OCEAN. AN ODE. Let the sea make a noise, let the floods clap their hands. Psal. xcviii. I. SWEET rural scene! At careless ease my limbs are spread; All nature still, But yonder rill; And list'ning pines nod o'er my II. In prospect wide, The boundless tide! head: Waves cease to foam, and winds to roar; Without a breeze, The curling seas Dance on, VOL. 1. in measure to the shore. III. Who sings the source Vast field of commerce, and big war, Where wonders dwell! Where terrors swell! And Neptune thunders from his car? IV. Where? Where are they, Has touch'd and bid divinely rave? I snatch the lyre, And plunge into the foaming wave. V. The wave resounds! The rock rebounds! The Nereids to my song reply! I lead the choir, And they conspire, With voice and shell, to lift it high. VI. They spread in air Their bosoms fair, Their verdant tresses pour behind: The billows beat With nimble feet, With notes triumphant swell the wind. VII. Who love the shore, Let those adore The God Apollo, and his Nine,. And Orpheus' skill; But let Arion's harp be mine. VIII. The main! the main ! Is Britain's reign; Her strength, her glory, is her fleet: The main the main ! Be Britain's strain; As Tritons strong, as Syrens sweet. IX. Thro' nature wide Is nought descry'd So rich in pleasure or surprize; When all-serene, How sweet the scene! How dreadful, when the billows rise X. And storms deface The fluid glass, In which ere-while Britannia fair Look'd down with pride, Like Ocean's bride, Adjusting her majestic air! |