A rural, fhelter'd, folitary fcene;
Where ruddy fire and beaming tapers join,
To cheer the gloom. There ftucious let me fit,
And hold high converse with the Mighty Dead;
Sages of ancient time, as gods rever'd,
As gods beneficent, who bleft mankind
With arts, with arms, and humaniz'd a world.
Rous'd at th' infpiring thought, I throw afide
The long-liv'd volume; and, deep mufing, hail
The facred fhades, that flowly-rising pass
Before my wondering eyes. First Socrates, ▾
Who, firmly good in a corrupted ftate,
Against the rage of tyrants fingle stood,
Invincible! calm Reafon's holy law,
That voice of God within th' attentive mind,
Obeying, fearlefs, or in life, or death:
Great moral teacher! wifeft of mankind!
Solon the next, who built his common-weal
On equity's wide bafe; by tender laws
A lively people curbing, yet undamp'd
Freferving ftill that quick peculiar fire,
Whence in the laurel'd field of finer arts,
And of bold freedom, they unequal'd shone,
The pride of fimiling Greece, and human-kind.
Lycurgus then, who bow'd beneath the force
Of ftricteft difcipline, feverely wife,
All human paffions. Following him, I fee,
As at Thermopyla he glorious fell,
The firm * devoted Chief, who prov'd by deeds
The hardest leffon which the other taught.
Then Ariftides lifts his honeft front;
Spotless of heart, to whom th' unflattering voice 460 Of freedom gave the noblest name of Juft;
In pure majestic poverty rever'd;
Who, ev'n his glory to his country's weal
Submitting, fwell'd a haughty *rival's fame.
Rear'd by his care, of fofter ray appears
Cimon fweet-foul'd; whofe genius, rifing ftrong,
Shook off the load of young debauch; abroad
The fcourge of Perfian pride, at home the friend
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,
Penfive, appear. The fair Corinthian boaft,
Timoleon, happy temper! mild, and firm,
Who wept the brother while the tyrant bled.
And, equal to the best, the † Theban Pair,
Whofe virtues, in heroic concord join'd,
Their country rais'd to freedom, empire, fame.
He too, with whom Athenian honour funk;
And left a mafs of fordid lees behind,
Phocion the Good; in public life fevere,
To virtue ftill inexorably firm;
But when, beneath his low illuftrious roof,
Sweet peace and happy wisdom smooth'd his brow,
Not friendship fofter was, nor love more kind.
+ Pelopidas and Epaminondas.
And he, the last of old Lycurgus' fons,
The generous victim to that vain attempt,
To fave a rotten frate, Agis, who faw
Ev'n Sparta's felf to fervile avarice funk.
The two Achaian heroes close the train:
Aratus, who a while relum'd the foul
Of fondly lingering liberty in Greece:
And he her darling as her latest hope,
The gallant Philopomen; who to arms
Turn'd the luxurious pomp he could not cure;
Or toiling in his farm, a fimple swain ;
Or, bold and skilful, thundering in the field.
Of rougher front, a mighty people come !
A race of heroes! in thofe virtuous times
Which knew no ftain, fave that with partial flame 500
Their dearest country they too fondly lov❜d:
Her better founder firft, the light of Rome,
Numa, who foften'd her rapacious fons :
Servius the King, who laid the folid base
On which o'er earth the vaft republic spread.
Then the great confuls venerable rife.
The Public Father who the Private quell'd,
As on the dread tribunal fternly fad.
He, whom his thanklefs country could not lofe,
Camillus, only vengeful to her foes.
Fabricius, fcorner of all-conquering gold;
And Cincinnatus, awful from the plough.
Thy willing Victim, Carthage, bursting loose
* Marcus Junius Brutus. + Regulus.
From all that pleading Nature could oppofe,
From a whole city's tears, by rigid faith
Imperious call'd, and honour's dire command.
Scipio, the gentle chief, humanely brave,
Who foon the race of spotless glory ran,
And, warm in youth, to the poetic shade
With Friendship and Philosophy retir'd.
Tully, whofe powerful eloquence a while
Restrain'd the rapid fate of rufhing Rome.
Unconquer'd Cato, virtuous in extreme.
And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart,
Whose steady arm, by awful virtue urg'd,
Lifted the Roman feel against thy friend.
Thousands befides the tribute of a verfe
Demand; but who can count the stars of heaven?
Who fing their influence on this lower world?
Behold, who yonder comes! in fober state,
Fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal fun :
'Tis Phoebus felf, or elfe the Mantuan Swain !
Great Homer too appears, of daring wing,
Parent of fong! and equal by his fide,
The British Muse; join'd hand in hand they walk,
Darkling, full up the middle steep to fame.
Nor abfent are thofe fhades, whose skilful touch
Pathetic drew th' impaffion'd heart, and charm'd
Transported Athens with the moral scene:
Nor those who, tuneful, wak'd th' enchanting lyre.
First of your kind! fociety divine!
Still vifit thus my nights, for you
And mount my foaring foul to thoughts like yours.
Silence, thou lonely power! the door be thine
See on the hallow'd hour that none intrude,
Save a few chofen friends, who fometimes deign
To bless my humble roof, with senfe refin❜d,
Learning digefted well, exalted faith,
Unftudy'd wit, and humour ever gay.
Or from the Mufes' hill will Pope defcend,
To raise the facred hour, to bid it fmile,
And with the focial fpirit warm the heart?
For though not fweeter his own Homer fings,
Yet is his life the more endearing fong.
Where art thou, Hammond? thou the darling pride, The friend and lover of the tuneful throng!
Ah, why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime
Of vernal genius, where disclosing fast
Each active worth, each manly virtue lay,
Why wert thou ravish'd from our hope so foon?
What now avails that noble thirst of fame,
Which ftung thy fervent breaft? that treafur'd store
Of knowledge, early gain'd? that eager zeal
To ferve thy country, glowing in the band
Of Youthful Patriots, who fuftain her name?
What now, alas! that life-diffufing charm
Of fprightly wit? that rapture for the Mufe,
That heart of friendship, and that foul of joy,
Which bade with softeft light thy virtues fmile?
Ah! only fhew'd, to check our fond purfuits,
And teach our humbled hopes that life is vain!
Thus in fome deep retirement would I pafs
The winter-glooms, with friends of pliant foul,
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