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FOR THE KING'S BIRTHDAY 1794, by             Poem Explanation     Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Rous'd from the gloom of transient death
Last Line: Sacred to patriot worth, to patriot bosoms dear.
Subject(s): Birthdays; Capital Punishment; George Iii, King Of England (1738-1820); Great Britain - Wars With France; Louis Xiv, King Of France (1638-1715); Pitt, William, The Younger (1759-1806); Hanging; Executions; Death Penalty


Rous'd from the gloom of transient death,
Reviving Nature's charms appear;
Mild zephyr wakes with balmy breath
The beauties of the youthful year,
The fleecy storm that froze the plain,
The winds that swept the billowy main,
The chilling blast, the icy show'r,
That oft obscur'd the vernal hour,
And half deform'd th' etherial grace
That bloom'd on Maia's lovely face,
Are gone—and o'er the fertile glade,
In manhood's riper form array'd,

Bright June appears, and from his bosom throws,
Blushing with hue divine, his own ambrosial rose.

Yet there are climes where winter hoar
Despotic still usurps the plains,
Where the loud surges lash the shore,
And dreary desolation reigns!—
While, as the shivering swain descries
The drifted mountains round him rise,
Through the dark mist and howling blast,
Full many a longing look is cast
To northern realms, whose happier skies detain
The lingering car of day, and check his golden rein.

Chide not his stay;—the roseate spring
Not always flies on halcyon wing;
Not always strains of joy and love
Steal sweetly through the trembling grove—
Reflecting Sol's refulgent beams,
The falchion oft terrific gleams;
And, louder than the wintr'y tempest's roar,
The battle's thunder shakes th' affrighted shore—
Chide not his stay—for, in the scenes,
Where nature boasts her genial pride,
Where forests spread their leafy screens,
And lucid streams the painted vales divide;
Beneath Europa's mildest clime
In glowing summer's verdant prime,
The frantic sons of Rapine tear
The golden wreath from Ceres' hair,
And trembling Industry, afraid
To turn the war-devoted glade,
Exposes wild to Famine's haggard eyes
Wastes where no hopes of future harvests rise,
While floating corses choke th' unpurpled flood,
And ev'ry dewy sod is stain'd with civic blood.

Vanish the horrid scene, and turn the eyes
To where Britannia's chalky cliffs arise.—
What though beneath her rougher air
A less luxuriant soil we share;
Though often o'er her brightest day
Sails the thick storm, and shrouds the solar ray,
No purple vintage though she boast,
No olive shade her ruder coast;
Yet here immortal Freedom reigns,
And law protects what labour gains;
And as her manly sons behold
The cultur'd farm, the teeming fold,
See Commerce spread to ev'ry gale
From every shore, her swelling sail;
Jocund, they raise the choral lay
To celebrate th' auspicious day,
By heaven selected from the laughing year,
Sacred to patriot worth, to patriot bosoms dear.





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