But freedom, that exalts the savage state, is gone.
Next, History ranks;—there full in front she lies,
480
And every nation her dread tale supplies.
Yet History has her doubts, and every age
With sceptic queries marks the passing page;
Records of old nor later date are clear—
Too distant those, and these are placed too near;
There time conceals the objects from our view,
Here our own passions and a writer's too.