No longer Virtue breathing in thy breast, With all her conscious majesty confest, Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty flame, To rouse the feeble, and the willful tame, And where she sees the catching glimpses roll, Spreads the strong blaze, and all involves the soul; But cold restraints thy conscious fancy chill, And formal passions mock thy struggling will; Or, if thy Genius e'er forget his chain, And reach impatient at a nobler strain, Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth Shoot through thy breast, and stab the generous birth, Till, blind with smart, from truth to frenzy tost, And all the tenor of thy reason lost, Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear; While some with pity, some with laughter hear. * * * * * Ye mighty foes of liberty and rest, Give way, do homage to a mightier guest! Ye daring spirits of the Roman race, See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface!-- Awed at the name, fierce Appius rising bends, And hardy Cinna from his throne attends: "He comes," they cry, "to whom the fates assigned With surer arts to work what we designed, From year to year the stubborn herd to sway, Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage obey; Till owned their guide and trusted with their power, He mocked their hopes in one decisive hour; Then, tired and yielding, led them to the chain, And quenched the spirit we provoked in vain." But thou, Supreme, by whose eternal hands Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands; Whose thunders the rebellious deep control, And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul, O turn this dreadful omen far away! On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay; Relume her sacred fire so near suppressed, And fix her shrine in every Roman breast: Though bold corruption boast around the land, "Let virtue, if she can, my baits withstand!" Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim, Gay with her trophies raised on Curio's shame; Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth, Who know what conscience and a heart are worth. ASPIRATIONS AFTER THE INFINITE From (Pleasures of the Imagination)