Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood; 40 Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; And saints who taught, and led, the way to heaven. Ne’er to these chambers, where the mighty rest, Since their foundation, came a nobler guest; Nor e’er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed 45 A fairer spirit or more welcome shade. In what new region, to the just assigned, What new employments please the unbodied mind? A wingèd Virtue, through the ethereal sky, From world to world unwearied does he fly? 50 Or curious trace the long laborious maze Of Heaven’s decrees, where wondering angels gaze? Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell How Michael battled, and the dragon fell; Or, mixed with milder cherubim, to glow 55 In hymns of love, not ill essayed below? Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, A task well suited to thy gentle mind? Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend, To me thy aid, thou guardian Genius, lend! 60 When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart; Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, 65 Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more. That awful form, which, so the Heavens decree, Must still be loved and still deplored by me, In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, Or, roused by Fancy, meets my waking eyes. 70 If business calls, or crowded courts invite, The unblemished statesman seems to strike my sight; If in the stage I seek to soothe my care, I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there; If pensive to the rural shades I rove, 75 His shape o’ertakes me in the lonely grove; ’Twas there of just and good he reasoned strong, Cleared some great truth, or raised some serious song: There patient showed us the wise course to steer, A candid censor, and a friend severe; 80 There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high The price for knowledge) taught us how to die. Thou Hill, whose brow the antique structures grace, Reared by bold chiefs of Warwick’s noble race, Why, once so loved, whene’er thy bower appears, 85 O’er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears! How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air! How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees, Thy noon-tide shadow, and thy evening breeze! 90 His image thy forsaken bowers restore; Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more; No more the summer in thy glooms allayed, Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.