EXPOSTULATION
.
Tantane
,
tam
patiens
,
nullo
certamine
tolli
Dona
sines
?
VIRG.
WHY
weeps
the
muse
for
England
?
What
appears
In
England's
case
to
move
the
muse
to
tears
?
From
side
to
side
of
her
delightful
isle
,
Is
she
not
cloath'd
with
a
perpetual
smile
?
Can
nature
add
a
charm
,
or
art
confer
A
new
found
luxury
not
seen
in
her
?
Where
under
heav'n
is
pleasure
more
pursued
,
Or
where
does
cold
reflection
less
intrude
?
Her
fields
a
rich
expanse
of
wavy
corn
Pour'd
out
from
plenty's
overflowing
horn
,
Ambrosial
gardens
in
which
art
supplies
The
fervor
and
the
force
of
Indian
skies
,
Her
peaceful
shores
,
where
busy
commerce
waits
To
pour
his
golden
tide
through
all
her
gates
,
Whom
fiery
suns
that
scorch
the
russet
spice
Of
eastern
groves
,
and
oceans
floor'd
with
ice
;
Forbid
in
vain
to
push
his
daring
way
To
darker
climes
,
or
climes
of
brighter
day
,
Whom
the
winds
waft
where'er
the
billows
roll
,
From
the
world's
girdle
to
the
frozen
pole
;
The
chariots
bounding
in
her
wheel-worn
streets
,
Her
vaults
below
where
ev'ry
vintage
meets
,
Her
theatres
,
her
revels
,
and
her
sports
,
The
scenes
to
which
not
youth
alone
resorts
,
But
age
in
spite
of
weakness
and
of
pain
Still
haunts
,
in
hope
to
dream
of
youth
again
,
All
speak
her
happy
—
let
the
muse
look
round
From
East
to
West
,
no
sorrow
can
be
found
,
Or
only
what
in
cottages
confin'd
,
Sighs
unregarded
to
the
passing
wind
;
Then
wherefore
weep
for
England
,
what
appears
In
England's
case
to
move
the
muse
to
tears
?
The
prophet
wept
for
Israel
,
wish'd
his
eyes
Were
fountains
fed
with
infinite
supplies
;
For
Israel
dealt
in
robbery
and
wrong
,
There
were
the
scorner's
and
the
sland'rer's
tongue
,
Oaths
used
as
playthings
or
convenient
tools
,
As
Int'rest
biass'd
knaves
,
or
fashion
fools
,
Adult'ry
neighing
at
his
neighbour's
door
,
Oppression
labouring
hard
to
grind
the
poor
,
The
partial
balance
and
deceitsul
weight
,
The
treach'rous
smile
,
a
mask
for
secret
hate
,
Hypocrisy
,
formality
in
pray'r
,
And
the
dull
service
of
the
lip
were
there
.
Her
women
insolent
and
self-caress'd
,
By
vanity's
unwearied
finger
dress'd
,
Forgot
the
blush
that
virgin
fears
impart
To
modest
cheeks
,
and
borrowed
one
from
art
;
Were
just
such
trifles
without
worth
or
use
,
As
silly
pride
and
idleness
produce
,
Curl'd
,
scented
,
furbelow'd
and
flounc'd
around
,
With
feet
too
delicate
to
touch
the
ground
,
They
stretch'd
the
neck
,
and
roll'd
the
wanton
eye
,
And
sigh'd
for
ev'ry
fool
that
flutter'd
by
.
He
saw
his
people
slaves
to
ev'ry
lust
,
Lewd
,
avaricious
,
arrogant
,
unjust
,
He
heard
the
wheels
of
an
avenging
God
Groan
heavily
along
the
distant
road
;
Saw
Babylon
set
wide
her
two
leav'd
brass
To
let
the
military
deluge
pass
;
Jerusalem
a
prey
,
her
glory
soil'd
,
Her
princes
captive
,
and
her
treasures
spoil'd
;
Wept
till
all
Israel
heard
his
bitter
cry
,
Stamp'd
with
his
foot
and
smote
upon
his
thigh
;
But
wept
and
stamp'd
and
smote
his
thigh
in
vain
,
Pleasure
is
deaf
when
told
of
future
pain
,
And
sounds
prophetic
are
too
rough
to
suit
Ears
long
accustom'd
to
the
pleasing
lute
;
They
scorn'd
his
inspiration
and
his
theme
,
Pronounc'd
him
frantic
and
his
fears
a
dream
,
With
self-indulgence
wing'd
the
fleeting
hours
,
Till
the
foe
found
them
,
and
down
fell
the
tow'rs
.
Long
time
Assyria
bound
them
in
her
chain
,
Till
penitence
had
purg'd
the
public
stain
,
And
Cyrus
,
with
relenting
pity
mov'd
,
Return'd
them
happy
to
the
land
they
lov'd
:
There
,
proof
against
prosperity
,
awhile
They
stood
the
test
of
her
ensnaring
smile
,
And
had
the
grace
in
scenes
of
peace
to
show
The
virtue
they
had
learn'd
in
scenes
of
woe
.
But
man
is
frail
and
can
but
ill
sustain
A
long
immunity
from
grief
and
pain
,
And
after
all
the
joys
that
plenty
leads
,
With
tip-toe
step
vice
silently
succeeds
.
When
he
that
rul'd
them
with
a
shepherd's
rod
,
In
form
a
man
,
in
dignity
a
God
,
Came
not
expected
in
that
humble
guise
,
To
sift
,
aud
search
them
with
unerring
eyes
,
He
found
conceal'd
beneath
a
fair
outside
,
The
filth
of
rottenness
and
worm
of
pride
,
Their
piety
a
system
of
deceit
,
Scripture
employ'd
to
sanctify
the
cheat
,
The
pharisee
the
dupe
of
his
own
art
,
Self-idolized
and
yet
a
knave
at
heart
.
