Of History, stript naked as a rock
’Mid a dry desert? What is it we hear?
The glory of Infant Rome must disappear,[108] 5
Her morning splendours vanish, and their place
Know them no more. If Truth, who veiled her face
With those bright beams yet hid it not, must steer
Henceforth a humbler course perplexed and slow;
One solace yet remains for us who came 10
Into this world in days when story lacked
Severe research, that in our hearts we know