Assiduous booby mounting o'er your head,
And thence with saucy grandeur looking down :
Think of (Reflection's stab !) the pitying friend
With shoulder shrugg'd, and sorry.
Has golden minutes, if discreetly seiz❜d:
And if some sad example, indolent,
To warn and scare be wanting-think of me.
FRENCH pow'r, and weak allies, and war, and want-
No more of that, my friend; you touch a string
That hurts my ear. All politics apart,
Except a gen'rous wish, a glowing pray'r
For British welfare, commerce, glory, peace.
Give party to the winds: it is a word,
A phantom sound, by which the cunning great
Whistle to their dependents: a decoy,
To gull th' unwary: where the master stands
Encouraging his minions, his train'd birds,
Fed and caress'd, their species to betray.
See, with what hollow blandishment and art
They lead the winged captives to the snare;
Fools! that in open aether might have soar'd,
Free as the air they cut; sipt purest rills;
Din'd with the Thames, or bath'd in crystal lakes.
Heav'n knows, it is not insolence that speaks!
The tribute of respect, to greatness due,
Not the brib'd sycophant more willing pays.
Still, still as much of party be retain❜d,
As principle requires, and sense directs;
Else our vain bark, without a rudder, floats,
The scorn and pastime of each veering gale.
This gentle evening let the sun descend
Untroubled; while it paints your ambient hills
With faded lustre, and a sweet farewell :
Here is our seat. That castle opposite,
Proud of its woody crest, adorns the scene.
Dictate, O vers'd in books, and just of taste,
Dictate the pleasing theme of our discourse.
Shall we trace science from her Eastern home
Chaldean or the banks of Nile? where Thebes,
Nursing her daughter arts, majestic stood,
And pour'd forth knowledge from an hundred gates.
There first the marble learn'd to mimic form;
The pillar'd temple rose: and pyramids,
Whose undecaying grandeur laughs at Time.
Birth-place of letters; where the sun was shewn
His radiant way, and heavens were taught to roll,
There too the Muses tun'd their earliest lyre, Warbling soft numbers to Serapis' ear; 'Till, chas'd by tyrants, or a milder clime
Inviting, they remov'd with pilgrim harp,
And all their band of melody to Greece.
As when a flock of linnets, if perchance
Deliver'd from the falcon's talon, fly
With trembling wing to covert, and their notes
Renew, tell every bush of their escape,
And trill their merry thanks to Liberty.
The tuneful tribe, pleas'd with their new abode, Polish'd the rude inhabitants; whence tales Of list'ning woods, and rocks that danc'd to sound, Hear the full chorus lifting hymns to Jove ! Linus and Orpheus catch the strain; and all The raptur'd audience utter loud applause!
A song, believe me, was no trifle Then :
Weighty the Muse's task, and wide her sway:
Her's was Religion; the resounding Fanes
Echo'd her language; Polity was her's;
And the world bow'd to legislative verse.
As states increas'd, and governments were form'd, Her aid less useful, she retir'd to grots
And shady bow'rs, content to teach and please.
Under her laurel frequent bards repos'd;
Voluble Pindar troll'd his rapid song,
And Sappho breath'd her spirited complaint.
Hence sprung the tragic rage, the lyric charm,
And Homer's genuine thunder.-Happy Greece!
Bless'd in her offspring! Seat of eloquence,
Of arms and reason; patriot-virtue's seat!
Did the sun thither dart uncommon rays!
Did some presiding genius hover o'er
That animated soil with brooding wings!
The sad reverse might start a gentle tear.
Go, search for Athens; her deserted ports
Enter, a noiseless solitary shore,
Where commerce crouded the Piraean strand.
Trace her dark streets, her wall-embarrass'd shrines ;
And pensive wonder, where her glories beam'd.
Where are her orators, her sages, now?—
Shatter'd her mould'ring arcs, her tow'rs in dust,—
But far less ruin'd, than her soul decay'd.
The stone, inscrib'd to Socrates, debas'd
To prop a reeling cot.—Minerva's dome
Possess'd by those, who never kiss'd her shield.
-Upon the mount where old Musaeus sung,
Sits the gruff turban'd captain, and exacts
Harsh tribute !—In the grove, where Piato taught
His polish'd strain sublime, a stupid Turk
Is preaching ignorance and Mahomet.
(Where He, whom only dauntless Philip fear'd,
Shook the astonish'd throng;—here holy Paul
Harangu'd the Pagan multitude, and brought
To staring human wisdom news from heav'n.)
Turn next to Rome:-Is that the clime, the place, Where, on his laurel'd throne, with tuneful choirs Of arts surrounded, great Augustus reign'd?
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