Ode To The Country Gentlemen Of England

Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms, Yet vain of freedom, how dost thou beguile, With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms? Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd, The praise and envy of the nations round, What care hast thou to guard from fortune's sway? Amid the storms of war, how soon may all The lofty pile from its foundations fall, Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day! No: thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales Add industry's wise gifts to nature's store: And every port is crowded with thy sails, And every wave throws treasure on thy shore. What boots it? If luxurious plenty charm Thy selfish heart from glory, if thy arm Shrink at the frowns of danger and of pain, Those gifts, that treasure is no longer thine. Oh rather far be poor. Thy gold will shine Tempting the eye of force, and deck thee to thy bane. But what hath force or war to do with thee? Girt by the azure tide and thron'd sublime Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see, With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe Art thy fair fields: athwart thy guardian prow No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand-- Yet say my country, will the waves and wind Obey thee? Hast thou all thy hopes resign'd To the sky's fickle faith? the pilot's wavering hand? 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.