Whatever filial cares thy zeal had paid
To laws infirm, and liberty decay'd;
Has begg'd Ambition to forgive the show;
Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe;
Has boasted in thy country's awful ear,

Her gross delusion when she held thee dear; How tame she follow'd thy tempestuous call,

And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all

Rise from your sad abodes, ye cursed of old
For laws subverted, and for cities sold!
Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt,
The oaths you perjured, and the blood you
spilt;

Yet must you one untempted vileness own,
One dreadful palm reserved for him alone;
With studied arts his country's praise to

Touch'd in the sighing shade with manlier fires,

To trace thy steps the love-sick youth aspires;

The learn'd recluse, who oft amazed had read

Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead,
With new amazement hears a living name
Pretend to share in such forgotten fame;
And he who, scorning courts and courtly

ways,

Left the tame track of these dejected days,
The life of nobler ages to renew

In virtues sacred from a monarch's view, Roused by thy labours from the bless'd retreat,

Where social ease and public passions meet,
Again ascending treads the civil scene,
To act and be a man, as thou hadst been.

Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew,
And the great end appear'd at last in view:
We heard the people in thy hopes rejoice,
We saw the senate bending to thy voice;
The friends of freedom hail'd the approaching
reign

Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain ; While venal Faction, struck with new dis

may,

Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandon'd lay.

Waked in the shock the public Genius rose,
Abash'd and keener from his long repose;
Sublime in ancient pride, he raised the spear
Which slaves and tyrants long were wont to
fear;

The city felt his call: from man to man,
From street to street, the glorious horror

ran;

Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power,

And, murmuring, challenged the deciding

hour.

Lo! the deciding hour at last appears; The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears!

Thou, Genius! guardian of the Roman name,
O ever prompt tyrannic rage to tame!
Instruct the mighty moments as they roll,
And guide each movement steady to the
goal.

Ye spirits by whose providential art
Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart,
Keep, keep the best in view to Curio's mind,
And watch his fancy, and his passions bind!
Ye shades immortal, who by Freedom led,
Or in the field or on the scaffold bled,
Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye,
And view the crown of all your labours nigh.
See Freedom mounting her eternal throne!
The sword submitted, and the laws her

own:

See public Power chastised beneath her stands,

With eyes intent, and uncorrupted hands!
See private Life by wisest arts reclaim'd!
See ardent youth to noblest manners framed!

See us acquire whate'er was sought by you,
If Curio, only Curio will be true.

'Twas then-O shame! O trust how ill repaid!

O Latium, oft by faithless sons betray'd!"Twas then-What frenzy on thy reason stole ? What spells soul ?

unsinew'd thy determined

Is this the man in Freedom's cause approved,
The man so great, so honour'd, so beloved,
This patient slave by tinsel chains allured,
This wretched suitor for a boon abjured,
This Curio, hated and despised by all,
Who fell himself to work his country's fall?
O lost, alike to action and repose!
Unknown, unpitied in the worst of woes!
With all that conscious, undissembled pride,
Sold to the insults of a foe defied!
With all that habit of familiar fame,
Doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in
shame!

The sole sad refuge of thy baffled art
To act a statesman's dull, exploded part,
Renounce the praise no longer in thy power,
Display thy virtue, though without a dower,
Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind,
And shut thy eyes that others may be
blind.-

Forgive me, Romans, that I bear to smile,
When shameless mouths your majesty defile,
Paint you a thoughtless, frantic, headlong
crew,

And cast their own impieties on you.

For witness, Freedom, to whose sacred power

My soul was vow'd from reason's earliest hour,

How have I stood exulting, to survey
My country's virtues, opening in thy ray!
How with the sons of every foreign shore
The more I match'd them, honour'd hers the
more !

