6 But now, with all these proud desires
For dauntless truth and honest fame;
With that strong master of our frame,
The inexorable judge within,
What can be done? Alas, ye fires
Of love; alas, ye rosy smiles,
Ye nectar'd cups from happier soils,—
Ye have no bribe his grace to win.
ODE VII.
TO THE RIGHT REVEREND BENJAMIN, LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. 1754.
I.—l.
For toils which patriots have endured,
For treason quell'd and laws secured,
In every nation Time displays
The palm of honourable praise.
Envy may rail, and Faction fierce
May strive; but what, alas, can those
(Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes)
To Gratitude and Love oppose,
To faithful story and persuasive verse?
I.—2.
O nurse of freedom, Albion, say,
Thou tamer of despotic sway,
What man, among thy sons around,
Thus heir to glory hast thou found?
What page, in all thy annals bright,
Hast thou with purer joy survey'd
Than that where truth, by Hoadly's aid,
Shines through imposture's solemn shade,
Through kingly and through sacerdotal night?
I.—3.
To him the Teacher bless'd,
Who sent religion, from the palmy field
By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west,
And lifted up the veil which heaven from earth conceal'd,
To Hoadly thus his mandate he address'd:
'Go thou, and rescue my dishonour'd law
From hands rapacious, and from tongues impure:
Let not my peaceful name be made a lure,
Fell persecution's mortal snares to aid:
Let not my words be impious chains to draw
The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe,
To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid.'