That who would animate his lays,

And other minds to virtue raise,
Must feel his own with all her spirit glow.

III. 1.

Are there, approved of later times,
Whose verse adorn'd a tyrant's* crimes?
Who saw majestic Rome betray'd,

And lent th' imperial ruffian aid?
Alas! not one polluted bard,

No, not the strains that Mincius heard,

Or Tiber's hills reply'd,

Dare to the Muse's ear aspire;

Save that, instructed by the Grecian lyre,

With freedom's ancient notes their shameful task they

hide.

III. 2.

Mark, how the dread Pantheon stands,

Amid the donies of modern hands:

Amid the toys of idle state,

How simply, how severely great!

Then turn, and, while each western clime

Presents her tuneful sons to Time,

So mark thou Milton's name;

* Octavius Cæsar,

And add, Thus differs from the throng

• The spirit which inform'd thy awful song, Which bade thy potent voice protect thy country's

fame.'

III. 3.

Yet hence barbaric zeal

His memory with unholy rage pursues, While from these arduous cares of public weal She bids each bard begone, and rest him with his Muse. O fool! to think the man whose ample mind Must grasp at all that yonder stars survey, Must join the noblest forms of every kind The world's most perfect image to display, Can e'er his country's majesty behold, Unmov'd or cold!

O fool! to deem

That he, whose thought must visit ev'ry theme,
Whose heart must ev'ry strong emotion know,
Inspired by Nature, or by Fortune taught;
That he, if haply some presumptuous foe,
With false ignoble science fraught,
Shall spurn at Freedom's faithful band;
That he their dear defence will shun,*
Or hide their glories from the sun,

Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand!

Alluding to his Defence of the People of England against Salmasius.

IV. 1.

I care not that in Arno's plain,

Or on the sportive banks of Seine,

From public themes the Muses' quire

Content with polish'd ease retire.

Where priests the studious head command,
Where tyrants bow the warlike hand
To vile Ambition's aim,

Say, what can public themes afford,

Save venal honours to an hateful lord, Reserv'd for angry Heav'n, and scorn'd of honest Fame?

IV. 2.

But here, where Freedom's equal throne
To all her valiant sons is known;

Where all are conscious of her cares,

And each the pow'r, that rules him, shares;
Here let the bard, whose dastard tongue
Leaves public arguments unsung,
Bid public praise farewell:

Let him to fitter climes remove,

Far from the hero's and the patriot's love,
And lull mysterious monks to slumber in their cell.

IV. 3.

O Hastings! not to all

Can ruling Heav'n the same endowments lend:

Yet still doth Nature to her offspring call,

That to one general weal their diff'rent pow'rs they bend,

Unenvious. Thus alone, though strains divine

Inform the bosom of the Muse's son;

Though with new honours the Patrician's line
Advance from age to age; yet thus alone
They win the suffrage of impartial Fame.
The poet's name

He best shall prove,

Whose lays the soul with noblest passions move.
But thee, O progeny of heroes old!

Thee to severer toils thy fate requires :
The fate which form'd thee in a chosen mould,
The grateful country of thy sires,
Thee to sublimer paths demand;
Sublimer than thy sires could trace,

Or thy own Edward* teach his race,
Though Gaul's proud Genius sank beneath his hand,

V. 1.

From rich domains and subject farms,
They led the rustic youth to arms;

* Edward III. from whom descended Henry Hastings, third Earl of Huntingdon, by the daughter of the Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward IV,

And kings their stern achievements fear'd ;
While private strife their banners rear'd.
But loftier scenes to thee are shewn,
Where empire's wide-establish'd throne
No private master fills :

Where, long foretold, the people reigns:
Where each a vassal's humble heart disdains;

And judgeth what he sees; and, as he judgeth, wills.
V. 2.

Here be it thine to calm and guide
The swelling Democratic tide ;
To watch the state's uncertain frame,
And baffle Faction's partial aim: -
But chiefly, with determin'd zeal,
To quell that servile band, who kneel
To Freedom's banish'd foes;

That monster, which is daily found

Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound, Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows.

V. 3.

'Tis highest Heav'n's command,

That guilty aims should sordid paths pursue; That what ensnares the heart should maim the hand, And Virtue's worthless foes be false to glory too. But look on Freedom: see through ev'ry age What labours, perils, griefs, hath she disdain'd!