O race erect! whose native strength of soul, Which kings, nor priests, nor sordid laws control,

Bursts the tame round of animal affairs,
And seeks a nobler centre for its cares;
Intent the laws of life to comprehend,
And fix dominion's limits by its end.
Who, bold and equal in their love or hate,
By conscious reason judging every state,
The man forget not, though in rags he lies,
And know the mortal through a crown's
disguise :

Thence prompt alike with witty scorn to view

Fastidious Grandeur lift his solemn brow,
Or, all awake at pity's soft command,

Bend the mild ear, and stretch the gracious hand:

Thence large of heart, from envy far removed,

When public toils to virtue stand approved,
Not the young lover fonder to admire,
Not more indulgent the delighted sire;

Quit with a slave the path a patriot trod,
Bow the meek knee, and kiss the regal rod;
Then still, ye powers, instruct his tongue to
rail,

Nor let his zeal, nor let his subject fail:
Else, ere he change the style, bear me away
To where the Gracchi, where the Bruti
stay!

O long revered, and late resign'd to shame!
If this uncourtly page thy notice claim
When the loud cares of business are with-
drawn,

Nor well-dress'd beggars round thy footsteps fawn ;

In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour,
When Truth exerts her unresisted power,
Breaks the false optics tinged with fortune's
glare,

Unlocks the breast, and lays the passions

bare;

Then turn thy eyes on that important scene,
And ask thyself-if all be well within.
Where is the heart-felt worth and weight of
soul,

Which labour could not stop, nor fear control?

Where the known dignity, the stamp of

And where she sees the catching glimpses roll,

Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the soul;

But cold restraints thy conscious fancy chill, And formal passions mock thy struggling will;

Or, if thy Genius e'er forget his chain,
And reach impatient at a nobler strain,
Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth
Shoot through thy breast, and stab the ge-
nerous birth,

Till, blind with smart, from truth to frenzy toss'd,

And all the tenor of thy reason lost,

Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear; While some with pity, some with laughter hear.

Can art, alas! or genius, guide the head, Where truth and freedom from the heart are fled ?

Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke, When the prime function of the soul is broke?

But come, unhappy man! thy fates impend;

Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou hast a friend;

Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like thine,

Renounce thy titles, and thy robes resign;
For see the hand of Destiny display'd

To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd!

See the dire fame of Infamy arise!

Dark as the grave, and spacious as the

skies;

Where, from the first of time, thy kindred train,

The chiefs and princes of the unjust remain.
Eternal barriers guard the pathless road
To warn the wanderer of the cursed abode;
But prone as whirlwinds scour the assive p
sky,

The heights surmounted, down the steep they fly.

There, black with frowns, relentless Time awaits,

No gleam of hope their baleful mansion cheers,

No sound of honour hails their unbless'd ears;

But dire reproaches from the friend be

tray'd,

The childless sire and violated maid;

But vengeful vows for guardian laws effaced, From towns enslaved, and continents laid waste;

But long posterity's united groan,

And the sad charge of horrors not their own, For ever through the trembling space resound, And sink each impious forehead to the ground.

Ye mighty foes of liberty and rest, Give way, do homage to a mightier guest! Ye daring spirits of the Roman race, See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface! Awed at the name, fierce Appius rising bends,

And hardy Cinna from his throne attends: "He comes," they cry, "to whom the fates assign'd

With surer arts to work what we design'd, From year to year the stubborn herd to sway, Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage

obey;

Till own'd their guide, and trusted with their power,

He mock'd their hopes in one decisive hour; Then, tired and yielding, led them to the chain,

And quench'd the spirit we provoked in vain."

But thou, Supreme, by whose eternal hands
Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands ;
Whose thunders the rebellious deep control,
And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul,
Oh! turn this dreadful omen far away :
On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay:
Relume her sacred fire so near suppress'd,
And fix her shrine in every Roman breast:
Though bold Corruption boast around the
land,

"Let virtue, if she can, my baits withstand!" Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim,

And still he asks them of their unknown aims,

Evolves their secrets, and their guilt proclaims;

And still his hands despoil them on the road Of each vain wreath, by lying bards bestow'd, Break their proud marbles, crush their festal

cars,

And rend the lawless trophies of their wars.
At last the gates his potent voice obey;
Fierce to their dark abode he drives his
prey;

Where, ever arm'd with adamantine chains,
The watchful demon o'er her vassals reigns,
O'er mighty names and giant-powers of lust,
The great, the sage, the happy, and august.

shame;

Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth,

Who know what conscience and a heart are worth.

