And opening palaces invite my Muse. How has kind Heaven adorned the happy land, And scattered blessings with a wasteful hand! But what avail her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains and her sunny shores, With all the gifts that heaven and earth impart, The smiles of nature, and the charms of art, _110 While proud oppression in her valleys reigns, And tyranny usurps her happy plains? The poor inhabitant beholds in vain The reddening orange and the swelling grain: Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines, And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines: Starves, in the midst of nature's bounty curs'd, And in the loaden vineyard dies for thirst. O Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright, _120 Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight! Eternal pleasures in thy presence reign, And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train; Eased of her load, subjection grows more light, And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight; Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day. Thee, goddess, thee, Britannia's isle adores; How has she oft exhausted all her stores, How oft in fields of death thy presence sought, Nor thinks the mighty prize too dearly bought! _130 On foreign mountains may the sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine, With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olive swell with floods of oil: We envy not the warmer clime, that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies, Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine, Though o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine: 'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, And makes her barren rocks and her bleak mountains smile. _140 Others with towering piles may please the sight, And in their proud aspiring domes delight; A nicer touch to the stretched canvas give, Or teach their animated rocks to live: 'Tis Britain's care to watch o'er Europe's fate, And hold in balance each contending state, To threaten bold presumptuous kings with war, And answer her afflicted neighbours' prayer. The Dane and Swede, roused up by fierce alarms, Bless the wise conduct of her pious arms: _150 Soon as her fleets appear, their terrors cease, And all the northern world lies hushed in peace. The ambitious Gaul beholds with secret dread Her thunder aimed at his aspiring head, And fain her godlike sons would disunite By foreign gold, or by domestic spite; But strives in vain to conquer or divide, Whom Nassau's arms defend and counsels guide. Fired with the name, which I so oft have found The distant climes and different tongues resound, _160 I bridle in my struggling Muse with pain, That longs to launch into a bolder strain. But I've already troubled you too long, Nor dare attempt a more adventurous song. My humble verse demands a softer theme, A painted meadow, or a purling stream; Unfit for heroes, whom immortal lays,