XI.

O shame to human life, to human laws! The loose adventurer, hireling of a day, Who his fell sword without affection draws, Whose God, whose country, is a tyrant's pay, This man the lessons of the field can learn ; Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn, And every pledge of conquest: while in vain, To guard your altars, your paternal lands, Are social arms held out to your free hands: Too arduous is the lore; too irksome were the pain.

XII.

Meantime by Pleasure's lying tales allur'd, From the bright sun and living breeze ye stray; And deep in London's gloomy haunts immur'd, Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decay.

O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue! The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields

renew,

The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend; While he doth riot's orgies haply share,

Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying suare, Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend.

XIII.

And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng: That the rude village-inmates now disdain Those homely ties which rul'd their fathers long

Alas! your fathers did by other arts

Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts,
And led in other paths their ductile will;
By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer,

Won them the ancient manners to revere, To prize their country's peace, and heaven's due rites fulfil.

XIV.

But mark the judgment of experienc'd Time, Tutor of nations. Doth light discord tear A state? and impotent sedition's crime? The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there; The powers who to command and to obey, Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway The rising race to manly concord tame? Oft let the marshal'd field their steps unite, And in glad splendour bring before their sight One common cause and one hereditary fame.

XV.

Nor yet be aw'd, nor yet your task disown, Though war's proud votaries look on severe; Though secrets, taught erewhile to them alone, They deem profan'd by your intruding ear. Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell, Of new refinements, fiercer weapons tell, And mock the old simplicity, in vain : To the time's warfare, simple or refin'd, The time itself adapts the warrior's mind; And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain.

XVI.

Say then, if England's youth, in earlier days,
On glory's field with well-train'd armies vied,
Why shall they now renounce that generous
praise?

Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride?
Tho' Valois brav'd young Edward's gentle hand,
And Albert rush'd on Henry's way-worn band,
With Europe's chosen sons in arms renown'd,
Yet not on Vere's bold archers long they look'd,
Nor Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen
brook'd:

They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.

XVII.

Such were the laurels which your fathers won; Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breast: Is there no voice that speaks to every son? No nobler, holier call to you address'd? O! by majestic Freedom, righteous Laws, By heavenly Truth's, by manly Reason's cause. Awake; attend; be indolent no more: By friendship, social peace, domestic love, Rise; arm; your country's living safety prove; And train her valiant youth, and watch around her shore.

ODE XII.

ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS,
IN THE COUNTRY. 1758.

I.

THY verdant scenes, O Goulder's Hill,
Once more I seek, a languid guest:
With throbbing temples and with burden'd breast
Once more I climb thy steep aerial way.
O faithful cure of oft-returning ill,
Now call thy sprightly breezes round,
Dissolve this rigid cough profound,

And bid the springs of life with gentler movement play.

II.

How gladly 'mid the dews of dawn
By weary lungs thy healing gale,
The balmy west or the fresh north inhale!
How gladly, while my musing footsteps rove
Round the cool orchard or the sunny lawn,
Awak'd I stop, and look to find

What shrub perfumes the pleasant wind,
Or what wild songster charms the Dryads of the

grove.

III.

Now, ere the morning walk is done, The distant voice of Health I hear Welcome as beauty's to the lover's ear. "Droop not, nor doubt of my return," she cries; "Here will I, 'mid the radiant calm of noon,

Meet thee beneath yon chestnut bower,

And lenient on thy bosom pour

[skies."

That indolence divine which lulls the earth and

IV.

The goddess promis'd not in vain.

I found her at my favourite time; Nor wish'd to breathe in any softer clime, While (half-reclin'd, half-slumbering as I lay) She hover'd o'er me. Then, among her train Of Nymphs and Zephyrs, to my view Thy gracious form appear'd anew, [day. Then first, O heavenly Muse, unseen for many a

V.

In that soft pomp the tuneful maid
Shone like the golden star of love.

I saw her hand in careless measures move;
I heard sweet preludes dancing on her lyre,
While my whole frame the sacred sound obey'd.
New sunshine o'er my fancy springs,

New colours clothe external things,
And the last glooms of pain and sickly plaint retire.

VI.

O Goulder's Hill, by thee restor'd

Once more to this enliven'd hand,

My harp, which late resounded o'er the land
The voice of glory, solemn and severe,
My Dorian harp shall now with mild accord
To thee her joyful tribute pay,

And send a less-ambitious lay

Of friendship and of love to greet thy master's car.