LIBERTY
.
PART
I.
O
MY
lamented
TALBOT
!
while
with
Thee
The
Muse
gay-rov'd
the
glad
Hesperian
Round
,
And
drew
th'
inspiring
Breath
of
Ancient
Arts
;
Ah
!
little
thought
she
her
returning
Verse
Should
sing
our
Darling
Subject
to
thy
Shade
.
And
does
the
Mystic
Veil
,
from
mortal
Beam
,
Involve
those
Eyes
where
every
Virtue
smil'd
,
And
all
the
FATHER'S
candid
Spirit
shone
?
The
Light
of
Reason
,
pure
,
without
a
Cloud
;
Full
of
the
generous
Heart
,
the
mild
Regard
;
Unblemish'd
Honour
,
uncorrupted
Faith
;
And
limpid
Truth
,
that
looks
the
very
Soul
.
But
to
the
Death
of
mighty
Nations
turn'd
My
Strain
,
be
there
absorb'd
the
Private
Tear
.
MUSING
,
I
lay
;
warm
from
the
sacred
Walks
,
Where
at
each
step
Imagination
burns
:
Ten
thousand
Wonders
rowling
in
my
thought
,
As
the
Great
Scene
of
deathless
deeds
I
tread
,
Tread
the
blest
Ground
by
more
than
mortals
trod
,
And
see
those
Skies
that
breath'd
the
Roman
Soul
.
Mean
time
wide-scatter'd
round
,
awful
,
and
hoar
,
Lies
a
vast
Monument
once
glorious
Rome
,
The
Tomb
of
Empire
!
Ruins
!
that
efface
Whate'er
,
of
finish'd
,
modern
Pomp
can
boast
.
Of
these
Ideas
full
,
reposing
Sense
In
slumber
sunk
;
and
Fancy's
Magic
hand
Led
me
anew
o'er
all
the
solemn
Scene
,
Still
in
the
Mind's
pure
eye
more
solemn
drest
.
When
strait
,
methought
,
the
fair
majestic
POWER
Of
LIBERTY
appear'd
.
Not
,
as
of
old
,
Extended
in
her
hand
the
Cap
,
and
Rod
,
Whose
Slave-inlarging
touch
gave
double
life
:
But
her
bright
Temples
bound
with
British
Oak
,
And
Naval
Honours
nodded
on
her
Brow
.
Sublime
her
Port
.
Loose
o'er
her
Shoulder
flow'd
Her
sea-green
Robe
,
with
Constellations
gay
.
An
Island
Goddess
now
;
and
her
high
care
The
Queen
of
Isles
,
the
Mistress
of
the
Main
.
My
heart
beat
filial
transport
at
the
sight
;
And
,
as
she
mov'd
to
speak
,
th'
awaken'd
Muse
Listen'd
intense
.
A
while
she
look'd
around
,
With
mournful
eye
the
well-known
Ruins
mark'd
,
And
then
,
her
Sighs
repressing
,
thus
began
.
Mine
are
these
Wonders
,
all
thou
see'st
is
mine
;
But
ah
how
chang'd
!
the
falling
poor
Remains
Of
what
exalted
once
th'
Ausonian
Shore
.
Look
back
thro'
time
;
and
from
the
gloom
disclos'd
,
Painting
my
words
,
behold
the
scatter'd
Scene
.
The
Great
Republick
see
!
that
glow'd
sublime
With
the
mixt
Freedom
of
a
thousand
States
;
Rais'd
on
the
Thrones
of
Kings
her
Curule
Chair
,
And
by
her
Fasces
aw'd
the
subject
World
.
See
busy
Millions
swarming
all
the
Land
,
With
Cities
throng'd
,
and
teeming
Culture
high
:
For
on
her
free-born
Sons
then
Nature
smil'd
,
And
pour'd
the
Plenty
that
belongs
to
Men
.
