YE northern blasts, and Eurus, wont to sweep
With rudest pinions o'er the furrow'd waves,
Awhile suspend your violence, and waft
From sandy Weser and the broad-mouth'd Elb
My freighted vessels to the destin'd shore,
Safe o'er th' unruffled main; let every thought,
Which may disquiet, and alarm my breast,
Be absent now; that, dispossess'd of care,
And free from every tumult of the mind,
With each disturbing passion hush'd to peace,
I may pour all my spirit on the theme,
Which opens now before me, and demands
The loftiest strain. The eagle, when he tow'rs
Beyond the clouds, the fleecy robes of heaven,
Disdains all objects but the golden sun,
Full on th' effulgent orb directs his eye,
And sails exulting through the blaze of day;
So, while her wing attempts the boldest flight,
Rejecting each inferior theme of praise,
Thee, ornament of Europe, Albion's pride,
Fair seat of wealth and freedom, thee my Muse
Shall celebrate, O London: thee she hails.
Thou lov'd abode of Commerce, last retreat,
Whence she contemplates with a tranquil mind
Her various wanderings from the fated hour
That she abandon'd her maternal clime;
Neptunian Commerce, whom Phoenice bore,
Illustrious nymph, that nam'd the fertile plains
Along the sounding main extended far,
Which flowery Carmel with its sweet perfumes,
And with its cedars Libanus o'ershades:
Her from the bottom of the watry world,
As once she stood, in radiant beauties grac'd,
To mark the heaving tide, the piercing eye
Of Neptune view'd enamour'd: from the deep
The God ascending rushes to the beach,
And clasps th' affrighted virgin. From that day,
Soon as the paly regent of the night
Nine times her monthly progress had renew'd
Thro' heaven's illumin'd vault, Phoenice, led
By shame, once more the sea-worn margin sought:
There pac'd with painful steps the barren sands,
A solitary mourner, and the surge,
Which gently roll'd beside her, now no more
With placid eyes beholding, thus exclaim'd.