"But Passion's Phalanx, no calm Influence breaks; / Truth, till strong-mounted, ev'ry Danger shakes."
— Hill, Aaron (1685-1750)
Author
Work Title
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
Printed for J. Osborn
Date
1743
Metaphor
"But Passion's Phalanx, no calm Influence breaks; / Truth, till strong-mounted, ev'ry Danger shakes."
Metaphor in Context
Thus while (outstripping Winds) soft Air they press'd,
Th'unerring Guide bespoke her wond'ring Guest.
--Had my plain Pow'r suffic'd, o'er Faction's Rage,
To lift my Vot'ries, in this partial Age,
Pleas'd without Pomp, self-conscious, and alone,
Nor rais'd, thus light, on Fancy's airy Throne,
Thou had'st beheld me, grave, severe, serene;
Bold, like thy Virtue: modest, as thy Mien!
--But Passion's Phalanx, no calm Influence breaks;
Truth, till strong-mounted, ev'ry Danger shakes.
Now, tho' contending Worlds shou'd bar our Way,
Safe shall we pass-nor can false Friends betray.
--Mark, hence,--th'alarming Thunder's circly Sound
Has heav'd th'Atlantic, thro' yon dark Profound!
Look down--Behold Hibernia's Western Shore:
Here, Europe's Sea-wash'd Skirts emerge no more.
Mark! from the Surge, That Form, up-heaving, slow,
Grows, into Heav'n!--yet walks in Seas below!
Rous'd at the Din, she wakes; bless'd Pow'r!--'tis She!
Albion's lost Genius!--hid, beneath her Sea!
Here, in faint Hope, she waits some happier Day:
Sleeps, to shun Sorrow: and wears Shame away.
Here, her sad Head reclines, on Connaught's Sand:
While her stretch'd Feet annect Nov-Albion's Strand!
'Tis for Her sought Decision, These big Roars,
Loudly appealing, rock th'awak'ning Shores.
Hark! the bold Rush of Grievance pains her Ear.
Weigh'd is her Answer: with due Rev'rence hear.
Thy Country's Genius best it's Wants detects:
Best knows its Pow'r--and feels it's dark Defects.
Th'unerring Guide bespoke her wond'ring Guest.
--Had my plain Pow'r suffic'd, o'er Faction's Rage,
To lift my Vot'ries, in this partial Age,
Pleas'd without Pomp, self-conscious, and alone,
Nor rais'd, thus light, on Fancy's airy Throne,
Thou had'st beheld me, grave, severe, serene;
Bold, like thy Virtue: modest, as thy Mien!
--But Passion's Phalanx, no calm Influence breaks;
Truth, till strong-mounted, ev'ry Danger shakes.
Now, tho' contending Worlds shou'd bar our Way,
Safe shall we pass-nor can false Friends betray.
--Mark, hence,--th'alarming Thunder's circly Sound
Has heav'd th'Atlantic, thro' yon dark Profound!
Look down--Behold Hibernia's Western Shore:
Here, Europe's Sea-wash'd Skirts emerge no more.
Mark! from the Surge, That Form, up-heaving, slow,
Grows, into Heav'n!--yet walks in Seas below!
Rous'd at the Din, she wakes; bless'd Pow'r!--'tis She!
Albion's lost Genius!--hid, beneath her Sea!
Here, in faint Hope, she waits some happier Day:
Sleeps, to shun Sorrow: and wears Shame away.
Here, her sad Head reclines, on Connaught's Sand:
While her stretch'd Feet annect Nov-Albion's Strand!
'Tis for Her sought Decision, These big Roars,
Loudly appealing, rock th'awak'ning Shores.
Hark! the bold Rush of Grievance pains her Ear.
Weigh'd is her Answer: with due Rev'rence hear.
Thy Country's Genius best it's Wants detects:
Best knows its Pow'r--and feels it's dark Defects.
Categories
Provenance
Searching in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
At least 3 entires in ECCO and ESTC (1743, 1753, 1754).
See The Fanciad. An Heroic Poem. In Six Cantos. To His Grace the Duke of Marlborough, on the turn of His Genius to Arms. (London: Printed for J. Osborn, at the [Golden-Ball] in Pater-Noster Row, 1743). <Link to ESTC>
See The Fanciad. An Heroic Poem. In Six Cantos. To His Grace the Duke of Marlborough, on the turn of His Genius to Arms. (London: Printed for J. Osborn, at the [Golden-Ball] in Pater-Noster Row, 1743). <Link to ESTC>
Date of Entry
01/25/2006
