Classic Poem

O Goddess, on whose steps attend
Pleasure and laughter-loving H EALTH ,
White-mantled P EACE with olive-wand,
Young J OY , and diamond-sceptred Wealth ,
Blithe P LENTY with her loaded horn,
With S CIENCE bright-ey'd as the morn,
In Britain, which for ages past
Has been thy choicest darling care,
Who mad'st her wise, and strong, and fair,
May thy best blessings ever laft.

For thee the pining pris'ner mourns,
Depriv'd of food, of mirth, of light;
For thee pale slaves to galleys chain'd,
That ply tough oars from morn to night;
Thee the proud Sultan's beauteous train,
By cunuchs guarded, weep in vain,
Tearing the roses from their locks;
And Guinea's captive kings lament,
By christian lords to labour sent,
Whipt like the dull, unseeling ox.

Inspir'd by thee, deaf to fond nature's cries,
Stern B RUTUS , when Rome's genius loudly spoke,
Gave her the matchless filial sacrifice,
Nor turn'd, nor trembled at the deathful stroke!
And he of later age, but equal fame,
Dar'd stab the tyrant, tho' he lov'd the friend.
How burnt the Spartan with warm patriot-flame,
In thy great cause his valorous life to end!
How burst G USTAVUS from the Swedish mine!
Like light from chaos dark, eternally to shine.
When heav'n to all thy joys bestows,
And graves upon our hearts——B E FREE ——
Shall coward man those joys resign,
And dare reverse this great decree?
Submit him to some idol-king,
Some selfish, passion-guided thing,
Abhorring man, by man abhorr'd,
Around whose throne stands trembling D OUBT ,
Whose jealous eyes still rowl about,
And M URDER with his reeking sword?

Where trampling T YRANNY with F ATE
And black R EVENGE gigantick goes,
Hark, how the dying infants shrieks,
How hopeless age is sunk in woes!
Fly, mortals, from that fated land,
Tho' rivers rowl o'er golden sand;
Tho' birds in shades of cassia sing,
Harvests and fruits spontaneous rise,
No storms disturb the smiling skies,
And each soft breeze rich odours bring.

B RITANNIA , watch!—remember peerless R OME ,
Her high-tow'rd head dash'd meanly to the ground;
Remember, freedom's guardian, G RECIA'S doom,
Whom weeping the despotic Turk has bound:
May ne'er thy oak-crown'd hills, rich meads & downs,
(Fame, virtue, courage, property, forgot)
Thy peaceful villages, and busy towns,
Be doom'd some death-dispensing tyrant's lot;
On deep foundations may thy freedom stand,
Long as the surge shall lash thy sea-encircled land.