Behold
,
the
Country
chearing
,
Villas
rise
,
In
lively
Prospect
;
by
the
secret
lapse
Of
Brooks
now
lost
,
and
Streams
renown'd
in
Song
:
In
Umbria's
closing
Vales
,
or
on
the
brow
Of
her
brown
Hills
that
breathe
the
scented
gale
:
On
Baia's
viny
coast
;
where
peaceful
Seas
,
Fan'd
by
kind
Zephirs
,
ever
kiss
the
shore
;
And
Suns
unclouded
shine
,
and
purest
Air
:
Or
in
the
spacious
Neighbourhood
of
Rome
;
Far-shining
upwards
to
the
Sabine
Hills
,
To
Anio's
Roar
,
and
Tibur's
Olive
Shade
;
To
where
Preneste
lifts
her
airy
Brow
;
Or
downwards
spreading
to
the
sunny
shore
,
Wav'd
from
the
main
,
where
Alba
draws
the
Breeze
.
See
distant
Mountains
leave
their
Vallies
dry
,
And
o'er
the
proud
Arcade
their
Tribute
pour
,
To
lave
Imperial
Rome
.
For
ages
laid
Deep
,
massy
,
firm
,
diverging
every
way
,
From
sea
to
sea
,
her
Public
Roads
behold
:
By
various
Nations
trod
,
and
suppliant
Kings
;
With
Legions
flaming
,
or
with
Triumph
green
.
Full
in
the
Centre
of
these
wondrous
Works
,
While
Tombs
of
Heroes
consecrate
the
way
,
The
Pride
of
Earth
!
Rome
in
her
Glory
see
!
Behold
her
Demigods
,
in
Senate
met
;
All
Head
to
counsel
,
and
all
Heart
to
act
:
The
Commonweal
inspiring
every
Tongue
With
fervent
Eloquence
,
unbrib'd
,
and
bold
;
Ere
low
Corruption
taught
the
Servile
Herd
To
know
a
Master's
voice
.
Astonish'd
,
mark
Her
Forum
,
earnest
,
popular
,
and
loud
,
In
trembling
wonder
hush'd
,
when
the
two
L.
J.
Brutus
,
and
Virginius
.
SIRES
,
As
they
the
Private
Father
greatly
quell'd
,
Stood
up
the
Public
Fathers
of
the
State
.
See
Justice
judging
there
in
Human
Shape
.
Hark
how
with
Freedom's
voice
it
thunders
high
,
Or
in
soft
murmurs
sinks
to
TULLY'S
tongue
.
Her
Tribes
,
her
Census
see
;
her
Generous
Troops
,
Whose
Pay
was
Glory
,
and
whose
best
Reward
Free
for
their
Country
and
for
ME
to
die
;
Ere
Mercenary
Murder
grew
a
Trade
.
Mark
,
as
the
purple
Triumph
waves
along
,
The
highest
Pomp
and
lowest
Fall
of
Life
.
Her
Festive
Games
,
the
School
of
Heroes
,
see
;
Her
Circus
,
ardent
with
contending
Youth
;
Her
Streets
,
her
Temples
,
Palaces
,
and
Baths
,
Full
of
fair
Forms
of
Beauty's
eldest
born
,
And
of
a
Race
by
Plastic
Virtue
mark'd
.
While
Sculpture
lives
around
,
and
Asian
Hills
Lend
their
best
Stores
to
heave
the
pillar'd
Dome
:
All
that
to
Roman
Grandeur
the
soft
Touch
Of
Grecian
Art
can
join
.
But
Language
fails
To
paint
this
Sun
,
this
Center
of
Mankind
;
Where
every
Virtue
,
Glory
,
Treasure
,
Art
,
Attracted
strong
,
in
heighten'd
lustre
met
.
Need
I
the
Contrast
mark
?
unjoyous
View
!
A
Land
in
all
,
in
Government
,
and
Arts
,
In
Virtue
,
Genius
,
Heaven
and
Earth
revers'd
.
Who
but
these
far-fam'd
Ruins
to
behold
,
Proofs
of
a
People
,
whose
heroic
Aims
Soar'd
far
above
the
little
selfish
sphere
Of
doubting
modern
Life
;
who
but
inflam'd
With
Classic
Zeal
,
the
consecrated
Scenes
Of
Men
and
Deeds
to
trace
,
the
Wonder
,
Theme
,
And
Model
of
Mankind
;
unhappy
Land
!
Would
trust
thy
Wilds
,
and
Cities
loose
of
sway
?
