Ocean: An Ode. Concluding with A wish.*

I.
              Sweet rural scene!
              Of flocks and green!
At careless ease my limbs are spread;
              All nature still  
              But yonder rill;
And listening pines not o'er my head:
II
              In prospect wide,
              The boundless tide!
Waves cease to foam, and winds to roar;
              Without a breeze,  
                The curling seas
Dance on, in measure, to the shore.
III
              Who sings the source
              Of wealth and force?
Vast field of commerce and big war:
              Where wonders dwell!
              Where terrors swell!
And Neptune thunders from his car?
IV
              Where? where are they,
              Whom Pean's ray  
Has touch'd, and bid divinely rave?
              What, none aspire?
              I snatch the lyre,
And plunge into the foaming wave.
V
              The wave resounds!
              The rock rebounds!
The Nereids to my song reply!
              I lead the choir,
              And they conspire
With voice and shell to lift it high;
VI
              They spread in air
              Their bosoms fair;
Their verdant tresses pour behind.
              The billows beat
              With nimble feet,
With notes triumphant swell the wind.
 VII
              Who love the shore,
              And they conspire
With voice and shell to lift it high;
              Let those adore  
 The God Apollo, and his Nine,
              Parnassus' hill,
              And Orpheus' skill;
But let Arion's harp be mine.
 VIII
              The main! the main!
              Is Britain's reign;
Her strength, her glory, is her fleet;
              The main! the main!
              Be Briton's strain;
As Triton's strong, as Syren's sweet.  
 IX
              Through nature wide,
              Is nought descry'd
So rich in pleasure, or surprize;
              When all-serene
              How sweet the scene!
How dreadful, when the billows rise.
X
              And storms deface
              The fluid glass
In which ere-while Britannia fair
              Look'd down with pride,  
                Like Ocean's bride,
Adjusting her majestic air.
XI
              When tempests cease,
              And hush'd in peace
The flatten'd surges smoothly spread
              Deep silence keep,
              And seem to sleep
Recumbent on their oozy bed;
XII
              With what a trance
              The level glance,  
 Unbroken, shoots along the seas!
              Whichtempt from shore
              the painted oar;
And every canvas courts the breeze!
XIII
              When rushes forth
              The frowning North
On blackening billows, with what dread
              My shuddering soul
              Beholds them roll,
And hears their roarings o'er my head!  
 XIV
              With terror mark
              Yon flying bark!
Now, center-deep descend the brave;
              Now, toss'd on high
              It takes the sky,
A feather on the towering wave!
XV
              Now, spins around
              In whirls profound;
Now, whelm'd; now, pendant near the clouds;
              Now, stunn'd, it reels  
                Midst thunder's peals;
And, now, fierce lightening fires the shrouds.
XVI
              All aether burns!
              Chaos returns!
And blends once more the seas and skies;
              No space between
              Thy bosom green,
O Deep! and the blue concave, lies.
XVII
              The northern blast,
              The shatter'd mast,  
 The fyrt, the whirlpool, and the rock,
              The breaking spout,
              the stars gone out,
The boiling sreight, the monsters shock.
XVIII
              Let others fear;
              To Britain dear
What'er promotes her daring claim;
              Those terrors charm,
              Which keep her warm
In chace of honest gain or fame.  
   XIX
              The stars are bright
              To chear the night,
And shed, through shadows, temper'd fire;
              And Phoebus flames
              With burnish'd beams,
Which some adore, and all admire.
XX
              Are then the seas
              Outshone by these?
Bright Thetys! thou art not outshone;
              With kin