ODE
TO
LIBERTY
.
BY
DR.
JOSEPH
WARTON
.
O
Goddess
,
on
whose
steps
attend
Pleasure
and
laughter-loving
Health
,
White-mantled
Peace
with
olive-wand
,
Young
Joy
,
and
diamond-scepter'd
Wealth
,
Blithe
Plenty
,
with
her
loaded
horn
,
With
Science
bright-ey'd
as
the
morn
,
In
Britain
,
which
for
ages
past
Has
been
thy
choicest
darling
care
,
Who
mad'st
her
wise
,
and
strong
,
and
fair
,
May
thy
best
blessings
ever
last
.
For
thee
,
the
pining
prisoner
mourns
,
Depriv'd
of
food
,
of
mirth
,
of
light
;
For
thee
pale
slaves
to
galleys
chain'd
,
That
ply
tough
oars
from
morn
to
night
;
Thee
the
proud
Sultan's
beauteous
train
,
By
eunuchs
guarded
,
weep
in
vain
,
Tearing
the
roses
from
their
locks
;
And
Guinea's
captive
kings
lament
,
By
Christian
lords
to
labour
sent
,
Whipt
like
the
dull
,
unfeeling
ox
.
Inspir'd
by
thee
,
deaf
to
fond
Nature's
cries
,
Stern
Brutus
,
when
Rome's
Genius
loudly
spoke
,
Gave
her
the
matchless
filial
sacrifice
,
Nor
turn'd
,
nor
trembled
at
the
deathful
stroke
!
And
he
of
later
age
,
but
equal
fame
,
Dar'd
stab
the
tyrant
,
tho'
he
lov'd
the
friend
.
How
burnt
the
Leonidas
.
Spartan
with
warm
patriot-flame
,
In
thy
great
cause
his
valorous
life
to
end
!
How
burst
Gustavus
from
the
Swedish
mine
!
Like
light
from
chaos
dark
,
eternally
to
shine
.
When
heaven
to
all
thy
joys
bestows
,
And
graves
upon
our
hearts
—
Be
free
—
Shall
coward
man
those
joys
resign
,
And
dare
reverse
this
great
decree
?
Submit
him
to
some
idol-king
,
Some
selfish
,
passion-guided
thing
,
Abhorring
man
,
by
man
abhorr'd
,
Around
whose
throne
stands
trembling
Doubt
,
Whose
jealous
eyes
still
rowl
about
,
And
Murder
with
his
reeking
sword
?
Where
trampling
Tyranny
with
Fate
And
black
Revenge
gigantic
goes
:
Hark
,
how
the
dying
infants
shriek
,
How
hopeless
Age
is
sunk
in
woes
!
Fly
,
mortals
,
from
that
fated
land
,
Tho'
rivers
roll
o'er
golden
sand
:
Tho'
birds
in
shades
of
Cassia
sing
,
Harvests
and
fruits
spontaneous
rise
,
No
storms
disturb
the
smiling
skies
,
And
each
sost
breeze
rich
odours
bring
.
Britannia
,
watch
!
—
remember
peerless
Rome
,
Her
high-tower'd
head
dash'd
meanly
to
the
ground
;
Remember
,
Freedom's
guardian
,
Grecia's
doom
,
Whom
weeping
the
despotic
Turk
has
bound
:
May
ne'er
thy
oak-crown'd
hills
,
rich
meads
and
downs
,
(
Fame
,
Virtue
,
Courage
,
Poverty
,
forgot
)
Thy
peaceful
villages
,
and
bufy
towns
,
Be
doom'd
some
death-dispensing
tyrant's
lot
;
On
deep
foundations
may
thy
freedom
stand
,
Long
as
the
surge
shall
lash
thy
sea-encircled
land
.