Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve,
Receive proud recompense. We give in charge
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic muse,
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down
To latest times; and sculpture, in her turn,
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass
To guard them, and to immortalize her trust:
But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid,
To those who, posted at the shrine of truth,
Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood,
Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed,
And for a time ensure, to his lov'd land

705

710

715

The sweets of liberty and equal laws;

But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize,

And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed

In confirmation of the noblest claim

720

Our claim to feed upon immortal truth,

To walk with God, to be divinely free,

To soar, and to anticipate the skies!

Yet few remember them. They liv'd unknown
Till persecution dragg'd them into fame,

725

And chas'd them up to heaven. Their ashes flew

He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain
That hellish foes, confederate for his harm,
Can wind around him, but he casts it off
With as much ease as Samson his green wyths.
He looks abroad into the varied field

735

Of Nature, and though poor perhaps compar'd
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His are the mountains, and the vallies his,
And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy
With a propriety that none can feel,
But who, with filial confidence inspir'd,
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say" My father made them all!"

740

745

*See Hume.

Are they not his by a peculiar right,

And by an emphasis of interest his,

Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy,

Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds, a world
So cloth'd with beauty for rebellious man?
Yes-ye may fill your garners, ye that reap-
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good
In senseless riot; but ye will not find,
In feast or in the chase, in song or dance,
A liberty like his, who, unimpeach'd
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong,
Appropriates nature as his father's work,
And has a richer use of your's than you.
He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth
Of no mean city; plann'd or ere the hills
Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea
With all his roaring multitude of waves.
His freedom is the same in every state;
And no condition of this changeful life,
So manifold in cares, whose every day
Brings its own evil with it, makes it less :
For he has wings that neither sickness, pain,

750

755

760

765

770

Nor penury, can cripple or confine.

No nook so narrow but he spreads them there

With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds

His body bound; but knows not what a range
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain;
And that to bind him is a vain attempt

775

Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells.

Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st taste
His works. Admitted once to his embrace,
Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before :
Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart,
Made pure, shall relish, with divine delight

789

'Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought.
Brutes grase the mountain-top, with faces prone
And eyes intent upon the scanty herb

It yields them; or recumbent on its brow,
Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread
Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away
From inland regions to the distant main.
Man views it, and admires; but rests content

785

790

With what he views. The landscape has his praise,

But not its author.

Unconcern'd who form'd

The paradise he sees, he finds it such,

And such well-pleas'd to find it, asks no more.

795

Not so the mind that has been touch'd from heaven,
And in the school of sacred wisdom taught

To read his wonders, in whose thought the world,
Fair as it is, existed ere it was.

Not for its own sake merely, but for his

800

Much more who fashion'd it, he gives it praise;
Praise that, from earth resulting, as it ought,

To earth's acknowled'd sovereign, finds at once
Its only just proprietor in Him.

805

The soul that sees him, or receives sublim'd
New faculties, or learns at least to employ
More worthily the powers she own'd before,
Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze
Of ignorance, till then she overlook'd-
A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms
Terrestrial in the vast and the minute;
The unambiguous footsteps of the God
Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing,

810

And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds.

Much conversant with heaven, she often holds

815

With those fair ministers of light to man,

That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp,

Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were they

With which heaven rang, when every star, in haste
To gratulate the new created earth,

820

Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God

Shouted for joy.-" Tell me, ye shining hosts,

"That navigate a sea that knows no storms, "Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud,

"Have reach'd this nether world, ye spy a race

"Favour'd as our's; transgressors from the womb, "And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise,

830

"And to possess a brighter heaven than your's?

"As one who long detain'd on foreign shores

"Pants to return, and when he sees afar

"His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks,

"From the green wave emerging, darts an eye

835

"Radiant with joy towards the happy land;

"So I with animated hopes behold,

"And many an aching wish, your beamy fires,

"That shew like beacons in the blue abyss,
"Ordain'd to guide the embodied spirit home
"From toilsome life to never-ending rest.
"Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires
"That give assurance of their own success,

840

"And that, infus'd from heaven, must thither tend."

845

So reads he nature whom the lamp of truth Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious word! Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost, With intellects bemaz'd in endless doubt,

But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built,

With means that were not till by thee employ'd,

850

Worlds that had never been hadst thou in strength
Been less, or less benevolent than strong.

They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears
That hear not, or receive not their report.
In vain thy creatures testify of thee

855

Till thou proclaim thyself. Their's is indeed
A teaching voice; but 'tis the praise of thine
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn,
And with the boon gives talents for its use.
'Till thou art heard, imaginations vain
Possess the heart, and fables false as hell;
Yet, deem'd oracular, lure down to death

860

The uninform'd and heedless souls of men.

We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind,

865

The glory of thy work; which yet appears

Perfect and unimpeachable of blame,

Challenging human scrutiny, and prov'd

Then skilful most when most severely judged.

But chance is not; or is not where thou reign'st:

870

Thy providence forbids that fickle power

(If power she be that works but to confound)

To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws.

Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can

Instruction, and inventing to ourselves

875

Gods such as guilt makes welcome; gods that sleep,

Or disregard our follies, or that sit

Amus'd spectators of this bustling stage.

Thee we reject, unable to abide

Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure;

880

Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause

For which we shunn'd and hated thee before.

Then we are free. Then liberty, like day,

Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heaven
Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.

885

A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not

Till thou hast touch'd them; 'tis the voice of song

A loud hosanna sent from all thy works;

Which he that hears it with a shout repeats,

And adds his rapture to the general praise.

890

In that blest moment Nature, throwing wide
Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile
The author of her beauties, who, retir'd
Behind his own creation, works unseen
By the impure, and hears his power denied.
Thou art the source and centre of all minds,
Their only point of rest, eternal Word!
From thee departing, they are lost, and rove
At random, without honour, hope, or peace.
From thee is all that sooths the life of man,
His high endeavour, and his glad success,
His strength to suffer, and his will to serve.
But oh thou bounteous giver of all good,
Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown!

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900

Give what thou can'st, without thee we are poor;
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.

905