Are
these
the
Vales
,
that
once
exulting
States
In
their
warm
bosom
fed
?
The
Mountains
these
,
On
whose
high-blooming
sides
my
Sons
of
old
I
bred
to
Glory
?
These
dejected
Towns
,
Sordid
,
and
mean
,
where
Life
can
scarce
subsist
,
The
Scenes
of
Antient
Opulence
,
and
Pomp
?
Come
!
by
whatever
Sacred
Name
disguis'd
,
OPPRESSION
,
come
!
and
in
thy
works
rejoice
!
See
Nature's
richest
Plains
to
putrid
Fens
Turn'd
by
thy
Rage
.
From
their
unchearful
bounds
See
raz'd
th'
enliv'ning
Village
,
Farm
,
and
Seat
.
First
Rural
Toil
,
by
thy
rapacious
hand
Robb'd
of
his
poor
Reward
,
resign'd
the
Plow
;
And
now
he
dares
not
turn
the
noxious
Glebe
.
'Tis
thine
intire
.
The
lonely
Swain
himself
,
Who
loves
at
large
along
the
grassy
Downs
His
flocks
to
pasture
,
Thine
abhorrent
flies
.
Far
as
the
sickening
Eye
can
sweep
around
,
'Tis
all
one
Desart
,
desolate
,
and
grey
,
Graz'd
by
the
sullen
Bufalo
alone
;
And
where
the
rank
unventilated
Growth
Of
rotting
Ages
taints
the
passing
Gale
.
Beneath
the
baleful
Blast
the
City
pines
,
Or
sinks
infeebl'd
,
or
infected
burns
.
Beneath
it
mourns
the
solitary
Road
,
Roll'd
in
rude
Mazes
o'er
th'
abandon'd
Waste
;
While
Antient
Ways
,
ingulph'd
,
are
seen
no
more
.
Such
thy
dire
Plains
,
thou
Self-Destroyer
!
Foe
To
Human-kind
!
Thy
Mountains
too
,
profuse
Where
savage
Nature
blooms
,
seem
their
sad
plaint
To
raise
against
thy
desolating
Rod
.
There
on
the
breezy
Brow
,
where
thriving
States
,
And
famous
Cities
once
,
to
the
pleas'd
Sun
,
Far
other
Scenes
of
rising
Culture
spread
,
Pale
shine
thy
ragged
Towns
.
Neglected
round
,
Each
Harvest
pines
;
the
livid
,
lean
Produce
Of
heartless
Labour
:
while
thy
hated
Joys
,
Not
proper
Pleasure
,
lift
the
lazy
hand
.
Better
to
sink
in
Sloth
the
Woes
of
life
,
Than
wake
their
rage
with
unavailing
Toil
.
Hence
drooping
Art
almost
to
Nature
leaves
The
rude
,
unguided
Year
.
Thin
wave
the
Gifts
Of
yellow
Ceres
,
thin
the
radiant
Blush
Of
Orchard
reddens
in
the
warmest
ray
.
To
weedy
wildness
run
,
no
Rural
Wealth
,
(
Such
as
Dictators
fed
)
the
Garden
pours
.
Crude
the
wild
Olive
flows
,
and
foul
the
Vine
;
Nor
Juice
Coecubian
,
nor
Falernian
,
more
Streams
Life
,
and
Joy
,
save
in
the
Muse's
bowl
.
Unseconded
by
Art
,
the
spinning
Race
Draw
the
bright
thread
in
vain
,
and
idly
toil
.
In
vain
,
forlorn
in
wilds
,
the
Citron
blows
;
And
flowering
Plants
perfume
the
desart
gale
.
Thro'
the
vile
hedge
the
tender
Myrtle
twines
.
Inglorious
droops
the
Laurel
,
dead
to
Song
,
And
long
a
stranger
to
the
Heroe's
brow
.
Nor
half
thy
Triumph
this
:
cast
from
brute
Fields
Into
the
Haunts
of
Men
thy
ruthless
eye
.
There
buxom
Plenty
never
turns
her
horn
;
The
Grace
and
Virtue
of
exterior
Life
,
No
clean
Convenience
reigns
;
even
Sleep
itself
,
Least
delicate
of
Powers
,
reluctant
there
Lays
on
the
Bed
impure
his
heavy
head
.
