Imperial ensigns grac'd her smiling form, A golden key and golden wand she bore; This charms to peace each sullen eastern storm, And that unlocks the summer's copious store. Onward in conscious majesty she came, The grateful honours of mankind to taste: To gather fairest wreaths of future fame, And blend fresh triumphs with her glories past. Vain hope! no more in choral bands unite Brush the light dew-drops from the spangled lawn. To her no more Augusta's wealthy pride No more the Maypole's verdant height around Wake the loud carol, and the sportive dance. Sudden in pensive sadness droop'd her head, Faint on her cheeks the blushing crimson died"O! chaste victorious triumphs, whither fled? "My maiden honours, whither gone?" she cried. Ah! once to fame and bright dominion born, The first, the fairest daughter of the skies. Then, when at heav'n's prolific mandate sprung Hail'd the glad dawn, and angels call'd me May. Space in her empty regions heard the sound, And shouting planets in their courses sung. For ever then I led the constant year; Saw youth, and joy, and love's enchanting wiles; Saw the mild graces in my train appear, And infant beauty brighten in my smiles. No Winter frown'd. In sweet embrace allied, With Autumn's blush, and Summer's lofty mien. Too soon, when man profan'd the blessings giv'n, Saw bursting clouds eclipse the noontide beams, While sounding billows from the mountains roll'd, With bitter waves polluting all my streams, My nectar'd streams, that flow'd on sands of gold. Then vanish'd many a sea-girt isle and grove, Their forests floating on the wat❜ry plain: Then, fam'd for arts and laws deriv'd from Jove, My Atalantis sunk beneath the main. No longer bloom'd primæval Eden's bow'rs, No more to dwell in sylvan scenes I deign'd, And ev'ry echo taught my raptur'd name, But chief in Europe, and in Europe's pride, Ah me! for now a younger rival claims To her my garlands and triumphal song.. O say what yet untasted beauties flow, And warbles Philomel a softer strain? Do morning suns in ruddier glory rise? Ah! no: the blunted beams of dawning light Pale, immature, the blighted verdure springs, When silence listens at the midnight hour. Nor wonder, man, that nature's bashful face, With show'rs and sunshine in her fickle eyes, Is this the fair invested with my spoil By Europe's laws, and senates' stern command? Ungen'rous Europe! let me fly thy soil, And waft my treasures to a grateful land; Again revive, on Asia's drooping shore, My Daphne's groves, or Lycia's ancient plain; Again to Afric's sultry sands restore Embow'ring shades, and Lybian Ammon's fane: Or haste to northern Zembla's savage coast, And swell her barren womb with heat and life. Then Britain-Here she ceas'd. Indignant grief, And parting pangs, her falt'ring tongue supprest: Veil'd in an amber cloud she sought relief, And tears and silent anguish told the rest. |