O friend and father of the human mind, Whose art for noblest ends our frame design'd!

If I, though fated to the studious shade
Which party-strife, nor anxious power invade,
If I aspire in public virtue's cause,
To guide the Muses by sublimer laws,
Do thou her own authority impart,
And give my numbers entrance to the heart.
Perhaps the verse might rouse her smother'd
flame,

And snatch the fainting patriot back to fame;

Perhaps by worthy thoughts of human kind,
To worthy deeds exalt the conscious mind;
Or dash Corruption in her proud career,
And teach her slaves that Vice was born to
fear.

Akenside.-Born 1721, Died 1770.

904. THE PROGRESS OF LOVE.

Pope, to whose reed beneath the beachen shade

The nymphs of Thames a pleased attention paid;

While yet thy Muse, content with humbler praise,

Warbled in Windsor's grove her sylvan lays; Though now, sublimely borne on Homer's wing,

Of glorious wars and godlike chiefs she sing:
Wilt thou with me revisit once again
The crystal fountain, and the flowery plain?
Wilt thou, indulgent, hear my verse relate
The various changes of a lover's state;
And, while each turn of passion I pursue,
Ask thy own heart if what I tell be true?

To the green margin of a lonely wood, Whose pendent shades o'erlook'd a silver flood,

Young Damon came, unknowing where he stray'd,

Full of the image of his beauteous maid:
His flock, far off, unfed, untended, lay,
To every savage a defenceless prey;
No sense of interest could their master move,
And every care seem'd trifling now but love.
Awhile in pensive silence he remain'd,
But, though his voice was mute, his looks
complain'd;

At length the thoughts, within his bosom pent,

Forced his unwilling tongue to give them

"Ah, luckless day! when first with fond surprise

On Delia's face I fix'd my eager eyes!
Then in wild tumults all my soul was tost,
Then reason, liberty, at once were lost :

And every wish, and thought, and care, was

gone,

But what my heart employ'd on her alone. Then too she smiled: can smiles our peace

destroy,

Those lovely children of Content and Joy? How can soft pleasure and tormenting woe From the same spring at the same moment flow?

Unhappy boy! these vain inquiries cease, Thought could not guard, nor will restore, thy

peace:

Indulge the frenzy that thou must endure, And soothe the pain thou know'st not how to

cure.

Come, flattering Memory! and tell my heart How kind she was, and with what pleasing art

She strove its fondest wishes to obtain,
Confirm her power, and faster bind my chain.
If on the green we danced, a mirthful band,
To me alone she gave her willing hand;
Her partial taste, if e'er I touch'd the lyre,
Still in my song found something to admire,
By none but her my crook with flowers was
crown'd,

By none but her my brows with ivy bound: The world, that Damon was her choice, believed,

The world, alas! like Damon, was deceived.
When last I saw her, and declared my fire
In words as soft as passion could inspire,
Coldly she heard, and full of scorn withdrew,
Without one pitying glance, one sweet adieu.
The frighted hind, who sees his ripen'd corn
Up from the roots by sudden tempests torn,
Whose fairest hopes destroy'd and blasted

lie,

Feels not so keen a pang of grief as I.
Ah, how have I deserved, inhuman maid,
To have my faithful service thus repaid?
Were all the marks of kindness I received
But dreams of joy, that charm'd me and
deceived?

Or did you only nurse my growing love,
That with more pain I might your hatred
prove?

Sure guilty treachery no place could find
In such a gentle, such a generous mind:
A maid brought up the woods and wilds

among

Could ne'er have learnt the art of courts so young:

No; let me rather think her anger feign'd, Still let me hope my Delia may be gain'd; "Twas only modesty that seem'd disdain, And her heart suffer'd when she gave me pain."

