sea! The sea-born squadrons threaten thee, And thy great heart, Britannia! Woe to thy people, of their freedom proud—    She rests, a thunder heavy in its cloud! Who, to thy hand the orb and sceptre gave, That thou should'st be the sovereign of the nations? To tyrant kings thou wert thyself the slave, Till freedom dug from law its deep foundations; The mighty Chart the citizens made kings, And kings to citizens sublimely bowed! And thou thyself, upon thy realm of water, Hast thou not rendered millions up to slaughter, When thy ships brought upon their sailing wings The sceptre—and the shroud? What should'st thou thank?—Blush, earth, to hear and feel What should'st thou thank?—Thy genius and thy steel! Behold the hidden and the giant fires! Behold thy glory trembling to its fall! Thy coming doom the round earth shall appal, And all the hearts of freemen beat for thee, And all free souls their fate in thine foresee—     Theirs is thy glory's fall! One look below the Almighty gave, Where streamed the lion-flags of thy proud foe; And near and wider yawned the horrent grave.     "And who," saith He, "shall lay mine England low—    The stem that blooms with hero-deeds—    The rock when man from wrong a refuge needs—     The stronghold where the tyrant comes in vain? Who shall bid England vanish from the main? Ne'er be this only Eden freedom knew, Man's stout defence from power, to fate consigned."    God the Almighty blew, And the Armada went to every wind! 

  

       THE GODS OF GREECE.     

     Ye in the age gone by, Who ruled the world—a world how lovely then!—    And guided still the steps of happy men In the light leading-strings of careless joy! Ah, flourished then your service of delight! How different, oh, how different, in the day When thy sweet fanes with many a wreath were bright, O Venus Amathusia!     Then, through a veil of dreams Woven by song, truth's youthful beauty glowed, And life's redundant and rejoicing streams Gave to the soulless, soul—where'r they flowed Man gifted nature with divinity To lift and link her to the breast of love; All things betrayed to the initiate eye The track of gods above! Where lifeless—fixed afar, A flaming ball to our dull sense is given, Phoebus Apollo, in his golden car, In silent glory swept the fields of heaven! On yonder hill the Oread was adored, In yonder tree the Dryad held her home; And from her urn the gentle Naiad poured The wavelet's silver foam. Yon bay, chaste Daphne wreathed,     

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