He loathes the world,—or, with reflections sad,
Concludes it irrecoverably mad;
Of taste, of learning, morals, all bereft,
No hope, no prospect to redeem it left.
70
Awake! for shame! or e’er thy nobler sense
Sink in th’ oblivious pool of indolence!
Must wit be found alone on falsehood’s side,
Unknown to truth, to virtue unallied?
Arise! nor scorn thy country’s just alarms;