Didst see the Roman, proud and stern, Sitting on Afric's shore? His eyes like Hecla seem to burn, And fiery flames outpour. Then comes a frank and merry knave, And spreads it through the land: "Tell them that thou on Carthage's grave Hast seen great Marius stand!" Thus speaks the son of Rome with pride, Still mighty in his fall; He is a man, and naught beside,-- Before him tremble all. His grandsons afterwards began Their portions to o'erthrow, And thought it well that every man Should learn with grace to crow. For shame, for shame,--once more for shame! The wretched ones?--they've even Squandered the tokens of their fame, The choicest gifts of heaven. God's counterfeit has sinfully Disgraced his form divine, And in his vile humanity Has wallowed like the swine. The face of earth each vainly treads, Like gourds, that boys in sport Have hollowed out to human heads, With skulls, whose brains are--naught. Like wine that by a chemist's art Is through retorts refined, Their spirits to the deuce depart, The phlegma's left behind. From every woman's face they fly, Its very aspect dread,-- And if they dared--and could not--why, 'Twere better they were dead. They shun all worthies when they can, Grief at their joy they prove-- The man who cannot make a man, A man can never love! The world I proudly wander o'er, And plume myself and sing I am a man!--Whoe'er is more? Then leap on high, and spring! THE MESSIAD. Religion 'twas produced this poem's fire; Perverted also?--prithee, don't inquire! THOUGHTS ON THE 1ST OCTOBER, 1781. What mean the joyous sounds from yonder vine-clad height? What the exulting Evoe? [63] Why glows the cheek? Whom is't that I, with pinions light, Swinging the lofty Thyrsus see? Is it the genius whom the gladsome throng obeys? Do I his numerous train descry? In plenty's teeming horn the gifts of heaven he sways, And reels from very ecstacy!-- See how the golden grape in glorious beauty shines, Kissed by the earliest morning-beams! The shadow of yon bower, how lovingly it signs, As it with countless blessings teams! Ha! glad October, thou art welcome unto me!-- October's first-born, welcome thou! Thanks of a purer kind, than all who worship thee, More heartfelt thanks I'm bringing now! For thou to me the one whom I have loved so well, And love with fondness to the grave, Who merits in my heart forevermore to dwell,-- The best of friends in Rieger [64] gave. 'Tis true thy breath doth rock the leaves upon the trees, And sadly make their charms decay; Gently they fall:--and swift, as morning phantasies With those who waken, fly away.