The dark recesses of his heart display; Let candour own the undaunted pilot's power, Felt in severest danger's trying hour! Let truth consenting, with the trump of fame, His glory, in auspicious strains, proclaim! He bade the tempest of the battle roar, That thunder'd o'er the deep from shore to shore. 70 How oft, amid the horrors of the war, Chain'd to the bloody wheels of danger's car, How oft my bosom at thy name has glow'd, And from my beating heart applause bestow'd; Applause, that, genuine as the blush of youth Unknown to guile, was sanctified by truth! How oft I blest the patriot's honest rage, That greatly dared to lash the guilty age; That, rapt with zeal, pathetic, bold, and strong, Roll'd the full tide of eloquence along; 80 That power's big torrent braved with manly pride, And all corruption's venal arts defied! When from afar those penetrating eyes Beheld each secret hostile scheme arise; Watch'd every motion of the faithless foe, Each plot o'erturned, and baffled every blow: A fond enthusiast, kindling at thy name, I glow'd in secret with congenial flame; While my young bosom, to deceit unknown, Believed all real virtue thine alone. 90 Such then he seem'd, and such indeed might be, If truth with error ever could agree! Sure satire never with a fairer hand Portray'd the object she design'd to brand. Alas! that virtue should so soon decay, And faction's wild applause thy heart betray! The Muse with secret sympathy relents, And human failings, as a friend, laments: But when those dangerous errors, big with fate, Spread discord and distraction through the state, 100 Reason should then exert her utmost power To guard our passions in that fatal hour. There was a time, ere yet his conscious heart Durst from the hardy path of truth depart; While yet with generous sentiment it glow'd, A stranger to corruption's slippery road; There was a time our patriot durst avow Those honest maxims he despises now. How did he then his country's wounds bewail, And at the insatiate German vulture rail! 110 Whose cruel talons Albion's entrails tore, Whose hungry maw was glutted with her gore! The mists of error, that in darkness held Our reason, like the sun, his voice dispell'd. And lo! exhausted, with no power to save, We view Britannia panting on the wave: Hung round her neck, a millstone's pond'rous weight Drags down the struggling victim to her fate! While horror at the thought our bosom feels, We bless the man this horror who reveals. 120 But what alarming thoughts the heart amaze, When on this Janus' other face we gaze! For, lo, possess'd of power's imperial reins, Our chief those visionary ills disdains! Alas, how soon the steady patriot turns! In vain this change astonish'd England mourns!