Even beauty, force divine! at whose bright glance The generous lion stands in softened gaze, Here bleeds, a' hapless undistinguish'd prey. But if, appriz'd of the severe attack,
The country be shut up, lur'd by the scent, On church-yards drear (inhuman to relate!) The disappointed prowlers fall, and dig The shrouded body from the grave; o'er which, Mix'd with foul shades, and frighted ghosts, they howl. Among those hilly regions, where embrac'dto In peaceful vales the happy Grisons dwell; Ost, rushing sudden from the loaded cliffs, Mountains of snow their gathering terrors roll. From steep to steep, loud-thundering down they come, A wintry waste in dire commotion all; And herds, and flocks, and travellers, and swains, And sometimes whole brigades of marching troops, Or hamlets sleeping in the dead of night, Arę deep beneath the smothering ruin whelm'd. Now, all amid the rigours of the year, In the wild depth of Winter, while without The ceaseless winds blow ice, be my retreat, Between the groaning forest and the shore Beat by the boundless multitude of waves,
A rural, shelter'd, solitary scene; Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join, To cheer the gloom. There studious let me sit, And hold high converse with the mighty dead; Sages of ancient time, as gods rever'd, As gods beneficent, who blest mankind With arts, with arms, and humaniz'd a world. Rous'd at th' inspiring thought, I throw aside The long liv'd volume; and deep-musing, hail The sacred shades, that slowly-rising pass Before my wondering eyes. First Socrates, Who, firmly good in a corrupted state, Against the rage of tyrants single stood, Invincible! calm reason's holy law, That voice of God within th' attentive mind, Obeying, fearless, or in life, or death: Great moral teacher! Wisest of mankind! Solon the next, who built his common-weal On equity's wide base; by tender laws A lively people curbing, yet undamp'd, Preserving still that quick peculiar fire, Whence in the laurel'd field of finer arts, And of bold freedom, they unequal'd shone, The pride of smiling Greece, and human-kind. Lycurgus then, who bow'd beneath the force Of strictest discipline, severely wise
All human passions. Following him, I see, As at Thermopylæ he glorious fell,
The firm devoted chief, who prov'd by deeds The hardest lesson which the other taught. Then Aristides lifts his honest front; Spotless of heart, to whom th' unflattering voice Of freedom gave the noblest name of Just; In pure majestic poverty rever'd; Who, even his glory to his country's weal Submitting, swell'd a haughty rival's fame. Rear'd by his care, of softer ray appears Cimon sweet-soul'd; whose genius, rising strong, Shook off the load of young debauch; abroad The scourge of Persian pride, at home the friend Of every worth and every splendid art; Modest, and simple, in the pomp of wealth. Then the last worthies of declining Greece, Late call'd to glory, in unequal times, Pensive, appear. The fair Corinthian boast, Timoleon, happy temper! mild, and firm, Who wept the Brother while the Tyrant bled And, equal to the best, the Theban pair,
Whose virtues, in heroic concord join'd, Their country rais'd to freedom, empire, fame.
He too, with whom Athenian honour sunk, And left a mass of sordid lees behind,
Phocion the Good; in public life severe, To virtue still inexorably firm;
But when, beneath his low illustrious roof, Sweet peace and happy wisdom smooth'd his brow Not friendship softer was, nor love more kind. And he, the last of old Lycurgus' sons, The generous victim to that vain attempt, To save a rotten State, Agis, who saw Even Sparta's self to servile avarice sunk. The two Achaian heroes close the train. Aratus, who a while relum'd the soul Of fondly lingering liberty in Greece: And he her darling as her latest hope The gallant Philopoemen; who to arms Turn'd the luxurious pomp he could not cure, Or toiling in his farm, a simple swain, Or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field. Of rougher front, a mighty people come! A race of heroes! in those virtuous times Which knew no stain, save that with partial flame Their dearest country they too fondly lov'd: Her better founder first, the light of Rome, Numa, who soften'd her rapacious sons; Servius the king, who laid the solid base On which o'er earth the vast republic spread Then the great consuls venerable rise. The public father who the private quell'd, As on the dread tribunal sternly sad. He, whom his thankless country could not lose, Camillus, only vengeful to her foes. Fabricius, scorner of all-conquering gold; And Cincinnatus, awful from the plough. Thy willing victim, Carthage, bursting loose From all that pleading Nature could oppose,... From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith Imperious call'd, and honour's dire command. Scipio, the gentle chief, humanely brave, Who soon the race of spotless glory ran, And, warm in youth, to the poetic shade With Friendship and Philosophy retir'd. Tully, whose powerful eloquence a while Restrain'd the rapid fate of rushing Rome. Unconquer'd. Cato, virtuous in extreme. And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart,
« السابقةمتابعة » |