The goddess heard, and bade the Muses raise The golden trumpet of eternal praise: From pole to pole the winds diffuse the sound, That fills the circuit of the world around; Not all at once, as thunder breaks the cloud; 310 The notes at first were rather sweet than loud: By just degrees they every moment rise, Fill the wide earth, and gain upon the skies. At every breath were balmy odours shed, Which still grew sweeter as they wider spread; Less fragrant scents the unfolding rose exhales, Or spices breathing in Arabian gales. Next these, the good and just, an awful train, Thus on their knees address the sacred fane: 'Since living virtue is with envy cursed, 320 And the best men are treated like the worst, Do thou, just goddess, call our merits forth, And give each deed the exact intrinsic worth.' 'Not with bare justice shall your act be crown'd,' (Said Fame), 'but high above desert renown'd: Let fuller notes the applauding world amaze, And the loud clarion labour in your praise.' This band dismiss'd, behold, another crowd Preferr'd the same request, and lowly bow'd; The constant tenor of whose well-spent days 330 No less deserved a just return of praise. But straight the direful trump of Slander sounds; Through the big dome the doubling thunder bounds; Loud as the burst of cannon rends the skies, The dire report through every region flies, In every ear incessant rumours rung, And gathering scandals grew on every tongue. From the black trumpet's rusty concave broke Sulphureous flames, and clouds of rolling smoke: The poisonous vapour blots the purple skies, 340 And withers all before it as it flies. A troop came next, who crowns and armour wore, And proud defiance in their looks they bore: 'For thee' (they cried), 'amidst alarms and strife, We sail'd in tempests down the stream of life; For thee whole nations fill'd with flames and blood, And swam to empire through the purple flood. Those ills we dared, thy inspiration own, What virtue seem'd, was done for thee alone.' 'Ambitious fools!' (the Queen replied, and frown'd) 350 'Be all your acts in dark oblivion drown'd; There sleep forgot, with mighty tyrants gone, Your statues moulder'd, and your names unknown!' A sudden cloud straight snatch'd them from my sight, And each majestic phantom sunk in night. Then came the smallest tribe I yet had seen; Plain was their dress, and modest was their mien. 'Great idol of mankind! we neither claim The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame; But safe in deserts from the applause of men, 360 Would die unheard of, as we lived unseen; 'Tis all we beg thee, to conceal from sight Those acts of goodness which themselves requite. Oh let us still the secret joy partake, To follow virtue even for virtue's sake.'