Thy
horrid
Walk
!
dead
,
empty
,
unadorn'd
,
See
Streets
whose
Echos
never
know
the
voice
Of
chearful
Hurry
,
Commerce
many-tongue'd
,
And
Art
mechanic
at
his
various
task
Fervent
employ'd
.
Mark
the
desponding
Race
,
Of
Occupation
void
,
as
void
of
Hope
;
Hope
the
glad
Ray
,
glanc'd
from
ETERNAL
GOOD
,
That
Life
enlivens
,
and
exalts
it's
Powers
,
With
views
of
Fortune
—
Madness
all
to
them
!
By
Thee
relentless
seiz'd
their
better
Joys
,
To
the
soft
aid
of
cordial
Airs
they
fly
,
A
kind
Oblivion
breathing
o'er
their
Woes
,
And
Love
and
Music
melt
their
Souls
away
.
From
feeble
Justice
see
how
rash
Revenge
,
Trembling
,
the
Ballance
snatches
;
and
her
Sword
,
Fearful
himself
,
to
venal
Ruffians
gives
.
See
where
GOD'S
Altar
nursing
Murder
stands
,
With
the
red
touch
of
dark
Assassins
stain'd
.
But
chief
let
Rome
,
the
mighty
City
!
speak
The
full-exerted
Genius
of
thy
Reign
.
Behold
Her
rise
amid
the
lifeless
Waste
,
Expiring
Nature
all
corrupted
round
;
While
the
lone
Tyber
,
thro'
the
desart
Shore
,
Winds
his
waste
stores
,
and
sullen
sweeps
along
.
Patch'd
from
my
Fragments
,
in
unsolid
Pomp
,
Mark
how
the
Temple
glares
;
and
,
artful
drest
,
Amusive
draws
the
superstitious
Train
.
Mark
how
the
Palace
lifts
a
lying
front
,
Concealing
often
,
in
magnific
Jail
,
Proud
Want
,
a
deep
unanimated
Gloom
!
And
often
joining
to
the
drear
abode
Of
Misery
,
whose
melancholy
walls
Seem
its
voracious
Grandeur
to
reproach
.
Within
the
City
Bounds
,
the
Desart
see
.
See
the
rank
Vine
o'er
subterranean
roofs
,
Indecent
,
spread
;
beneath
whose
fretted
gold
It
once
exulting
flow'd
.
The
People
mark
,
Matchless
,
while
fir'd
by
me
;
to
Public
Good
Inexorably
firm
,
just
,
generous
,
brave
,
Afraid
of
nothing
but
unworthy
Life
,
Elate
with
Glory
,
an
Heroic
Soul
Known
to
the
Vulgar
Breast
:
behold
them
now
A
thin
despairing
Number
,
all
subdu'd
,
The
Slaves
of
Slaves
,
by
Superstition
fool'd
,
By
Vice
unman'd
and
a
licentious
Rule
,
In
Guile
ingenious
,
and
in
Murder
brave
.
Such
in
one
Land
,
beneath
the
same
fair
Clime
,
Thy
Sons
,
OPPRESSION
,
are
;
and
such
were
MINE
.
Even
with
thy
labour'd
State
,
for
whose
vain
show
Deluded
Thousands
starve
;
all
age-begrim'd
,
Torn
robb'd
and
scatter'd
in
unnumber'd
Sacks
,
And
by
the
Tempest
of
two
thousand
Years
Continual
shaken
,
let
my
Ruins
vie
.
These
Roads
that
yet
the
Roman
hand
assert
,
Beyond
the
weak
repair
of
modern
Toil
;
These
fractur'd
Arches
,
that
the
chiding
Stream
No
more
delighted
hear
;
these
rich
Remains
Of
Marbles
now
unknown
,
where
shines
imbib'd
Each
parent
ray
;
these
massy
Columns
,
hew'd
From
Africk's
farthest
shore
;
one
Granite
all
,
These
Obelisks
high-towering
to
the
Sky
,
Mysterious
mark'd
with
dark
Egyptian
Lore
;
These
endless
Wonders
that
this
Via
Sacra
.