When
nations
are
to
perish
in
their
sins
,
'Tis
in
the
church
the
leprosy
begins
:
The
priest
whose
office
is
,
with
zeal
sincere
To
watch
the
fountain
,
and
preserve
it
clear
,
Carelessly
nods
and
sleeps
upon
the
brink
,
While
others
poison
what
the
flock
must
drink
;
Or
waking
at
the
call
of
lust
alone
,
Infuses
lies
and
errors
of
his
own
:
His
unsuspecting
sheep
believe
it
pure
,
And
tainted
by
the
very
means
of
cure
,
Catch
from
each
other
a
contagious
spot
,
The
foul
forerunner
of
a
general
rot
:
Then
truth
is
hush'd
that
heresy
may
preach
,
And
all
is
trash
that
reason
cannot
reach
;
Then
God's
own
image
on
the
soul
impress'd
,
Becomes
a
mock'ry
and
a
standing
jest
,
And
faith
,
the
root
whence
only
can
arise
The
graces
of
a
life
that
wins
the
skies
,
Loses
at
once
all
value
and
esteem
,
Pronounc'd
by
gray
beards
a
pernicious
dream
:
Then
ceremony
leads
her
bigots
forth
,
Prepar'd
to
fight
for
shadows
of
no
worth
,
While
truths
on
which
eternal
things
depend
,
Find
not
,
or
hardly
find
a
single
friend
:
As
soldiers
watch
the
signal
of
command
,
They
learn
to
bow
,
to
kneel
,
to
sit
,
to
stand
,
Happy
to
fill
religion's
vacant
place
With
hollow
form
and
gesture
and
grimace
.
Such
when
the
teacher
of
his
church
was
there
,
People
and
priest
,
the
sons
of
Israel
were
,
Stiff
in
the
letter
,
lax
in
the
design
And
import
of
their
oracles
divine
,
Their
learning
legendary
,
false
,
absurd
,
And
yet
exalted
above
God's
own
word
,
They
drew
a
curse
from
an
intended
good
,
Puff'd
up
with
gifts
they
never
understood
.
He
judg'd
them
with
as
terrible
a
frown
,
As
if
,
not
love
,
but
wrath
had
brought
him
down
,
Yet
he
was
gentle
as
soft
summer
airs
,
Had
grace
for
other
sins
,
but
none
for
theirs
.
Through
all
he
spoke
a
noble
plainness
ran
,
Rhet'ric
is
artifice
,
the
work
of
man
,
And
tricks
and
turns
that
fancy
may
devise
,
Are
far
too
mean
for
him
that
rules
the
skies
.
Th'
astonish'd
vulgar
trembl'd
while
he
tore
The
mask
from
faces
never
seen
before
;
He
stripp'd
th'
impostors
in
the
noon-day
sun
,
Show'd
that
they
follow'd
all
they
seem'd
to
shun
,
Their
pray'rs
made
public
,
their
excesses
kept
As
private
as
the
chambers
where
they
slept
.
The
temple
and
its
holy
rites
profan'd
By
mumm'ries
he
that
dwelt
in
it
disdain'd
,
Uplifted
hands
that
at
convenient
times
Could
act
extortion
and
the
worst
of
crimes
,
Wash'd
with
a
neatness
scrupulously
nice
,
And
free
from
ev'ry
taint
but
that
of
vice
.
Judgment
,
however
tardy
,
mends
her
pace
When
obstinacy
once
has
conquer'd
grace
.
They
saw
distemper
heal'd
,
and
life
restor'd
In
answer
to
the
fiat
of
his
word
,
Confess'd
the
wonder
,
and
with
daring
tongue
,
Blasphem'd
th'
authority
from
which
it
sprung
.
They
knew
by
sure
prognostics
seen
on
high
,
The
future
tone
and
temper
of
the
sky
,
But
grave
dissemblers
,
could
not
understand
That
sin
let
loose
speaks
punishment
at
hand
.
Ask
now
of
history's
authentic
page
,
And
call
up
evidence
from
ev'ry
age
,
Display
with
busy
and
laborious
hand
The
blessings
of
the
most
indebted
land
,
What
nation
will
you
find
,
whose
annals
prove
So
rich
an
int'rest
in
almighty
love
?
Where
dwell
they
now
,
where
dwelt
in
antient
day
A
people
planted
,
water'd
,
blest
as
they
?
Let
Egypt's
plagues
,
and
Canaan's
woes
proclaim
The
favours
pour'd
upon
the
Jewish
name
;
Their
freedom
purchas'd
for
them
,
at
the
cost
Of
all
their
hard
oppressors
valued
most
,
Their
title
to
a
country
not
their
own
,
Made
sure
by
prodigies
'till
then
unknown
,
For
them
,
the
state
they
left
made
waste
and
void
,
For
them
,
the
states
to
which
they
went
,
destroy'd
;
A
cloud
to
measure
out
their
march
by
day
,
By
night
a
fire
to
cheer
the
gloomy
way
,
That
moving
signal
summoning
,
when
best
Their
host
to
move
,
and
when
it
stay'd
,
to
rest
.
For
them
the
rocks
dissolv'd
into
a
flood
,
The
dews
condens'd
into
angelic
food
,
Their
very
garments
sacred
,
old
yet
new
,
And
time
forbid
to
touch
them
as
he
flew
,
Streams
swell'd
above
the
bank
,
enjoin'd
to
stand
,
While
they
pass'd
through
to
their
appointed
land
,
Their
leader
arm'd
with
meekness
,
zeal
and
love
,
And
grac'd
with
clear
credentials
from
above
,
Themselves
secur'd
beneath
th'
Almighty
wing
,
Their
God
their
captain
Vide
Joshua
v.
