When he usurp❜d Authority's just place, And dar'd to look his master in the face; 320 When the rude rabble's watchword was-de stroy, And blazing London seem'd a second Troy; Liberty blush'd, and hung her drooping head, Beheld their progress with the deepest dread; Blush'd, that effects like these she should produce, Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. She loses in such storms her very name, And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame. Incomparable gem! thy worth untold; 330 Cheap, though blood-bought, and thrown away when sold; May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend Betray thee, while professing to defend: A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found, Where most they flourish, upon English ground, The country's need have scantily supplied, And the last left the scene, when Chatham died. B. Not so-the virtue still adorns our age, Though the chief actor died upon the stage. In him Demosthenes was heard again; Liberty taught him her Athenian strain; She cloth'd him with authority and awe, Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. His speech, his form, his action, full of grace, And all his country beaming in his face, He stood, as some inimitable hand Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. No sycophant or slave, that dar'd oppose Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose; And ev'ry venal stickler for the yoke Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. 341 350 Το manage with address, to seize with pow'r So Gideon earn'd a vict'ry not his own; Subserviency his praise, and that alone. Poor England! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with ev'ry ill but that of fear. Thee nations hunt; all mark thee for a prey; 360 They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay. All, that should be the boast of British song. 369 Confess'd a God; they kneel'd before they fought, TABLE TALK. Courage, ungrac'd by these, affronts the skies, Is but the fire without the sacrifice. 21 The stream, that feeds the wellspring of the heart, Than Virtue quickens with a warmth divine Shifted the wind that rais'd it, and it fell. He trod the very selfsame ground you tread, 381 B. And yet his judgment was not fram❜d amiss; It's errour, if it err'd, was merely this He thought the dying hour already come, Will be despis'd and trampled on at last, 391 Unless sweet Penitence her pow'rs renew, Is truth, if history itself be true. There is a time, and Justice marks the date, That hour elaps'd, th' incurable revolt Is punish'd, and down comes the thunderbolt. Nor is it yet despondence and dismay 401 410 |