Sacred
Way
Illumine
still
,
and
consecrate
to
Fame
;
These
Fountains
,
Vases
,
Urns
,
and
Statues
,
charg'd
With
the
fine
stores
of
Art-compleating
Greece
.
From
these
too
drawn
,
mine
is
thy
every
Boast
:
Thy
M.
ANGELO
BUONAROTI
,
PALLADIO
,
and
RAPHAEL
D'UR
BINO
;
the
three
great
modern
Masters
in
Sculpture
,
Architecture
,
and
Painting
.
BUONAROTIS
,
thy
PALLADIOS
mine
;
And
mine
the
fair
Designs
,
that
RAPHAEL'S
soul
O'er
the
live
canvass
emanating
breath'd
.
What
would
you
say
,
ye
Conquerors
of
Earth
!
Ye
Romans
!
could
you
raise
the
laurel'd
Head
;
Could
you
the
Country
see
,
with
Seas
of
blood
,
And
the
dread
Toil
of
ages
,
won
so
dear
;
Your
Pride
,
your
Triumph
,
your
supreme
Delight
!
For
whose
Defence
oft
,
in
the
doubtful
hour
,
You
rush'd
with
rapture
down
the
gulph
of
Fate
,
Of
Death
ambitious
!
till
by
awful
Deeds
,
Virtues
,
and
Courage
,
that
amaze
Mankind
,
The
Queen
of
Nations
rose
;
possest
of
all
That
Nature
,
Art
,
and
Glory
could
bestow
:
What
would
you
say
,
deep
in
the
last
Abyss
Of
Slavery
,
Vice
,
and
unambitious
Want
,
Thus
to
behold
her
sunk
?
Your
crowded
Plains
,
Void
of
their
Cities
;
unadorn'd
your
Hills
;
Ungrac'd
your
Lakes
;
your
Ports
to
Ships
unknown
;
Your
lawless
Floods
,
and
your
abandon'd
Streams
;
These
could
you
know
?
these
could
you
love
again
?
Thy
Tibur
,
HORACE
,
could
it
now
inspire
Content
,
Poetic
Ease
,
and
Rural
Joy
,
Soon
bursting
into
Song
:
while
thro'
the
Groves
Of
headlong
Anio
,
dashing
to
the
Vale
,
In
many
a
tortur'd
Stream
,
you
mus'd
along
?
Tusculum
is
reckoned
to
have
stood
at
a
Place
now
called
Grotta
Ferrata
,
a
Convent
of
Monks
.
Yon
wild
retreat
,
where
Superstition
dreams
,
Could
,
TULLY
,
you
your
Tusculum
believe
?
And
could
you
deem
yon
naked
Hills
,
that
form
,
Fam'd
in
old
Song
,
the
Ship-forsaken
The
Bay
of
Mola
(
anciently
Formiae
)
into
which
HOMER
brings
ULYSSES
,
and
his
Companions
.
Near
Formiae
CICERO
had
a
Villa
.
Bay
,
Your
Formian
Shore
?
Once
the
Delight
of
Earth
,
Where
Art
and
Nature
,
ever-smiling
,
join'd
On
the
gay
Land
to
lavish
all
their
Stores
;
How
chang'd
,
how
vacant
,
VIRGIL
,
wide
around
,
Would
now
your
Naples
seem
?
Disaster'd
less
By
black
Vesuvius
thundering
o'er
the
Coast
,
His
midnight
Earthquakes
,
and
his
mining
Fires
,
Than
by
Despotic
Rage
:
that
inward
gnaws
,
A
native
Foe
;
a
foreign
,
tears
without
.
First
from
your
flatter'd
CAESARS
This
begun
;
Till
houseless
spreads
,
at
last
,
the
Campagna
selice
,
adjoining
to
Capua
.
Syren
Plain
,
That
the
dire
Soul
of
HANNIBAL
disarm'd
;
And
wrapt
in
Weeds
the
The
Coast
of
Baia
;
which
was
formerly
adorned
with
the
Works
mentioned
in
the
following
Lines
;
and
where
amidst
many
magnificent
Ruins
,
those
of
a
Tem
ple
erected
to
Venus
are
still
to
be
seen
.