14.
,
lawgiver
,
and
king
.
Crown'd
with
a
thousand
vict'ries
,
and
at
last
Lords
of
the
conquer'd
soil
,
there
rooted
fast
,
In
peace
possessing
what
they
won
by
war
,
Their
name
far
publish'd
and
rever'd
as
far
;
Where
will
you
find
a
race
like
theirs
,
endow'd
With
all
that
man
e'er
wish'd
,
or
Heav'n
bestow'd
?
They
and
they
only
amongst
all
mankind
Receiv'd
the
transcript
of
th'
eternal
mind
,
Were
trusted
with
his
own
engraven
laws
,
And
constituted
guardians
of
his
cause
,
Theirs
were
the
prophets
,
theirs
the
priestly
call
,
And
theirs
by
birth
the
Saviour
of
us
all
.
In
vain
the
nations
that
had
seen
them
rise
,
With
fierce
and
envious
yet
admiring
eyes
,
Had
sought
to
crush
them
,
guarded
as
they
were
By
power
divine
,
and
skill
that
could
not
err
,
Had
they
maintain'd
allegiance
firm
and
sure
,
And
kept
the
faith
immaculate
and
pure
,
Then
the
proud
eagles
of
all-conqu'ring
Rome
Had
found
one
city
not
to
be
o'ercome
,
And
the
twelve
standards
of
the
tribes
unfurl'd
:
Had
bid
defiance
to
the
warring
world
.
But
grace
abus'd
brings
forth
the
foulest
deeds
,
As
richest
soil
the
most
luxuriant
weeds
;
Cur'd
of
the
golden
calves
their
fathers
sin
,
They
set
up
self
,
that
idol
god
within
,
View'd
a
Deliv'rer
with
disdain
and
hate
,
Who
left
them
still
a
tributary
state
,
Seiz'd
fast
his
hand
,
held
out
to
set
them
free
From
a
worse
yoke
,
and
nail'd
it
to
the
tree
;
There
was
the
consummation
and
the
crown
,
The
flow'r
of
Israel's
infamy
full
blown
;
Thence
date
their
sad
declension
and
their
fall
,
Their
woes
not
yet
repeal'd
,
thence
date
them
all
.
Thus
fell
the
best
instructed
in
her
day
,
And
the
most
favor'd
land
,
look
where
we
may
.
Philosophy
indeed
on
Grecian
eyes
Had
pour'd
the
day
,
and
clear'd
the
Roman
skies
;
In
other
climes
perhaps
creative
art
,
With
pow'r
surpassing
theirs
perform'd
her
part
,
Might
give
more
life
to
marble
,
or
might
fill
The
glowing
tablets
with
a
juster
skill
,
Might
shine
in
fable
,
and
grace
idle
themes
With
all
th'
embroid'ry
of
poetic
dreams
;
'Twas
theirs
alone
to
dive
into
the
plan
That
truth
and
mercy
had
reveal'd
to
man
,
And
while
the
world
beside
,
that
plan
unknown
,
Deified
useless
wood
or
senseless
stone
,
They
breath'd
in
faith
their
well-directed
pray'rs
,
And
the
true
God
,
the
God
of
truth
was
theirs
.
Their
glory
faded
,
and
their
race
dispers'd
,
The
last
of
nations
now
,
though
once
the
first
;
They
warn
and
teach
the
proudest
,
would
they
learn
,
Keep
wisdom
or
meet
vengeance
in
your
turn
:
If
we
escap'd
not
,
if
Heav'n
spar'd
not
us
,
Peel'd
,
scatter'd
,
and
exterminated
thus
;
If
vice
receiv'd
her
retribution
due
When
we
were
visited
,
what
hope
for
you
?
When
God
arises
with
an
awful
frown
,
To
punish
lust
,
or
pluck
presumption
down
;
When
gifts
perverted
or
not
duly
priz'd
,
Pleasure
o'ervalued
and
his
grace
despis'd
,
Provoke
the
vengeance
of
his
righteous
hand
To
pour
down
wrath
upon
a
thankless
land
,
He
will
be
found
impartially
severe
,
Too
just
to
wink
,
or
speak
the
guilty
clear
.
Oh
Israel
,
of
all
nations
most
undone
!
Thy
diadem
displac'd
,
thy
sceptre
gone
;
Thy
temple
,
once
thy
glory
,
fall'n
and
ras'd
,
And
thou
a
worshipper
e'en
where
thou
mayst
;
Thy
services
once
holy
without
spot
,
Mere
shadows
now
,
their
antient
pomp
forgot
;
Thy
Levites
once
a
consecrated
host
,
No
longer
Levites
,
and
their
lineage
lost
,
And
thou
thyself
o'er
ev'ry
country
sown
,
With
none
on
earth
that
thou
canst
call
thine
own
;
Cry
aloud
thou
that
sittest
in
the
dust
,
Cry
to
the
proud
,
the
cruel
and
unjust
,
Knock
at
the
gates
of
nations
,
rouse
their
fears
,
Say
wrath
is
coming
and
the
storm
appears
,
But
raise
the
shrillest
cry
in
British
ears
.
What
ails
thee
,
restless
as
the
waves
that
roar
,
And
fling
their
foam
against
thy
chalky
shore
?
Mistress
,
at
least
while
Providence
shall
please
,
And
trident-bearing
queen
of
the
wide
seas
—
Why
,
having
kept
good
faith
,
and
often
shown
Friendship
and
truth
to
others
,
findst
thou
none
?
