TO A GENTLEMAN,
On his Voyage to Great Britain for the Recovery of his Health.
While others chant of gay Elysian scenes,
Of balmy zephyrs, and of flowery plains,
My song, more happy, speaks a greater name,
Feels higher motives and a nobler flame.
For thee, Oh R———, the Muse attunes her strings,
And mounts sublime above inferior things.
I sing not now of green embow'ring woods,
I sing not now the daughters of the floods,
I sing not of the storms o'er ocean driven,
And how they howled along the waste of heaven;
But I to R——— would paint the British shore,
And vast Atlantic not untry'd before:
Thy life impaired, commands thee to arise,
Leave these bleak regions and inclement skies,
Where chilling winds return the winter past,
And nature shudders at the furious blast.
O thou stupendous, earth-enclosing main,
Exert thy wonders to the world again!
If e'er thy power prolonged the fleeting breath,
Turned back the shafts, and mocked the gates of death,
If e'er thine air dispensed a healing power,
Or snatched the victim from the fatal hour,
This equal case demands thine equal care,
And equal wonders may this patient share.
