Britans, you stay too long; Quickly aboard bestow you! And with a merry gale Swell your stretched sail! With vows as strong As the winds that blow you. Your course securely steer, West-and-by-South forth keep! Rocks, Lee-shores, nor Shoals, When EOLUS scowls, You need not fear! So absolute the deep. And cheerfully at sea, Success you still entice, To get the pearl and gold; And ours to hold, Virginia, Earth's only Paradise. Where Nature hath in store Fowl, venison, and fish: And the fruitful soil; Without your toil, Three harvests more, All greater than your wish. And the ambitious vine Crowns, with his purple mass, The cedar reaching high To kiss the sky. The cypress, pine, And useful sassafras. To whose, the Golden Age Still Nature's laws doth give: No other cares that tend, But them to defend From winter's age, That long there doth not live. When as the luscious smell Of that delicious land, Above the seas that flows, The clear wind throws, Your hearts to swell, Approaching the dear strand. In kenning of the shore (Thanks to GOD first given!) O you, the happiest men, Be frolic then! Let cannons roar! Frightening the wide heaven. And in regions far, Such heroes bring ye forth As those from whom We came! And plant our name Under that Star Not known unto our North! And as there plenty grows Of laurel everywhere, APOLLO'S sacred tree; You it may see A Poet's brows To crown, that may sing there. Thy _Voyages_ attend, Industrious HAKLUYT! Whose reading shall inflame Men to seek fame; And much commend To after Times thy wit. ODE 12. _To the Cambro-Britans and their Harp, his Ballad of Agincourt._ [Besides this Ballad: MICHAEL DRAYTON published, in 1627, a much longer Poem upon this celebrated Battle.] [Illustration] Fair stood the wind for France, When we our sails advance; Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry. But putting to the main; At Caux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train Landed King HARRY. And taking many a fort Furnished in warlike sort, Marcheth towards Agincourt In happy hour; Skirmishing, day by day, With those that stopped his way, Where the French General lay With all his Power. Which, in his height of pride, King HENRY to deride; His ransom to provide, To the King sending. Which he neglects the while, As from a nation vile; Yet, with an angry smile, Their fall portending.