Thou
that
hast
set
the
persecuted
free
,
None
interposes
now
to
succour
thee
;
Countries
indebted
to
thy
pow'r
,
that
shine
With
light
deriv'd
from
thee
,
would
smother
thine
;
Thy
very
children
watch
for
thy
disgrace
,
A
lawless
brood
,
and
curse
thee
to
thy
face
:
Thy
rulers
load
thy
credit
year
by
year
With
sums
Peruvian
mines
could
never
clear
,
As
if
like
arches
built
with
skilful
hand
,
The
more
'twere
press'd
the
firmer
it
would
stand
.
The
cry
in
all
thy
ships
is
still
the
same
,
Speed
us
away
to
battle
and
to
fame
,
Thy
mariners
explore
the
wild
expanse
,
Impatient
to
descry
the
flags
of
France
,
But
though
they
fight
as
thine
have
ever
fought
,
Return
asham'd
without
the
wreaths
they
sought
:
Thy
senate
is
a
scene
of
civil
jar
,
Chaos
of
contrarieties
at
war
,
Where
sharp
and
solid
,
phlegmatic
and
light
,
Discordant
atoms
meet
,
ferment
and
fight
,
Where
obstinacy
takes
his
sturdy
stand
,
To
disconcert
what
policy
has
plann'd
,
Where
policy
is
busied
all
night
long
In
setting
right
what
faction
has
set
wrong
,
Where
flails
of
oratory
thresh
the
floor
,
That
yields
them
chaff
and
dust
,
and
nothing
more
.
Thy
rack'd
inhabitants
repine
,
complain
,
Tax'd
'till
the
brow
of
labour
sweats
in
vain
,
War
lays
a
burthen
on
the
reeling
state
,
And
peace
does
nothing
to
relieve
the
weight
,
Successive
loads
succeeding
broils
impose
,
And
sighing
millions
prophecy
the
close
.
Is
adverse
providence
when
ponder'd
well
,
So
dimly
writ
or
difficult
to
spell
,
Thou
canst
not
read
with
readiness
and
ease
,
Providence
adverse
in
events
like
these
?
Know
then
,
that
heav'nly
wisdom
on
this
ball
Creates
,
gives
birth
to
,
guides
,
consummates
all
:
That
while
laborious
and
quick-thoughted
man
Snuffs
up
the
praise
of
what
he
seems
to
plan
;
He
first
conceives
,
then
perfects
his
design
,
As
a
mere
instrument
in
hands
divine
:
Blind
to
the
working
of
that
secret
pow'r
That
balances
the
wings
of
ev'ry
hour
,
The
busy
trifler
dreams
himself
alone
,
Frames
many
a
purpose
,
and
God
works
his
own
.
States
thrive
or
wither
as
moons
wax
and
wane
,
Ev'n
as
his
will
and
his
decrees
ordain
;
While
honour
,
virtue
,
piety
bear
sway
,
They
flourish
,
and
as
these
decline
,
decay
.
In
just
resentment
of
his
injur'd
laws
,
He
pours
contempt
on
them
and
on
their
cause
,
Strikes
the
rough
thread
of
error
right
athwart
The
web
of
ev'ry
scheme
they
have
at
heart
,
Bids
rottenness
invade
and
bring
to
dust
The
pillars
of
support
in
which
they
trust
,
And
do
his
errand
of
disgrace
and
shame
On
the
chief
strength
and
glory
of
the
frame
.
None
ever
yet
impeded
what
he
wrought
,
None
bars
him
out
from
his
most
secret
thought
;
Darkness
itself
before
his
eye
is
light
,
And
Hell's
close
mischief
naked
in
his
sight
.
Stand
now
and
judge
thyself
—
hast
thou
incurr'd
His
anger
who
can
waste
thee
with
a
word
,
Who
poises
and
proportions
sea
and
land
,
Weighing
them
in
the
hollow
of
his
hand
,
And
in
whose
awful
sight
all
nations
seem
As
grasshoppers
,
as
dust
,
a
drop
,
a
dream
?
Hast
thou
(
a
sacrilege
his
soul
abhors
)
Claim'd
all
the
glory
of
thy
prosp'rous
wars
,
Proud
of
thy
fleets
and
armies
,
stol'n
the
gem
Of
his
just
praise
to
lavish
it
on
them
?
Hast
thou
not
learn'd
what
thou
art
often
told
,
A
truth
still
sacred
,
and
believ'd
of
old
,
That
no
success
attends
on
spears
and
swords
Unblest
,
and
that
the
battle
is
the
Lord's
?
That
courage
is
his
creature
,
and
dismay
The
post
that
at
his
bidding
speeds
away
,
Ghastly
in
feature
,
and
his
stamm'ring
tongue
With
doleful
rumor
and
sad
presage
hung
,
To
quell
the
valor
of
the
stoutest
heart
,
And
teach
the
combatant
a
woman's
part
?
That
he
bids
thousands
fly
when
none
pursue
,
Saves
as
he
will
by
many
or
by
few
,
And
claims
for
ever
as
his
royal
right
Th'
event
and
sure
decision
of
the
fight
.
Hast
thou
,
though
suckl'd
at
fair
freedom's
breast
,
Exported
slav'ry
to
the
conquer'd
East
,
Pull'd
down
the
tyrants
India
serv'd
with
dread
,
And
rais'd
thyself
,
a
greater
,
in
their
stead
,
Gone
thither
arm'd
and
hungry
,
returned
full
,
Fed
from
the
richest
veins
of
the
Mogul
,
A
despot
big
with
pow'r
obtain'd
by
wealth
,
And
that
obtain'd
by
rapine
and
by
stealth
?
With
Asiatic
vices
stor'd
thy
mind
,
But
left
their
virtues
and
thine
own
behind
,
And
having
truck'd
thy
soul
,
brought
home
the
fee
,
To
tempt
the
poor
to
sell
himself
to
thee
?
