The Dragon thus, that watch'd the Colchian fleece, Foil'd the fierce warriors of wide-plundering Greece; Warriors of matchless might and wondrous birth, Jove's sceptred sons and demigods of earth. High on the sacred tree, the glittering prize Hangs o'er its guard, and tires the warriors' eyes; First their hurl'd spears his spiral folds assail, Their spears fall pointless from his flaky mail; Onward with dauntless swords they plunge amain; He shuns their blows, recoils his twisting train, Darts forth his forky tongue, heaves high in air His fiery crest, and sheds a hideous glare, Champs, churns his poisonous juice, and hissing loud Spouts thick the stifling tempest o'er the crowd; Then, with one sweep of convoluted train, Rolls back all Greece, and besoms wide the plain, O'erturns the sons of gods, dispersing far The pirate horde, and closes quick the war. From his red jaws tremendous triumph roars, Dark Euxine trembles to its distant shores, Proud Jason starts, confounded in his might, Leads back his peers, and dares no more the fight. But the sly Priestess brings her opiate spell, Soft charms that hush the triple hound of hell, Bids Orpheus tune his all-enchanting lyre, And join to calm the guardian's sleepless ire. Soon from the tepid ground blue vapors rise, And sounds melodious move along the skies; A settling tremor thro his folds extends, His crest contracts, his rainbow heck unbends, O'er all his hundred hoops the languor crawls, Each curve develops, every volute falls, His broad back flattens as he spreads the plain, And sleep consigns him to his lifeless reign. Flusht at the sight the pirates seize the spoil, And ravaged Colchis rues the insidious toil. Yes! fellow freemen, sons of high renown, Chant your loud peans, weave your civic crown; But know, the goddess you've so long adored, Tho now she scabbards your avenging sword, Calls you to vigil ance, to manlier cares, To prove in peace the men she proved in wars: Superior task! severer test of soul! Tis here bold virtue plays her noblest role And merits most of praise. The warrior's name, Tho peal'd and chimed on all the tongues of fame, Sounds less harmonious to the grateful mind Than his who fashions and improves mankind. And what high meed your new vocation waits! Freedom, parturient with a hundred states, Confides them to your hand; the nascent prize Claims all your care, your soundest wisdom tries. Ah nurture, temper, train your infant charge, Its force develop and its life enlarge, Unfold each day some adolescent grace, Some right recognise or some duty trace; Mould a fair model for the realms of earth, Call moral nature to a second birth, Reach, renovate the world's great social plan, And here commence the sober sense of man,