BOADICEA.
17
Bright o'er the wavy crowd as western beams
That gild with trembling light pleased Ocean's streams.
Oh! though each bosom there, each untaught mind,
By social arts untutor'd, unrefined,
Knew but the feelings Nature gives her child,
Rude as her savage scenes, and harsh, and wild,
Yet think not there might Beauty shed her rays
Unmark'd, unfelt, by every careless gaze.
No—as each Briton's eye was thither turn'd,
Each swelling breast with keener vengeance burn'd,
Each firmer grasp'd his spear, and inly swore
To write their injuries in Roman gore.
O Beauty! heaven-born Queen! thy snowy hands
Hold the round earth in viewless magic bands;
From burning climes where riper graces flame
To shores where climes of ice resound thy name,
From savage times ere social life began
To fairer days of polish'd, soften'd man,
To thee, from age to age, from pole to pole,
All pay the unclaim'd homage of the soul.
Though not, Bonduca, thine the dove-like eye
That asks, Omnipotent, for sympathy.
Yet to that stately form, that regal brow
Might free-born Pride, and fearless Valour bow.
All hail, thy Albion's much-loved Queen, to thee,
Daughter of Monarchs! Monarch of the free!
Heiress of Kings whose patriarchal sway
Th' untamed Icenian triumphs to obey!
Oft have thy Britons seen a female hand
Pour life and gladness round a grateful land,
Oft have they seen a woman's prowess guide
The storm of war and stem the battle's tide;
E'en now they feel thy words, thy looks impart
Indignant courage to each freeborn heart,
And bid thee lead them on where Freedom cries,
And Vengeance beckons from the angry skies.
That gild with trembling light pleased Ocean's streams.
Oh! though each bosom there, each untaught mind,
By social arts untutor'd, unrefined,
Knew but the feelings Nature gives her child,
Rude as her savage scenes, and harsh, and wild,
Yet think not there might Beauty shed her rays
Unmark'd, unfelt, by every careless gaze.
No—as each Briton's eye was thither turn'd,
Each swelling breast with keener vengeance burn'd,
Each firmer grasp'd his spear, and inly swore
To write their injuries in Roman gore.
O Beauty! heaven-born Queen! thy snowy hands
Hold the round earth in viewless magic bands;
From burning climes where riper graces flame
To shores where climes of ice resound thy name,
From savage times ere social life began
To fairer days of polish'd, soften'd man,
To thee, from age to age, from pole to pole,
All pay the unclaim'd homage of the soul.
Though not, Bonduca, thine the dove-like eye
That asks, Omnipotent, for sympathy.
Yet to that stately form, that regal brow
Might free-born Pride, and fearless Valour bow.
All hail, thy Albion's much-loved Queen, to thee,
Daughter of Monarchs! Monarch of the free!
Heiress of Kings whose patriarchal sway
Th' untamed Icenian triumphs to obey!
Oft have thy Britons seen a female hand
Pour life and gladness round a grateful land,
Oft have they seen a woman's prowess guide
The storm of war and stem the battle's tide;
E'en now they feel thy words, thy looks impart
Indignant courage to each freeborn heart,
And bid thee lead them on where Freedom cries,
And Vengeance beckons from the angry skies.