Hast
thou
by
statute
shov'd
from
its
design
The
Savior's
feast
,
his
own
blest
bread
and
wine
,
And
made
the
symbols
of
atoning
grace
An
office-key
,
a
pick-lock
to
a
place
,
That
infidels
may
prove
their
title
good
By
an
oath
dipp'd
in
sacramental
blood
?
A
blot
that
will
be
still
a
blot
,
in
spite
Of
all
that
grave
apologists
may
write
,
And
though
a
Bishop
toil
to
cleanse
the
stain
,
He
wipes
and
scours
the
silver
cup
in
vain
.
And
hast
thou
sworn
on
ev'ry
slight
pretence
,
'Till
perjuries
are
common
as
bad
pence
,
While
thousands
,
careless
of
the
damning
sin
,
Kiss
the
book's
outside
who
ne'er
look
within
?
Hast
thou
,
when
heav'n
has
cloath'd
thee
with
disgrace
,
And
long
provok'd
,
repaid
thee
to
thy
face
,
(
For
thou
hast
known
eclipses
,
and
endur'd
Dimness
and
anguish
all
thy
beams
obscur'd
,
When
sin
has
shed
dishonour
on
thy
brow
,
And
never
of
a
sabler
hue
than
now
)
Hast
thou
with
heart
perverse
and
conscience
sear'd
,
Despising
all
rebuke
,
still
persever'd
,
And
having
chosen
evil
,
scorn'd
the
voice
That
cried
repent
—
and
gloried
in
thy
choice
?
Thy
fastings
,
when
calamity
at
last
Suggests
th'
expedient
of
an
yearly
fast
,
What
mean
they
?
Canst
thou
dream
there
is
a
pow'r
In
lighter
diet
at
a
later
hour
,
To
charm
to
sleep
the
threat'nings
of
the
skies
,
And
hide
past
folly
from
all-seeing
eyes
?
The
fast
that
wins
deliv'rance
,
and
suspends
The
stroke
that
a
vindictive
God
intends
,
Is
to
renounce
hypocrisy
,
to
draw
Thy
life
upon
the
pattern
of
the
law
,
To
war
with
pleasures
idolized
before
,
To
vanquish
lust
,
and
wear
its
yoke
no
more
.
All
fasting
else
,
whate'er
be
the
pretence
,
Is
wooing
mercy
by
renew'd
offence
.
Hast
thou
within
thee
sin
that
in
old
time
Brought
fire
from
heav'n
,
the
sex-abusing
crime
,
Whose
horrid
perpetration
stamps
disgrace
Baboons
are
free
from
,
upon
human
race
?
Think
on
the
fruitful
and
well-water'd
spot
That
fed
the
flocks
and
herds
of
wealthy
Lot
,
Where
Paradise
seem'd
still
vouchsaf'd
on
earth
,
Burning
and
scorch'd
into
perpetual
dearth
,
Or
in
his
words
who
damn'd
the
base
desire
,
Suff'ring
the
vengeance
of
eternal
fire
:
Then
nature
injur'd
,
scandaliz'd
,
defil'd
,
Unveil'd
her
blushing
cheek
,
look'd
on
and
smil'd
,
Beheld
with
joy
the
lovely
scene
defac'd
,
And
prais'd
the
wrath
that
lay'd
her
beauties
waste
.
Far
be
the
thought
from
any
verse
of
mine
,
And
farther
still
the
form'd
and
fixt
design
,
To
thrust
the
charge
of
deeds
that
I
detest
,
Against
an
innocent
unconscious
breast
:
The
man
that
dares
traduce
because
he
can
With
safety
to
himself
,
is
not
a
man
:
An
individual
is
a
sacred
mark
,
Not
to
be
pierc'd
in
play
or
in
the
dark
,
But
public
censure
speaks
a
public
foe
,
Unless
a
zeal
for
virtue
guide
the
blow
.
The
priestly
brotherhood
,
devout
,
sincere
,
From
mean
self-int'rest
and
ambition
clear
,
Their
hope
in
Heav'n
,
servility
their
scorn
,
Prompt
to
persuade
,
expostulate
and
warn
,
Their
wisdom
pure
,
and
giv'n
them
from
above
,
Their
usefulness
insur'd
by
zeal
and
love
,
As
meek
as
the
man
Moses
,
and
withal
As
bold
as
in
Agrippa's
presence
,
Paul
,
Should
fly
the
world's
contaminating
touch
Holy
and
unpolluted
—
are
thine
such
?
Except
a
few
with
Eli's
spirit
blest
,
Hophni
and
Phineas
may
describe
the
rest
.
Where
shall
a
teacher
look
in
days
like
these
,
For
ears
and
hearts
that
he
can
hope
to
please
?
Look
to
the
poor
—
the
simple
and
the
plain
Will
hear
perhaps
thy
salutary
strain
;
Humility
is
gentle
,
apt
to
learn
,
Speak
but
the
word
,
will
listen
and
return
:
Alas
,
not
so
!
the
poorest
of
the
flock
Are
proud
,
and
set
their
faces
as
a
rock
,
Denied
that
earthly
opulence
they
chuse
,
God's
better
gift
they
scoff
at
and
refuse
.
The
rich
,
the
produce
of
a
nobler
stem
,
Are
more
intelligent
at
least
,
try
them
:
Oh
vain
enquiry
!
they
without
remorse
Are
altogether
gone
a
devious
course
,
Where
beck'ning
pleasure
leads
them
,
wildly
stray
,
Have
burst
the
bands
and
cast
the
yoke
away
.
