ODE ON TRUE GREATNESS. Thomas Hudson Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1122 K093079.001 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. I. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 91-94. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ODE ON TRUE GREATNESS . BY THE SAME . LET who will climb the towery steep Of sovereignty , with slippery strides , Where , on the bosom of the deep Below , the pitchy pinnace rides : A death's head flag , unfurl'd to view , Waves ghastly ; and a sable crew Gaze from the deck , and seem to wait , Dash'd down the pointed rocks , the rash unfortunate . Mine be the low and level way , Amid the quiet vale to stray , Safe in some sylvan lodge to dwell , And lull'd by the clear stream that speeds By shallow fords to rustling reeds , And small lakes , fring'd with homely aspodel . There sits the calm , the rural sage , With nature's volume fair in view ; And meditates the shining page Replete with wonders ever new : While Wisdom points , on either hand , Where plants , and herbs , and flowrets stand In emerald groves , and shadowy glades , In furzy moors , or musky-smelling meads . Truth , in her liquid glass serene , To him explains each moral scene : Oft , in the downward skies , a train Of tinsel insects he surveys , Or glow-worm , with fallacious blaze , Just emblem of court greatness , srail and vain . Oft in his woodland walk he stops to mark The spirited and youthful lark , Warn'd by the dawning in the dappled east , Lift his melodious flight thro' upper air ; Late the low tenant of the rushy nest Now sings unrival'd in his radiant sphere . The pondering hermit then sees Merit roam , Above the nurslings of the courtly dome , On Glory's sparkling wheels , rais'd from its humble dome . First of the families of fame , That Rome's imperial city grace , From rural huts and hamlets came The Fabian and Fabrician race ; With that firm judge that could contemn And banish the proud diadem . To Sabine fields she owes the vine , Whose tendrils yet round Virtue's column twine ; Which braves Oppression's wintry breath , And stands the icy touch of Death . The leafless flock , that Fortune dooms To wither , with returning spring ( While the glad flocks of Freedom sing ) Profuse of promis'd sweets , with double vigour blooms . Hark ! hark ! 'tis Brutus' name I hear , Join'd with his fair , heroic bride ; To Honour's hallow'd fane they steer Along the favourable tide ; To her and Safety there to place The tablet , vow'd to human race : Blow , every kind and gentle gale Of gratitude , and fan the swelling sail . High on a fleecy couch reclin'd , Of white and amber clouds combin'd , Rome's genius lifts his august head ; Now slow descending nearer draws , Hail'd with the popular applause , And bids the solemn pageantry proceed . Go , the triumphal ornaments display ; Ye sacred Salii lead the way : Next led the order of Patrician blood , In awful march a numerous train compose , And follow'd by the jubilating crowd ; As Cybelé thro' Phrygian cities goes , Majestic , and with golden turrets crown'd : A hundred gods her gorgeous car surround , A thousand tongues acclaim ; the clanging cymbals sound .