Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin: Comprising the Celebrated Political and Satirical Poems, of the Rt. Hons. G. Canning, John Hookham Frere, W. Pitt, the Marquis Wellesley, G. Ellis, W. Gifford, the Earl of Carlisle, and Others.
History
Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin: Comprising the Celebrated Political and Satirical Poems, of the Rt. Hons. G. Canning, John Hookham Frere, W. Pitt, the Marquis Wellesley, G. Ellis, W. Gifford, the Earl of Carlisle, and Others.
English poetry; France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Poetry; Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 1789-1820
For us—beneath yon SACRED ROOF,
The NAVAL FLAGS and arms of proof,
By British valour nobly bought,
Show how true safety must be sought!
[THIERS, in his _History of the French Revolution_, frequently
asserts the incorruptibility (with the exception of BARRAS) of the
French Directory. But ALISON, in his History, exposes the
extraordinary conduct of M. DE TALLEYRAND, then Minister of Foreign
Affairs, towards the Envoys from the United States of America, who
complained that an immense number of American vessels had been
seized by the French Government under a decree of Jan., 1798, which
directed that all ships having for their cargoes, in whole or in
part, any English merchandise, should be held lawful prize, whoever
was the proprietor thereof, from the single circumstance of its
coming from England or its foreign settlements. The Envoys were told
that nothing could be done till their Government had advanced a sum
equal to 1,280,000_l._ as a loan, and 50,000_l._ as a douceur to the
Directors. These terms were, of course, indignantly rejected. The
Hanse Towns, too, only obtained licenses to navigate the high seas
by the secret payment of 150,000_l_. to the Republican rulers.—ED.]
[LYRICS OF HORACE. BOOK I., ODE V.
TRANSLATED BY ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM.
What slender youth, all essenced o’er,
In sweet alcove or rosy bower,
Now woos thee, Pyrrha, to be kind?
For whom these tresses dost thou bind,
Thus simply neat? O how shall he,
Poor youth! bewail the boisterous sea,
Rough with black tempests! How accuse
Capricious Gods, and broken vows!
Fond dupe! he hopes—so sweet that kiss—
Thou’lt still be witching, still be his!
What treacherous gales beset his way,
Ah! little knows he! Hapless they,
Who ne’er thy faithless smiles have tried!
—That I have ’scaped the whelming tide,
A tablet and my dripping vest,
Hung up in Neptune’s fane, attest.—ED.]
No. XXX.
June 4, 1798.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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