Now
borne
upon
the
wings
of
truth
,
sublime
,
Review
thy
dim
original
and
prime
;
This
island
spot
of
unreclaim'd
rude
earth
,
The
cradle
that
receiv'd
thee
at
thy
birth
,
Was
rock'd
by
many
a
rough
Norwegian
blast
,
And
Danish
howlings
scar'd
thee
as
they
pass'd
,
For
thou
wast
born
amid
the
din
of
arms
,
And
suck'd
a
breast
that
panted
with
alarms
.
While
yet
thou
wast
a
grov'ling
puling
chit
,
Thy
bones
not
fashion'd
and
thy
joints
not
knit
,
The
Roman
taught
thy
stubborn
knee
to
bow
,
Though
twice
a
Caesar
could
not
bend
thee
now
:
His
victory
was
that
of
orient
light
,
When
the
sun's
shafts
disperse
the
gloom
of
night
:
Thy
language
at
this
distant
moment
shows
How
much
the
country
to
the
conqu'ror
owes
,
Expressive
,
energetic
and
refin'd
,
It
sparkles
with
the
gems
he
left
behind
:
He
brought
thy
land
a
blessing
when
he
came
,
He
found
thee
savage
,
and
he
left
thee
tame
,
Taught
thee
to
cloath
thy
pink'd
and
painted
hide
,
And
grace
thy
figure
with
a
soldier's
pride
,
He
sow'd
the
seeds
of
order
where
he
went
,
Improv'd
thee
far
beyond
his
own
intent
,
And
while
he
rul'd
thee
by
the
sword
alone
,
Made
thee
at
last
a
warrior
like
his
own
.
Religion
if
in
heav'nly
truths
attir'd
,
Needs
only
to
be
seen
to
be
admir'd
,
But
thine
as
dark
as
witch'ries
of
the
night
,
Was
form'd
to
harden
hearts
and
shock
the
sight
:
Thy
Druids
struck
the
well-strung
harps
they
bore
,
With
fingers
deeply
dy'd
in
human
gore
,
And
while
the
victim
slowly
bled
to
death
,
Upon
the
tolling
chords
rung
out
his
dying
breath
.
Who
brought
the
lamp
that
with
awak'ning
beams
Dispell'd
thy
gloom
and
broke
away
thy
dreams
,
Tradition
,
now
decrepid
and
worn
out
,
Babbler
of
antient
fables
,
leaves
a
doubt
:
But
still
light
reach'd
thee
;
and
those
gods
of
thine
Woden
and
Thor
,
each
tott'ring
in
his
shrine
,
Fell
broken
and
defac'd
at
his
own
door
,
As
Dagon
in
Philistia
long
before
.
But
Rome
with
sorceries
and
magic
wand
,
Soon
rais'd
a
cloud
that
darken'd
ev'ry
land
,
And
thine
was
smother'd
in
the
stench
and
fog
Of
Tiber's
marshes
and
the
papal
bog
:
Then
priests
with
bulls
and
briefs
and
shaven
crowns
,
And
griping
fists
and
unrelenting
frowns
,
Legates
and
delegates
with
pow'rs
from
hell
,
Though
heav'nly
in
pretension
,
fleec'd
thee
well
;
And
to
this
hour
to
keep
it
fresh
in
mind
,
Some
twigs
of
that
old
scourge
are
left
behind
.
Which
may
be
found
at
Doctors
Common
.
Thy
soldiery
the
pope's
well-manag'd
pack
,
Were
train'd
beneath
his
lash
and
knew
the
smack
,
And
when
he
laid
them
on
the
scent
of
blood
:
Would
hunt
a
Saracen
through
fire
and
flood
.
Lavish
of
life
to
win
an
empty
tomb
,
That
prov'd
a
mint
of
wealth
,
a
mine
to
Rome
,
They
left
their
bones
beneath
unfriendly
skies
,
His
worthless
absolution
all
the
prize
.
Thou
wast
the
veriest
slave
in
days
of
yore
,
That
ever
dragg'd
a
chain
or
tugg'd
an
oar
;
Thy
monarchs
arbitrary
,
fierce
,
unjust
,
Themselves
the
slaves
of
bigotry
or
lust
,
Disdain'd
thy
counsels
,
only
in
distress
Found
thee
a
goodly
spunge
for
pow'r
to
press
.
Thy
chiefs
,
the
lords
of
many
a
petty
fee
,
Provok'd
and
harrass'd
,
in
return
plagu'd
thee
,
Call'd
thee
away
from
peaceable
employ
,
Domestic
happiness
and
rural
joy
,
To
waste
thy
life
in
arms
,
or
lay
it
down
In
causeless
feuds
and
bick'rings
of
their
own
:
Thy
parliaments
ador'd
on
bended
knees
The
sov'reignty
they
were
conven'd
to
please
;
Whate'er
was
ask'd
,
too
timid
to
resist
,
Comply'd
with
,
and
were
graciously
dismiss'd
:
And
if
some
Spartan
soul
a
doubt
express'd
And
blushing
at
the
tameness
of
the
rest
,
Dar'd
to
suppose
the
subject
had
a
choice
,
He
was
a
traitor
by
the
gen'ral
voice
.
Oh
slave
!
with
pow'rs
thou
didst
not
dare
exert
,
Verse
cannot
stoop
so
low
as
thy
desert
,
It
shakes
the
sides
of
splenetic
disdain
,
Thou
self-entitled
ruler
of
the
main
,
To
trace
thee
to
the
date
when
yon
fair
sea
That
clips
thy
shores
,
had
no
such
charms
for
thee
,
When
other
nations
flew
from
coast
to
coast
,
And
thou
hadst
neither
fleet
nor
flag
to
boast
.