Pleased with this flattering thought, the love-sick boy

Felt the faint dawning of a doubtful joy;

Say, dearest friend, how roll thy hours away?
What pleasing study cheats the tedious day?
Dost thou the sacred volumes oft explore
Of wise Antiquity's immortal lore,
Where virtue, by the charms of wit refined,
At once exalts and polishes the mind?
How different from our modern guilty art,
Which pleases only to corrupt the heart;
Whose curst refinements odious vice adorn,
And teach to honour what we ought to scorn!
Dost thou in sage historians joy to see
How Roman greatness rose with liberty:
How the same hands that tyrants durst
control

Their empire stretch'd from Atlas to the
Pole;

Till wealth and conquest into slaves refined The proud luxurious masters of mankind? Dost thou in letter'd Greece each charm admire,

Each grace, each virtue, Freedom could inspire;

Yet in her troubled state see all the woes, And all the crimes, that giddy Faction

knows ;

Till, rent by parties, by corruption sold,
Or weakly careless, or too rashly bold,
She sunk beneath a mitigated doom,
The slave and tutoress of protecting Rome?
Does calm Philosophy her aid impart,

To guide the passions, and to mend the heart?

Taught by her precepts, hast thou learnt the

end

To which alone the wise their studies bend;
For which alone by Nature were design'd
The powers of thought-to benefit mankind?
Not, like a cloister'd drone, to read and doze,
In undeserving, undeserved repose;
But reason's influence to diffuse; to clear
Th' enlighten'd world of every gloomy fear;
Dispel the mists of error, and unbind
Those pedant chains that clog the free-born
mind.

Happy who thus his leisure can employ !
He knows the purest hours of tranquil joy;
Nor vext with pangs that busier bosoms tear,
Nor lost to social virtue's pleasing care;
Safe in the port, yet labouring to sustain
Those who still float on the tempestuous

main.

So Locke the days of studious quiet spent ;
So Boyle in wisdom found divine content;
So Cambray, worthy of a happier doom,
The virtuous slave of Louis and of Rome.
Good Wor'ster thus supports his drooping
age,

Far from court-flattery, far from party-rage;
He, who in youth a tyrant's frown defied,
Firm and intrepid on his country's side,
Her boldest champion then, and now her
mildest guide!

O generous warmth! O sanctity divine!
To emulate his worth, my friend, be thine:
Learn from his life the duties of the gown;
Learn, not to flatter, nor insult the crown ;
Nor, basely servile, court the guilty great,
Nor raise the church a rival to the state:
To error mild, to vice alone severe,

Seek not to spread the law of love by fear. The priest who plagues the world can never mend:

No foe to man was e'er to God a friend.
Let reason and let virtue faith maintain :
All force but theirs is impious, weak, and
vain.

Me other cares in other climes engage, Cares that become my birth, and suit my

age;

In various knowledge to improve my youth, And conquer prejudice, worst foe to truth; By foreign arts domestic faults to mend, Enlarge my notions, and my views extend; The useful science of the world to know, Which books can never teach, or pedants show.

A nation here I pity and admire, Whom noblest sentiments of glory fire, Yet taught, by custom's force and bigot fear, To serve with pride, and boast the yoke they bear:

Whose nobles, born to cringe and to command

(In courts a mean, in camps a generous band),

From each low tool of power content receive Those laws, their dreaded arms to Europe give.

Whose people (vain in want, in bondage blest ;

Though plunder'd, gay; industrious, though opprest)

With happy follies rise above their fate,
The jest and envy of each wiser state.

Yet here the Muses deign'd awhile to sport In the short sunshine of a favouring court: Here Boileau, strong in sense and sharp in

wit,

Who, from the ancients, like the ancients writ,

Permission gain'd inferior vice to blame,
By flattering incense to his master's fame.
Here Molière, first of comic wits, excell'a
Whate'er Athenian theatres beheld;
By keen, yet decent, satire skill'd to please,
With morals mirth uniting, strength with

ease.