Pure as the thoughts which in thy breast Inhabit, and insure thy rest; Still shall thy Ayliffe, taught, though late, Thy friendly justice in his fate, Turn'd to a guardian angel, spread Sweet dreams of comfort round thy head. Dark was the night, by Fate decreed For the contrivance of a deed More black than common, which might make This land from her foundations shake, 150 Might tear up Freedom by the root, Destroy a Wilkes, and fix a Bute. Deep Horror held her wide domain; The sky in sullen drops of rain Forewept the morn, and through the air, Which, opening, laid its bosom bare, Loud thunders roll'd, and lightning stream'd; The owl at Freedom's window scream'd, The screech-owl, prophet dire, whose breath Brings sickness, and whose note is death; 160 The churchyard teem'd, and from the tomb, All sad and silent, through the gloom The ghosts of men, in former times, Whose public virtues were their crimes, Indignant stalk'd; sorrow and rage Blank'd their pale cheeks; in his own age The prop of Freedom, Hampden there Felt after death the generous care; Sidney by grief from heaven was kept, And for his brother patriot wept: 170 All friends of Liberty, when Fate Prepared to shorten Wilkes's date, Heaved, deeply hurt, the heartfelt groan, And knew that wound to be their own. Hail, Liberty! a glorious word, In other countries scarcely heard, Or heard but as a thing of course, Without, or energy, or force: Here felt, enjoy'd, adored, she springs, Far, far beyond the reach of kings, 180 Fresh blooming from our mother Earth: With pride and joy she owns her birth Derived from us, and in return Bids in our breasts her genius burn; Bids us with all those blessings live Which Liberty alone can give, Or nobly with that spirit die Which makes death more than victory. Hail, those old patriots! on whose tongue Persuasion in the senate hung, 190 Whilst they the sacred cause maintain'd. Hail, those old chiefs! to honour train'd, Who spread, when other methods fail'd, War's bloody banner, and prevail'd. Shall men like these unmention'd sleep Promiscuous with the common heap, And (Gratitude forbid the crime!) Be carried down the stream of time In shoals, unnoticed and forgot, On Lethe's stream, like flags, to rot? 200 No--they shall live, and each fair name, Recorded in the book of Fame, Founded on Honour's basis, fast As the round earth to ages last. Some virtues vanish with our breath; Virtue like this lives after death. Old Time himself, his scythe thrown by, Himself lost in eternity, An everlasting crown shall twine To make a Wilkes and Sidney join. 210 But should some slave-got villain dare Chains for his country to prepare, And, by his birth to slavery broke, Make her, too, feel the galling yoke, May he be evermore accursed,