4 No: thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales Add Industry's wise gifts to Nature's store, And every port is crowded with thy sails, And every wave throws treasure on thy shore. What boots it? If luxurious Plenty charm Thy selfish heart from Glory, if thy arm Shrink at the frowns of Danger and of Pain, Those gifts, that treasure is no longer thine. Oh, rather far be poor! Thy gold will shine Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy bane. 5 But what hath Force or War to do with thee? Girt by the azure tide, and throned sublime Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see, With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe Are thy fair fields: athwart thy guardian prow No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand-- Yet say, my country, will the waves and wind Obey thee? Hast thou all thy hopes resign'd To the sky's fickle faith, the pilot's wavering hand? 6 For, oh! may neither Fear nor stronger Love (Love, by thy virtuous princes nobly won) Thee, last of many wretched nations, move, With mighty armies station'd round the throne To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims Of Freedom! Her proud records to the flames Then bear, an offering at Ambition's shrine; Whate'er thy ancient patriots dared demand From furious John's, or faithless Charles' hand, Or what great William seal'd for his adopted line. 7 But if thy sons be worthy of their name, If liberal laws with liberal arts they prize, Let them from conquest, and from servile shame, In War's glad school their own protectors rise. Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultured plains, Ye leaders of her bold and faithful swains, Now not unequal to your birth be found; The public voice bids arm your rural state, Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait, And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around. 8 Why are ye tardy? what inglorious care Detains you from their head, your native post? Who most their country's fame and fortune share, 'Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most. Each man his task in social life sustains. With partial labours, with domestic gains, Let others dwell: to you indulgent Heaven By counsel and by arms the public cause To serve for public love and love's applause, The first employment far, the noblest hire, hath given. 9 Have ye not heard of Lacedemon's fame? Of Attic chiefs in Freedom's war divine? Of Rome's dread generals? the Valerian name? The Fabian sons? the Scipios, matchless line? Your lot was theirs: the farmer and the swain Met his loved patron's summons from the plain; The legions gather'd; the bright eagles flew: Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourn'd; The conquerors to their household gods return'd, And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough.