To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land,
And read their hist’ry in a nation’s eyes
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib’d alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin’d:
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride
With incense kindled at the Muse’s flame.