Ode XV: On Domestic Issues

Meek honor, female shame, O! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky, From Albion dost thou fly; Of Albion's daughters once the favorite fame? O beauty's only friend, Who giv'st her pleasing reverence to inspire; Who selfish, bold desire Dost to esteem and dear affection turn; Alas, of thee forlorn What joy, what praise, what hope can life pretend? Behold; our youths in vain Concerning nuptial happiness inquire: Our maids no more aspire The arts of bashful Hymen to attain; But with triumphant eyes And cheeks impassive, as they move along, Ask homage of the throng. The lover swears that in a harlot's arms Are found the self-same charms, And worthless and deserted lives and dies. Behold; unbless'd at home, The father of the cheerless household mourns: The night in vain returns, For love and glad content at distance roam; While she, in whom his mind Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares, To meet him she prepares, Through noise and spleen and all the gamester's art, A listless, harrass'd heart, Where not one tender thought can welcome find. 'Twas thus, along the shore Of Thames, Britannia's guardian Genius heard, From many a tongue preferr'd, Of strife and grief the fond invective lore: At which the queen divine Indignant, with her adamantine spear Like thunder sounding near, Smote the red cross upon her silver shield, And thus her wrath reveal'd. (I watch'd her awful words and made them mine.)