Kneel
now
,
and
lay
thy
forehead
in
the
dust
,
Blush
if
thou
canst
,
not
petrified
,
thou
must
:
Act
but
an
honest
and
a
faithful
part
,
Compare
what
then
thou
wast
,
with
what
thou
art
,
And
God's
disposing
providence
confess'd
,
Obduracy
itself
must
yield
the
rest
—
Then
thou
art
bound
to
serve
him
,
and
to
prove
Hour
after
hour
thy
gratitude
and
love
.
Has
he
not
hid
thee
and
thy
favour'd
land
For
ages
safe
beneath
his
shelt'ring
hand
,
Giv'n
thee
his
blessing
on
the
clearest
proof
,
Bid
nations
leagu'd
against
thee
stand
aloof
,
And
charg'd
hostility
and
hate
to
roar
Where
else
they
would
,
but
not
upon
thy
shore
?
His
pow'r
secur'd
thee
when
presumptuous
Spain
Baptiz'd
her
fleet
invincible
in
vain
;
Her
gloomy
monarch
,
doubtful
,
and
resign'd
To
ev'ry
pang
that
racks
an
anxious
mind
,
Ask'd
of
the
waves
that
broke
upon
his
coast
,
What
tidings
?
and
the
surge
replied
—
all
lost
—
And
when
the
Stuart
leaning
on
the
Scot
,
Then
too
much
fear'd
and
now
too
much
forgot
,
Pierc'd
to
the
very
center
of
thy
realm
,
And
hop'd
to
seize
his
abdicated
helm
,
'Twas
but
to
prove
how
quickly
with
a
frown
,
He
that
had
rais'd
thee
could
have
pluck'd
thee
down
.
Peculiar
is
the
grace
by
thee
possess'd
,
Thy
foes
implacable
,
thy
land
at
rest
;
Thy
thunders
travel
over
earth
and
seas
,
And
all
at
home
is
pleasure
,
wealth
and
ease
.
'Tis
thus
,
extending
his
tempestuous
arm
,
Thy
Maker
fills
the
nations
with
alarm
,
While
his
own
Heav'n
surveys
the
troubled
scene
,
And
feels
no
change
,
unshaken
and
serene
.
Freedom
,
in
other
lands
scarce
known
to
shine
,
Pours
out
a
flood
of
splendour
upon
thine
;
Thou
hast
as
bright
an
int'rest
in
her
rays
,
As
ever
Roman
had
in
Rome's
best
days
.
True
freedom
is
,
where
no
restraint
is
known
That
scripture
,
justice
,
and
good
sense
disown
,
Where
only
vice
and
injury
are
tied
,
And
all
from
shore
to
shore
is
free
beside
,
Such
freedom
is
—
and
Windsor's
hoary
tow'rs
Stood
trembling
at
the
boldness
of
thy
pow'rs
,
That
won
a
nymph
on
that
immortal
plain
,
Like
her
the
fabled
Phoebus
woo'd
in
vain
;
He
found
the
laurel
only
—
happier
you
,
Th'
unfading
laurel
and
the
virgin
too
.
Alluding
to
the
grant
of
Magna
Charta
,
which
was
extorted
from
king
John
by
the
Barons
at
Runnymede
near
Windsor
.
Now
think
,
if
pleasure
have
a
thought
to
spare
,
If
God
himself
be
not
beneath
her
care
;
If
bus'ness
,
constant
as
the
wheels
of
time
,
Can
pause
one
hour
to
read
a
serious
rhime
;
If
the
new
mail
thy
merchants
now
receive
,
Or
expectation
of
the
next
give
leave
,
Oh
think
,
if
chargeable
with
deep
arrears
For
such
indulgence
gilding
all
thy
years
,
How
much
though
long
neglected
,
shining
yet
,
The
beams
of
heav'nly
truth
have
swell'd
the
debt
.
When
persecuting
zeal
made
royal
sport
With
tortur'd
innocence
in
Mary's
court
,
And
Bonner
,
blithe
as
shepherd
at
a
wake
,
Enjoy'd
the
show
,
and
danc'd
about
the
stake
;
The
sacred
book
,
its
value
understood
,
Receiv'd
the
seal
of
martyrdom
in
blood
.
Those
holy
men
,
so
full
of
truth
and
grace
,
Seem
to
reflection
of
a
diff'rent
race
,
Meek
,
modest
,
venerable
,
wise
,
sincere
,
In
such
a
cause
they
could
not
dare
to
fear
,
They
could
not
purchase
earth
with
such
a
prize
,
Nor
spare
a
life
too
short
to
reach
the
skies
.
From
them
to
thee
convey'd
along
the
tide
,
Their
streaming
hearts
pour'd
freely
when
they
died
,
Those
truths
which
neither
use
nor
years
impair
,
Invite
thee
,
wooe
thee
,
to
the
bliss
they
share
.
What
dotage
will
not
vanity
maintain
,
What
web
too
weak
to
catch
a
modern
brain
?
The
moles
and
bats
in
full
assembly
find
On
special
search
,
the
keen-ey'd
eagle
blind
.
And
did
they
dream
,
and
art
thou
wiser
now
?
Prove
it
—
if
better
,
I
submit
and
bow
.
Wisdom
and
goodness
are
twin-born
,
one
heart
Must
hold
both
sisters
,
never
seen
apart
.
So
then
—
as
darkness
overspread
the
deep
,
'Ere
nature
rose
from
her
eternal
sleep
,
And
this
delightful
earth
and
that
fair
sky
Leap'd
out
of
nothing
,
call'd
by
the
Most
High
,
By
such
a
change
thy
darkness
is
made
light
,
Thy
chaos
order
,
and
thy
weakness
,
might
,
And
he
whose
pow'r
mere
nullity
obeys
,
Who
found
thee
nothing
,
form'd
thee
for
his
praise
.
