NATURE! GOD's repenting child,
See thy Parent reconciled.

Hark the nightingale, afar,

Sweetly sings the sun to rest,
And awakes the evening star
In the rosy-tinted west:
While the moon's enchanting eye
Opens Paradise on high.

Cool and tranquil is the night,

NATURE'S sore afflictions cease, For the storm, that spent its might, Was a covenant of peace;

VENGEANCE drops her harmless rod: MERCY is the POWER OF GOD.

1805.

ODE TO THE VOLUNTEERS OF BRITAIN,

ON THE PROSPECT OF INVASION.

O FOR the death of those
Who for their country die,
Sink on her bosom to repose,
And triumph where they lie!

How beautiful in death

The WARRIOR's corse appears,
Embalm'd by fond AFFECTION's breath,

And bathed in WOMAN's tears!

Their loveliest native earth

Enshrines the fallen brave;

In the dear land that gave them birth
They find their tranquil grave.

- But the wild waves shall sweep BRITANNIA'S foes away,

And the blue monsters of the deep

Be surfeited with prey. —

No! they have 'scaped the waves, 'Scaped the sea-monsters' maws;

They come! but O, shall GALLIC SLAVES Give ENGLISH FREEMEN laws?

By ALFRED's Spirit, No!

-Ring, ring the loud alarms;

Ye drums, awake! ye clarions, blow!

Ye heralds, shout "To arms! "

To arms our Heroes fly;

And, leading on their lines,

The BRITISH BANNER in the sky,

The star of conquest shines.

The lowering battle forms

Its terrible array;

Like clashing clouds in mountain-storms.

That thunder on their way:

The rushing armies meet;

And while they pour their breath,

The strong earth shudders at their feet,
The day grows dim with death.

Ghosts of the mighty dead!

Your children's hearts inspire;

And while they on your ashes tread,
Rekindle all your fire.

The dead to life return;

Our Fathers' spirits rise;

My brethren, in YOUR breasts they burn,

They sparkle in YOUR eyes.

Now launch upon the foe

The lightning of your rage;

Strike, strike the assailing giants low,
The TITANS of the age.

They yield, they break, they fly;

The victory is won:

Pursue! they faint, they fall, they die :

O stay!—the work is done.

SPIRIT OF VENGEANCE! rest:

Sweet MERCY cries, " Forbear!"

She clasps the vanquish'd to her breast;

Thou wilt not pierce them there?

Thus vanish BRITAIN'S foes

From her consuming eye;

But rich be the reward of those
Who conquer, those who die.

O'ershadowing laurels deck

The living HERO's brows;

But lovelier wreaths entwine his neck,

Exulting o'er his lot,

The dangers he has braved,

He clasps the dear ones, hails the cot,

Which his own valor saved.

Daughters of ALBION, weep:
On this triumphant plain,

Your fathers, husbands, brethren sleep

For you

and freedom slain.

O gently close the eye

That loved to look on you;

O seal the lip whose earliest sigh,
Whose latest breath was true:

With knots of sweetest flowers

Their winding-sheet perfume;

And wash their wounds with true-love showers, And dress them for the tomb.

For beautiful in death

The WARRIOR's corse appears,

Embalm'd by fond AFFECTION's breath,

And bathed in WOMAN's tears.

Give me the death of those

Who for their country die;
And O be mine like their repose,
When cold and low they lie!

Their loveliest mother Earth
Enshrines the fallen brave;

In her sweet lap who gave them birth
They find their tranquil grave.

1804.