Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow. To where the silver Thames first rural grows. By the soft windings of the silent Mole, O vale of bliss! O softly swelling hills! And joys to see the wonders of his toil. Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around, * In his last sickness. Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, Walks, unconfined, even to thy farthest cots, Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime; Pleased, and unwearied, in his guarded toil. Full are thy cities with the sons of Art; And trade and joy, in every busy'street, Mingling are heard: e'en Drudgery himself, As at the car he sweats, or dusty hews The palace stone, looks gay. Thy crowded ports, Where rising masts an endless prospect yield, With labour burn, and echo to the shouts Of hurried sailor, as he hearty waves His last adieu, and loosening every sheet, Resigns the spreading vessel to the wind. Bold, firm, and graceful are thy generous youth, By hardship sinew'd, and by danger fired, Scattering the nations where they go; and first Or on the listed plain, or stormy seas. Mild are thy glories too, as o'er the plans Of thriving peace thy thoughtful sires preside; In genius, and substantial learning, high; For every virtue, every worth, renown'd; Sincere, plain-hearted, hospitable, kind; Yet like the mustering thunder when provoked, The dread of tyrants, and the sole resource Of those that under grim oppression groan. Thy sons of Glory many! Alfred thine, In whom the splendour of heroic war, And more heroic peace, when govern'd well, Combine; whose hallow'd name the Virtues saint, A dauntless soul erect, who smiled on death. A Drake, who made thee mistress of the deep, And bore thy name in thunder round the world. Then flamed thy spirit high: but who can speak The numerous worthies of the Maiden Reign? In Raleigh mark their every glory mix'd; Raleigh, the scourge of Spain! whose breast with all The sage, the patriot, and the hero burn'd, Nor sunk his vigour, when a coward reign The warrior fetter'd, and at last resign'd, To glut the vengeance of a vanquish'd foe. Then, active still and unrestrain'd, his mind Explored the vast extent of ages past, And with his prison hours enrich'd the world; Yet found no times, in all the long research, So glorious, or so base, as those he proved, In which he conquer'd, and in which he bled. Nor can the Muse the gallant Sidney pass, The plume of war! with early laurels crown'd, The lover's myrtle, and the poet's bay. A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land, Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul, Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age To slavery prone, and bade thee rise again, In all thy native pomp of freedom bold. Bright, at his call, thy Age of Men effulged, Of Men on whom late time a kindling eye Shall turn, and tyrants tremble while they read. Bring every sweetest flower, and let me strew H The grave where Russel lies; whose temper'd blood Aiming at lawless power, though meanly sunk Soon as the light of dawning Science spread Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully join'd. * Algernon Sidney. |