"T' indulge fell Rapine's desolating lust,
To drench the balmy lawn in streaming gore,
To spurn the hero's cold and silent dust—
Are these thy joys? Nor throbs thy heart for more?
"Pleas'd canst thou listen to the patriot's groan,
And the wild wail of Innocence forlorn?
And hear th' abandon'd maid's last frantic moan,
Her love for ever from her bosom torn?
"Nor wilt thou shrink, when Virtue's fainting breath
Pours the dread curse of vengeance on thy head?
Nor when the pale ghost bursts the cave of death,
To glare distraction on thy midnight bed?
"Was it for this, though born to regal power,
Kind Heaven to thee did nobler gifts consign,
Bade Fancy's influence gild thy natal hour,
And bade Philanthropy's applause be thine?
"Theirs be the dreadful glory to destroy,
And theirs the pride of pomp, and praise suborn'd,
Whose eye ne'er lighten'd at the smile of Joy,
Whose cheek the tear of Pity ne'er adorn'd;
"Whose soul, each finer sense instinctive quell'd,
The lyre's mellifluous ravishment defies;
Nor marks where Beauty roves the flowery field,
Or Grandeur's pinion sweeps th' unbounded skies.
"Hail to sweet Fancy's unexpressive charm!
Hail to the pure delights of social love!
Hail, pleasures mild, that fire not while ye warm,
Nor rack th' exulting frame, but gently move!
"But Fancy soothes no more, if stern Remorse
With iron grasp the tortur'd bosom wring.
Ah then, even Fancy speeds the venom's course,
Even Fancy points with rage the maddening sting!
"Her wrath a thousand gnashing fiends attend,
And roll the snakes, and toss the brands of hell:
The beam of Beauty blasts; dark Heavens impend
Tottering; and Music thrills with startling yell.
"What then avails, that with exhaustless store
Obsequious Luxury loads thy glittering shrine?
What then avails, that prostrate slaves adore,
And Fame proclaims thee matchless and divine?