Classic Poem

WRITTEN ON THE BEACH AT C ALAIS .

Y E Waves, whose circling billows flow,
Wild o'er watry waste below,
On your green surface waft away,
The votive tribute of to-day!
I see thy Cliffs, B RITANNIA rise,
White as the fleece of Summer's skies;
And on thy adverse shore reclin'd,
Methinks in ev'ry vernal wind,
I catch a passing sound;
Here E DWARD'S steps, it says, appear'd,
And here the din of arms was heard,
While Famine hover'd round.

These rising walls and bulwarks tell,
That here the great, the valiant fell;
And, by the tempest torn,
The lily droop'd on G ALLIA'S coasts,
And saw the radiant white she boasts,
A stranger's brows adorn.

O! E DWARD , lift thy slumb'ring eyes,
From the long sleep of death arise,
And see, where Discord frown'd;
Wide o'er the bosom of the deep,
Her wings prolific Commerce sweep,
And bless the nations round.

On yon tall cliff erect and hoar,
Around whose base the billows roar,
See B RITAIN'S Genius stand:
Dauntless she views the surge below,
And bids the waves which round her flow,
Bring plenty to her land.

Aside the helm' and corslet laid,
The peaceful olive binds her head;
And in her eye sublime,
Justice and Mercy seem to play,
They rest secure in G EORGE'S sway,
And bless her smiling clime.

Low at her feet their varied store,
See Art and Nature proudly pour,
Each gift the soul desires;
And Genius deck'd in all her charms,
Far from the dreary clang of arms,
Here sends forth all her fires.

If war and battle call for praise,
And proud we contemplate his days,
Whose hands the laurel won,
Which, through the darkness of the tomb,
And distant ages, learns to bloom,
With splendour yet its own:

What song shall tell what sounds reveal
The nobler joy which now we feel,
When G EORGE'S hand removes
The mist of ignorance profound,
Which then enwrapt B RITANNIA round,
And clouded all her groves!

Yet what the fault'ring lyre denies,
A grateful Nation's voice supplies
A Monarch's dearest lay;
And thousand vows and thousand pray'rs,
The early breath of morning bears,
To hail his natal day:
On aether's wings their Songs arise,
He hears their paeans rend the skies,
And, conscious of his worth, receives
The tribute which a Nation gives.