Sin and Death in the second Book of Paradise Lost.
Detraction hence! 'tis Truth's command,
She lanches, from her seraph hand,
The shaft that strikes thee to th' infernal shore.
Old ENGLAND's Genius leads her on
To vindicate his darling son,
Whose fair, and veteran fame
Thy venom'd tongue had dar'd defile;
The Goddess comes, and all the isle
Feels the warm influence of her heav'nly flame.
I.2.
But chief in those, their country's pride,
Ordain'd, with steady helm, to guide
The floating bulwarks of her reign,
It glows, with unremitting ray,
Bright as the orb that gives the day,
Corruption spreads her murky mist in vain;
To Virtue, Valour, Glory true,
They keep their radiant prize in view
Ambitious sterling aim;
They know that titles, stars, and strings,
Bestow'd by Kings on slaves of Kings,
Are light as air when weigh'd with honest fame.
I.3.
Hireling Courtiers, venal Peers,
View them with fastidious frown,
Yet the Muse's smile is theirs,
Theirs her amaranthine crown.
Yes, gallant Train, on your unsullied brows,
She sees the genuine English spirit shine,
Warm from a heart where antient Honour glows,
That scorns to bend the knee at Interest's shrine.
Lo! at your Poet's call,
To give prophetic fervor to his strain,
Forth from the mighty bosom of the main
A Giant Deity ascends;
Down his broad breast his hoary honours fall;
He wields the trident of th' Atlantic vast;
An awful calm around his Pomp is cast,
O'er many a league the glassy sleep extends.
He speaks; and distant Thunder, murmuring round,
In long-drawn volly rolls a symphony profound.
II.1.
Ye Thunders cease! the voice of Heav'n
Enough proclaims the Terrors given
To Me the Spirit of the deep;
Tempests are mine; from shore, to shore,
I bid my billows when to roar,
Mine the wild whirlwind's desolating sweep.
But meek and placable I come
To deprecate Britannia's doom,
And snatch her from her fate;
Ev'n from herself I mean to save
My sister sov'reign of the wave;
A voice immortal never warns too late.
II.2.
Queen of the isles! with empire crown'd,
Only to spread fair Freedom round
Wide as my waves could waft thy name,
Why did thy cold reluctant heart
Refuse that blessing to impart;
Deaf to great Nature's universal claim?
Why rush, through my indignant tide,
To stain thy hands with parricide?
—Ah, answer not the strain!
Thy wasted wealth, thy widows sighs,
Thy half-repentant embassys
Bespeak thy cause unblest, thy councils vain.
II.3.
Sister sov'reign of the wave!
Turn from this ill-omen'd war:
Turn to where the truly brave
Will not blush thy wrath to bear;
Swift on th' insulting Gaul, thy native foe
(For he is Freedom's) let that wrath be hurl'd;
To his perfidious ports direct thy prow,
Arm every bark, be every sail unfurl'd;
Seize this triumphant hour,
When, bright as gold from the refining flame,
Flows the clear current of thy KEPPEL's fame.
Give, to the Hero's full command,
Th' imperial Ensigns of thy naval power;
So shall his own bold auspices prevail,
Nor Fraud's insidious wiles, nor Envy pale
Arrest the force of his victorious band.
The Gaul subdued, fraternal strife shall cease,
And firm, on Freedom's base, be fixt an Empire's Peace.
FINIS.