To
praise
him
is
to
serve
him
,
and
fulfil
,
Doing
and
suff'ring
,
his
unquestion'd
will
,
'Tis
to
believe
what
men
inspir'd
of
old
,
Faithful
and
faithfully
inform'd
,
unfold
;
Candid
and
just
,
with
no
false
aim
in
view
,
To
take
for
truth
what
cannot
but
be
true
,
To
learn
in
God's
own
school
the
Christian
part
,
And
bind
the
task
assign'd
thee
to
thine
heart
:
Happy
the
man
there
seeking
and
there
found
,
Happy
the
nation
where
such
men
abound
.
How
shall
a
verse
impress
thee
?
by
what
name
Shall
I
adjure
thee
not
to
court
thy
shame
?
By
theirs
whose
bright
example
unimpeach'd
Directs
thee
to
that
eminence
they
reach'd
,
Heroes
and
worthies
of
days
past
,
thy
sires
?
Or
his
,
who
touch'd
their
hearts
with
hallow'd
fires
?
Their
names
,
alas
!
in
vain
reproach
an
age
Whom
all
the
vanities
they
scorn'd
,
engage
,
And
his
that
seraphs
tremble
at
,
is
hung
Disgracefully
on
ev'ry
trifler's
tongue
,
Or
serves
the
champion
in
forensic
war
,
To
flourish
and
parade
with
at
the
bar
.
Pleasure
herself
perhaps
suggests
a
plea
,
If
int'rest
move
thee
,
to
persuade
ev'n
thee
:
By
ev'ry
charm
that
smiles
upon
her
face
,
By
joys
possess'd
,
and
joys
still
held
in
chace
,
If
dear
society
be
worth
a
thought
,
And
if
the
feast
of
freedom
cloy
thee
not
,
Reflect
that
these
and
all
that
seems
thine
own
,
Held
by
the
tenure
of
his
will
alone
,
Like
angels
in
the
service
of
their
Lord
,
Remain
with
thee
,
or
leave
thee
at
his
word
;
That
gratitude
and
temp'rance
in
our
use
Of
what
he
gives
,
unsparing
and
profuse
,
Secure
the
favour
and
enhance
the
joy
,
That
thankless
waste
and
wild
abuse
destroy
.
But
above
all
reflect
,
how
cheap
soe'er
Those
rights
that
millions
envy
thee
,
appear
,
And
though
resolv'd
to
risk
them
,
and
swim
down
The
tide
of
pleasure
,
heedless
of
his
frown
,
That
blessings
truly
sacred
,
and
when
giv'n
Mark'd
with
the
signature
and
stamp
of
Heav'n
,
The
word
of
prophecy
,
those
truths
divine
Which
make
that
Heav'n
,
if
thou
desire
it
,
thine
;
(
Awful
alternative
!
believ'd
,
belov'd
,
Thy
glory
,
and
thy
shame
if
unimprov'd
,
)
Are
never
long
vouchsaf'd
,
if
push'd
aside
With
cold
disgust
or
philosophic
pride
,
And
that
judicially
withdrawn
,
disgrace
,
Error
and
darkness
occupy
their
place
.
A
world
is
up
in
arms
,
and
thou
,
a
spot
Not
quickly
found
if
negligently
sought
,
Thy
soul
as
ample
as
thy
bounds
are
small
,
Endur'st
the
brunt
,
and
dar'st
defy
them
all
:
And
wilt
thou
join
to
this
bold
enterprize
A
bolder
still
,
a
contest
with
the
skies
?
Remember
,
if
he
guard
thee
and
secure
,
Whoe'er
assails
thee
,
thy
success
is
sure
;
But
if
he
leave
thee
,
though
the
skill
and
pow'r
Of
nations
sworn
to
spoil
thee
and
devour
,
Were
all
collected
in
thy
single
arm
,
And
thou
couldst
laugh
away
the
fear
of
harm
,
That
strength
would
fail
,
oppos'd
against
the
push
And
feeble
onset
of
a
pigmy
rush
.
Say
not
(
and
if
the
thought
of
such
defence
Should
spring
within
thy
bosom
,
drive
it
thence
)
What
nation
amongst
all
my
foes
is
free
From
crimes
as
base
as
any
charg'd
on
me
?
Their
measure
fill'd
—
they
too
shall
pay
the
debt
.
Which
God
,
though
long
forborn
,
will
not
forget
;
But
know
,
that
wrath
divine
,
when
most
severe
,
Makes
justice
still
the
guide
of
his
career
,
And
will
not
punish
in
one
mingled
crowd
,
Them
without
light
,
and
thee
without
a
cloud
.
Muse
,
hang
this
harp
upon
yon
aged
beech
,
Still
murm'ring
with
the
solemn
truths
I
teach
,
And
while
,
at
intervals
,
a
cold
blast
sings
Through
the
dry
leaves
,
and
pants
upon
the
strings
,
My
soul
shall
sigh
in
secret
,
and
lament
A
nation
scourg'd
,
yet
tardy
to
repent
.
I
know
the
warning
song
is
sung
in
vain
,
That
few
will
hear
,
and
fewer
heed
the
strain
:
But
if
a
fweeter
voice
,
and
one
design'd
A
blessing
to
my
country
and
mankind
,
Reclaim
the
wand'ring
thousands
,
and
bring
home
A
flock
so
scatter'd
and
so
wont
to
roam
,
Then
place
it
once
again
between
my
knees
,
The
sound
of
truth
will
then
be
sure
to
please
,
And
truth
alone
,
where'er
my
life
be
cast
,
In
scenes
of
plenty
or
the
pining
waste
,
Shall
be
my
chosen
theme
,
my
glory
to
the
last
.