‘There studious let me sit, And hold high converse with the mighty dead; Sages of ancient time, as gods revered, As gods beneficent, who bless’d mankind With arts, with arms, and humanized a world. Roused at th’ inspiring thought, I throw aside The long-lived 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 commonweal On equity’s wide base; by tender laws A lively people curbing, yet undamped Preserving still that quick peculiar fire, Whence in the laurel’d field of finer arts, And of bold freedom, they unequall’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,[C] who proved 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 revered; Who, e’en his glory to his country’s weal Submitting, swell’d a haughty rival’s[D] 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,[E] Whose virtues, in heroic concord join’d, Their country raised to freedom, empire, fame. He too, with whom Athenian honor 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 E’en Sparta’s self to servile avarice sunk. The two Achaian heroes close the train: Aratus, who a while relumed the soul Of fondly lingering liberty in Greece;