By deeds, a horror to mankind, prepar'd,
As were the dregs of Romulus of old?
Who these, indeed, can undetesting fee?-
But who unpitying? To the generous eye
Distress is virtue; and, tho' felf-betray'd,
A people struggling with their fate must rouse
The hero's throb. Nor can a land, at once,
Be loft to virtue quite. How glorious, then!
Fit luxury for gods! to fave the good,
Protect the feeble, dash bold Vice afide,
Deprefs the wicked, and reftore the frail!
Pofterity, befides, the young are pure,
And fons may tinge their father's cheek with fhame.
Should, then, the times arrive (which Heaven avert!)
That Britons bend unnerv'd, not by the force 305
Of arms, more generous, and more manly, quell'd,
But by Corruption's foul-dejecting arts,
Arts impudent! and grofs! by their own gold,
In part beftow'd, to bribe them to give all :
With party raging, or immers'd in floth, 319
Should they Britannia's well-fought laurels yield
To flily-conquering Gaul, even from her brow
Let her own naval oak be bafely torn,
By fuch as tremble at the ftiffening gale,
And nervelefs fink while others fing rejoic'd. 315 Or (darker profpect! fcarce one gleam behind Difclofing) fhould the broad corruptive plague Breathe from the City to the furtheft hut
That fits ferene within the forest-shade,
The fever'd people fire, inflame their wants,
And their luxurious thirst, so gathering ragé,
That, were a buyer found, they stand prepar'd
To fell their birthright for a cooling draught;
Should fhameless pens for plain Corruption plead,
The hir'd affaffins of the Commonweal!
325
Deem'd the declaiming rant of Greece and Rome;
Should Public Virtue grow the public fcoff,
Till Private, failing, staggers thro' the land;
Till round the City loose mechanic Want,
Dire-prowling nightly, makes the cheerful haunt
Of men more hideous than Numidian wilds,
Nor from its fury fleeps the vale in peace,
And murders, horrors, perjuries abound;
Nay, till to loweft deeds the highest stoop,
The rich, like ftarving wretches, thirst for gold, 335
And thofe on whom the vernal showers of Heaven
All-bounteous fall, and that prime lot bestow,
A power to live to Nature and themselves,
In fick attendance wear their anxious days,
With fortune joylefs, and with honours mean. 340
Mean time, perhaps, profufion flows around,
The wafte of war, without the works of peace;
No mark of millions in the gulf absorpt
Of uncreating Vice, none but the rage
Of rous'd Corruption ftill demanding more:
That very portion which (by faithful skill
Employ'd) might make the fmiling public rear
Her ornamented head, drill'd thro' the hands Of mercenary tools, ferves but to nurse 4 A locuft-band within, and in the bud
Leaves ftary'd each work of dignity and use.
I paint the worst: but should these times arrive, If any nobler paffion yet remain,
Let all My fons all parties fling afide,
Defpife their nonfenfe, and together join;
Let Worth and Virtue, fcorning low defpair,
Exerted full, from every quarter shine,
Commix'd in heightened blaze. Light flash'd to light,
Moral, or intellectual, more intense
By giving glows. As on pure winter's eve,
Gradual, the stars effulge, fainter, at first,
They, ftraggling, rife; but when the radiant hoft,
In thick profufion pour'd, shine out immenfe,
Each cafting vivid influence on each,
From pole to pole a glittering deluge plays, 365
And worlds above rejoice, and men below.
But why to Britons this fuperfluous strain ?—
Good-nature, honeft truth, even somewhat blunt,
Of crooked bafeness an indignant fcorn,
A zeal unyielding in their country's caufe,
And ready bounty, wont to dwell with them-
Nor only wont-Wide o'er the land diffus'd,
In many a bleft retirement ftill they dwell.
To fofter profpect turn we now the view,
To laurell'd Science, Arts, and Public Works. 375
That lend My finish'd fabric comely pride,
Grandeur and grace. Of fullen genius he!
Curs'd by the Mufes! by the Graces loath'd!
Who deems beneath the Public's high regard
These last enlivening touches of My reign. 380
However puff'd with power, and gorg'd with wealth,
A nation be! let trade enormous rife,
Let Eaft and South their mingled treasure pour,
Till, fwell'd impetuous, the corrupting flood
Burft o'er the City and devour the land;
Yet thefe neglected, these recording Arts,
Wealth rots, a nuifance; and, oblivious funk,
That nation must another Carthage lie.
If not by them on monumental brafs,
On fculptur'd marble, on the deathlefs page, 390
Impreft, renown had left no trace behind;
In vain, to future times, the fage had thought,
The legiflator plann'd, the hero found
A beauteous death, the patriot toil'd in vain :
Th' awarders they of Fame's immortal wreath; 395
They rouze Ambition, they the mind exalt,
Give great ideas, lovely forms infufe,
Delight the general eye, and dreft by them,
The moral Venus glows with double charms.
Science, My clofe affociate, ftills attends
Where'er I go. Sometimes in fimple guife
She walks the furrow with fome Conful-fwain,
Whispering unletter'd wisdom to the heart,
Direct; or, fometimes, in the pompous robe
Of Fancy dreft, fhe charms Athenian wits,
And a whole fapient city round her burns.
Then o'er her brow Minerva's terrors nod.
With Xenophon, fometimes, in dire extremes,
She breathes deliberate foul, and makes retreat *
Unequall'd glory. With the Theban fage,
Epaminondas, first and best of men!
Sometimes fhe bids the deep-embattled host,
Above the vulgar reach refiftlefs form'd,
March to fure conqueft-never gain'd before t!
Nor on the treacherous feas of giddy state
Unfkilful fhe, when the triumphant tide
Of high-fwoln Empire wears one boundless smile,
And the gale tempts to new purfuits of fame,
Sometimes, with Scipio, fhe collects her fail,
And feeks the blissful shore of rural cafe,
Where, but the Aonian maids, no Sirens fing:
Or fhould the deep-brew'd tempeft muttering rife,
While rocks and fhoals perfidious lurk around,
With Tully fhe her wide-reviving light
To fenates holds, a Catiline confounds,
And faves a while from Cæfar finking Rome.
The famous retreat of the Ten thousand was chiefly conducted by Xenophon.
Epaminondas, after having beat the Lacedemonians and their allies, in the battle of Leutra, made an incurfion, at the head of a powerful army, into Laconia. It was now fix hundred years fince the Dorians had poffeffed this country, and in all that time the face of an enemy had not been feen within their territo ties. Plutarch in Agefilaus.
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