Shore
of
Venus
lies
.
There
Baia
sees
no
more
the
joyous
Throng
;
Her
banks
all
beaming
with
the
Pride
of
Rome
:
No
generous
Vines
now
bask
along
the
Hills
,
Where
sport
the
Breezes
of
the
Tyrrhene
main
:
With
Baths
and
Temples
mixt
,
no
Villas
rise
;
Nor
,
Art-sustain'd
amid
reluctant
Waves
,
Draw
the
cool
murmurs
of
the
breathing
Deep
:
No
spreading
Ports
their
sacred
Arms
extend
:
No
mighty
Moles
the
big
intrusive
Storm
,
From
the
calm
Station
,
roll
resounding
back
.
An
almost
total
Desolation
sits
,
A
dreary
Stillness
,
sad'ning
o'er
the
Coast
;
All
along
this
Coast
,
the
antient
Romans
had
their
Winter
retreats
;
and
seve
ral
populous
Cities
stood
.
Where
,
when
soft
Suns
and
tepid
Winters
rose
,
Rejoicing
Crowds
inhal'd
the
balm
of
Peace
;
Where
city'd
Hill
to
Hill
reflected
blaze
;
And
where
,
with
Ceres
,
Bacchus
wont
to
hold
A
genial
Strife
:
Her
youthful
Form
,
robust
,
Even
Nature
yields
;
by
Fire
,
and
Earthquake
rent
:
Whole
stately
Cities
in
the
dark
Abrupt
Swallow'd
at
once
,
or
vile
in
rubbish
laid
,
A
nest
for
Serpents
;
from
the
red
Abyss
New
Hills
,
explosive
,
thrown
;
the
Lucrine
Lake
A
reedy
Pool
;
and
all
to
Cuma's
Point
,
The
Sea
recovering
his
usurp'd
Domain
,
And
pour'd
triumphant
o'er
the
bury'd
Dome
.
Hence
,
BRITAIN
,
learn
;
my
best-establish'd
,
last
,
And
more
than
GREECE
,
or
ROME
,
my
steady
Reign
;
The
Land
where
,
King
and
People
equal
bound
By
guardian
Laws
,
my
fullest
Blessings
flow
;
And
where
my
jealous
unsubmitting
Soul
,
The
dread
of
Tyrants
!
burns
in
every
breast
:
Learn
hence
,
if
such
the
miserable
fate
Of
an
heroic
Race
,
the
Masters
once
Of
Humankind
;
what
,
when
depriv'd
of
ME
,
How
grievous
must
be
thine
?
In
spite
of
Climes
,
Whose
Sun-enliven'd
Aether
wakes
the
Soul
To
higher
Powers
;
in
spite
of
happy
Soils
,
That
,
but
by
Labour's
slightest
aid
impell'd
,
With
Treasures
teem
to
thy
cold
Clime
unknown
;
If
there
desponding
fail
the
common
Arts
,
And
sustenance
of
life
:
could
Life
itself
,
Or
,
heart-consum'd
,
a
Tyrant's
rotten
Pomp
,
Subsist
with
thee
?
Against
depressing
Skies
,
Join'd
to
full-spread
Oppression's
cloudy
Brow
,
How
could
thy
Spirits
hold
?
where
Vigour
find
,
Forc'd
Fruits
to
tear
from
their
unnative
Soil
?
Or
every
Harvest
storing
in
thy
Ports
,
Profuse
of
all
,
to
plow
the
dreadful
Wave
?
Here
paus'd
the
GODDESS
.
By
the
Pause
assur'd
,
In
trembling
accents
thus
I
mov'd
my
Prayer
.
"
Oh
first
,
and
most
benevolent
of
Powers
!
"
Come
from
eternal
Splendors
,
here
on
Earth
,
"
Against
despotic
Pride
,
and
Rage
,
and
Lust
,
"
To
shield
Mankind
;
to
raise
them
to
assert
"
The
native
Rights
,
and
Honour
of
their
Race
.
"
Teach
me
thy
lowest
Subject
,
but
in
Zeal
"
Yielding
to
none
,
the
PROGRESS
OF
THY
REIGN
,
"
And
with
a
Strain
from
THEE
enrich
the
Muse
.
