"First on the head of him who did this deed My curse shall light,--on him and all his seed: Without one spark of intellectual fire, Be all the sons as senseless as the sire: If one with wit the parent brood disgrace, Believe him bastard of a brighter race: Still with his hireling artists let him prate, And Folly's praise repay for Wisdom's hate; 170 Long of their Patron's gusto let them tell, Whose noblest, _native_ gusto is--to sell: To sell, and make--may shame record the day!-- The State--Receiver of his pilfered prey. Meantime, the flattering, feeble dotard, West, Europe's worst dauber, and poor Britain's best, With palsied hand shall turn each model o'er, And own himself an infant of fourscore. [13] Be all the Bruisers culled from all St. Giles', That Art and Nature may compare their styles; [xvi] 180 While brawny brutes in stupid wonder stare, And marvel at his Lordship's 'stone shop' there. [14] Round the thronged gate shall sauntering coxcombs creep To lounge and lucubrate, to prate and peep; While many a languid maid, with longing sigh, On giant statues casts the curious eye; The room with transient glance appears to skim, Yet marks the mighty back and length of limb; Mourns o'er the difference of _now_ and _then_; Exclaims, 'These Greeks indeed were proper men!' 190 Draws slight comparisons of 'these' with 'those', [xvii] And envies Laïs all her Attic beaux. When shall a modern maid have swains like these? [xviii] Alas! Sir Harry is no Hercules! And last of all, amidst the gaping crew, Some calm spectator, as he takes his view, In silent indignation mixed with grief, Admires the plunder, but abhors the thief. Oh, loathed in life, nor pardoned in the dust, May Hate pursue his sacrilegious lust! 200 Linked with the fool that fired the Ephesian dome, Shall vengeance follow far beyond the tomb, [15] And Eratostratus [16] and Elgin shine In many a branding page and burning line; Alike reserved for aye to stand accursed, Perchance the second blacker than the first. "So let him stand, through ages yet unborn, Fixed statue on the pedestal of Scorn; Though not for him alone revenge shall wait, But fits thy country for her coming fate: 210 Hers were the deeds that taught her lawless son To do what oft Britannia's self had done. Look to the Baltic--blazing from afar, Your old Ally yet mourns perfidious war. [17] Not to such deeds did Pallas lend her aid, Or break the compact which herself had made; Far from such counsels, from the faithless field She fled--but left behind her Gorgon shield; A fatal gift that turned your friends to stone, And left lost Albion hated and alone. 220