What is the main ye kings renown'd! Britannia's centre, and your bound: Austrian! where-e'er leviathan can roll,

Is Britain's home! and Britain's mine,
Where-e'er the ripening Sun can shine,
Parts are for emperors; for her, the whole.

Why, Austrian! wilt thou hover still
On doubtful wing, and want the skill
To see thy welfare in the world's? Too late
Another Churchill thou may'st find,
Another Churchill, no: so kind,
And other Blenheims, big with other fate.
Ill thou remember'st, ill dost own,
Who rescued an ungrateful throne;
Ill thou consider'st, that the kind are brave;
Ill dost thou weigh, that in Time's womb
A day may sleep, a day of doom,

As great to ruin, as was that to save.

How wouldst thou smile to hear my strain,
Whose boasted inspiration 's vain'
Yet what if my prediction should prove true?
Know'st thou the fatal pair who shine
O'er Britain's trading empire thine

As one rejected, what, if one subdue?

What naval scene adorns the seat
Of awful Britain's high debate 2,
Inspires her councils, and records her power?
The nations know, in glowing balls
On sinking thrones the tempest falls,
When her august assembled senates low'r.

C languarge fit for thought so bold!
Would Britain have her anger told ;
Ah! never let a meaner language sound,

Than that which prostrates human souls,
Through Heaven's dark vault impetuous
rolls,

And Nature rocks, when angry Jove has frown'd.

Not realms unbounded, not a flood
Of natives, not expense of blood,

Or reach of counsel gives the world a lord:

Trade calls him forth, and sets him high,
As mortal man, o'er men can fly :
Trade leaves poor gleanings to the keenest sword.

Nay, her's the sword! For fleets have wings;
Like lightning fly to distant kings;

Like gods descend at once on trembling states:
Is war proclaim'd? Our wars are hurl'd
To farthest confines of the world,

Surprise your ports, and thunder at your gates.

The king of tempests, Æolus,
Sends forth his pinion'd people, thus,
On rapid errands: as they fly, they roar,.

And carry sable clouds, and sweep
The land, the desert, and the deep!

Earth shakes! proud cities fall! and thrones adore!

The fools of Nature ever strike

On bare outsides; and loathe, or like,

As glitter bids; in endless errour vie ;

Admire the purple and the crown:
Of human welfare and renown,

Trade's the big heart; bright empire, but their

eye.

The Spanish Armada in the House of Lords. VOL. XIII,

Whence Tartar GRAND? or Mogul GREAT?-
Trade gilt their titles, pour'd their state;
While Afric's black, lascivious, slothful breed,
To clasp their ruin, fly fom toil;
That meanest product on their soil,
Their people sell: one half on t'other feed.
Of Nature's wealth and commerce rent,
Afric's a glaring monument:
Mid citron forests and pomegranate groves
(Curst, in a Paradise!) she pines:
O'er generous glebe, o'er golden mines
Her beggar'd, famish'd, tradeless native roves :
Not so thine, China, blooming-wide;
Thy numerous fleets might bridge the tide;
Thy products would exhaust both Indias' mines:
Shut be that gate of trade! Or woe

To Britain's! Europe 'twill o'erflow.-
Ungrateful song! Her growth 3 inspires thy lines.
Britain! To these, and such as these,
The river broad and foaming seas

Which sever lands to mortals less renown'd,
Devoid of naval skill or might;

Those sever'd parts of earth unite:

Trade's the full pulse, that sends their vigour
round.

Could, O could one engrossing hand
The varions streams of trade command,
That, like the Sun, would gazing nations awe;
That awful power the world would brave,
Bold war, and empire proud, his slave;
Mankind his subjects; and his will, their law.

Hast thou look'd round the spacious Earth?
From commerce, grandeur's humble birth:
To George from Noah, empires living, dead,
Their pride, their shame, their rise, their
fall,

Time's whole plain chronicle is all

One bright encomium, undesign'd, on trade.

Trade springs from peace, and wealth from trade,

And power from wealth! of power is made
The god on Earth: Hail, then, the dove of peace!
Whose olive speaks the raging flood

Of war repress'd: what's loss of blood?
War is the death of commerce and increase.

Then perish war-Detested war!

Shalt thou make gods light Cæsar's star?
What calls man fool so loud as this has done,

From Nimrod's down to Bourbon's line?---
Why not adore too, as divine,
Wide-wasting storms, before the genial Sun?
Peace is the merchant's summer clear!
His harvest! harvest round the year!
For peace with laurel every mast be bound;
Each deck carouse, each flag stream out,
Each cannon sound, each sailor shout!
For peace let every sacred ship be crown'd!
Sacred are ships, of birth divine!
An angel drew the first design;
With which the patriarch Nature's ruins brav'd:
Two worlds abroad, an old and new,
He safe o'er foaming billows flew :
The gods made human race, a pilot, sav'd,

3 Coffee.

M

Bright shone the sword, but brighter trade gave Let others pant for an immense command;

Sing Britain's fame, with all her hero's Britain to Heaven; from Heaven descends my

END OF VOL. XIII.

Richard Taylor and Co. Printers, Shoe-lane, London,