"
For
thy
proud
Slave
,
alone
;
her
Patron
Thou
,
"
And
great
Inspirer
be
!
then
will
she
joy
,
"
Tho'
narrow
Life
her
Lot
,
and
Private
Shade
:
"
And
when
her
Venal
Voice
she
barters
vile
,
"
Or
to
thy
open
or
thy
secret
Foes
;
"
May
ne'er
those
sacred
Raptures
touch
her
more
,
"
By
slavish
Hearts
unfelt
!
and
may
her
Song
"
Sink
in
oblivion
with
the
nameless
Crew
!
"
Vermin
of
State
!
to
thy
o'erflowing
Light
"
That
owe
their
Being
,
yet
betray
thy
Cause
.
"
Then
,
condescending
kind
,
the
HEAVENLY
POWER
Return'd
.
—
"
What
here
,
suggested
by
the
Scene
,
"
I
slight
unfold
,
record
,
and
sing
at
home
,
"
In
that
blest
Isle
,
where
(
so
we
Spirits
move
)
"
With
one
quick
effort
of
my
Will
I
am
.
"
There
Truth
,
unlicens'd
,
walks
;
even
Kings
themselves
"
Invite
her
forth
,
the
Monarchs
of
the
Free
!
"
By
that
best
Glory
pierc'd
,
that
God-like
Joy
,
"
That
gay
Security
,
that
Pride
of
Rule
;
"
When
Men
,
not
Slaves
,
when
all-performing
Love
,
"
Not
sluggish
Hate
,
and
faithless
Fear
,
obey
.
"
Fix'd
on
my
Rock
,
there
an
Indulgent
Race
"
O'er
BRITONS
wield
the
Scepter
of
the
Heart
:
"
And
,
mixing
Worth
with
Worth
,
the
ROYAL
PAIR
"
To
steady
Justice
yielding
Goodness
join
.
"
Nor
sets
the
Prospect
in
this
pleasing
view
;
"
While
there
,
to
finish
what
his
Sires
began
,
"
A
PRINCE
behold
!
for
ME
who
burns
sincere
,
"
Even
with
a
Subject's
Zeal
.
He
my
great
Work
"
Will
Parent-like
sustain
;
and
added
give
"
The
Touch
,
the
Graces
and
the
Muses
owe
.
"
For
BRITAIN'S
Glory
swells
his
panting
Breast
;
"
And
Antient
Arts
He
emulous
revolves
:
"
His
Pride
to
let
the
smiling
Heart
abroad
,
"
Thro'
Clouds
of
Pomp
,
that
but
conceal
the
Man
;
"
To
please
his
Pleasure
;
Bounty
his
Delight
;
"
And
all
the
Soul
of
TITUS
dwells
in
Him
.
"
Hail
glorious
Theme
!
But
how
alas
!
shall
Verse
,
From
the
crude
Stores
of
mortal
Language
drawn
,
How
faint
and
tedious
,
sing
,
what
,
piercing
deep
,
The
GODDESS
flash'd
at
once
upon
my
Soul
.
For
,
clear
Precision
all
,
the
Tongue
of
Gods
Is
Harmony
itself
;
to
every
Ear
Familiar
known
,
like
Light
to
every
Eye
.
Mean
time
disclosing
Ages
,
as
She
spoke
,
In
dread
Succession
pour'd
their
Empires
forth
;
Scene
after
Scene
,
the
Human
Drama
spread
;
And
still
th'embody'd
Picture
rush'd
to
sight
.
Oh
THOU
!
to
whom
the
Muses
owe
their
flame
;
Who
bid'st
beneath
the
Pole
Parnassus
rise
,
And
Hippocrenè
flow
;
with
thy
bold
Ease
The
striking
Force
,
the
Lightning
of
thy
Thought
,
And
thy
strong
Phrase
,
that
rowls
profound
,
and
clear
;
Oh
gracious
GODDESS
!
reinspire
my
Song
:
While
I
,
to
nobler
than
Poetic
Fame
Aspiring
,
thy
Commands
to
BRITONS
bear
.