So Nature's systems roll:
The sceptre's thine, if such there be;
If none there is, then thou art free,
Great monarch! mighty whole!
Let the proud tyrant rest his cause
On faith, prescription, force, or laws,
A host's or senate's voice!
His voice affirms thy stronger due,
Who for the many made the few,
And gave the species choice.
Unsanctified by thy command,
Unown'd by thee, the sceptred hand
The trembling slave may bind :
But, loose from Nature's moral ties,
The oath by force imposed belies
The unassenting mind.
Thy will's thy rule, thy good its end;
You punish only to defend
What parent nature gave:
And he who dares her gifts invade,
By nature's oldest law is made
Thy victim or thy slave.
Thus reason founds the just decree
On universal liberty,
Not private rights resign'd:
Through various Nature's wide extent,
No private beings e'er were meant
To hurt the general kind.
Thee justice guides, thee right maintains,
The' oppressor's wrongs, the pilferer's gains
Thy injured weal impair.
Thy warmest passions soon subside,
Nor partial envy, hate, nor pride
Thy temper'd counsels share.
Each instance of thy vengeful rage,
Collected from each clime and age,
Though malice swell the sum,
Would seem a spotless scanty roll,
Compared with Marius' bloody scroll,
Or Sylla's hippodrome.
But thine has been imputed blame,
The' unworthy few assume thy name,
The rabble weak and loud:
Or those who on thy ruins feast,
The lord, the lawyer, and the priest ;
A more ignoble crowd.
Avails it thee, if one devours,
Or lesser spoilers share his powers,
While both thy claim oppose?
Monsters who wore thy sullied crown,
Tyrants who pull'd those monsters down,
Alike to thee were foes.
Far other shone fair Freedom's hand,
Far other was the' immortal stand,
When Hambden fought for thee:
They snatch'd from rapine's gripe thy spoils,
The fruits and prize of glorious toils,
Of arts and industry.
On thee yet foams the preacher's rage,
On thee fierce frowns the' historian's page,
A false apostate train :
Tears stream adown the martyr's tomb,
Unpitied in their harder doom,
Thy thousands strew the plain.
These had no charms to please the sense,
No graceful port, no eloquence
To win the Muse's throng:
Unknown, unsung, unmark'd they lie;
But Cæsar's fate o'ercasts the sky,
And Nature mourns his wrong.
Thy foes, a frontless band, invade;
Thy friends afford a timid aid,
And yield up half thy light.
Even Locke beams forth a mingled ray,
Afraid to pour the flood of day
On man's too feeble sight.
Hence are the motley systems framed,
Of right transferr'd, of power reclaim'd,
Distinctions weak and vain.
Wise Nature mocks the wrangling herd;
For unreclaim'd and untransferr'd
Her powers and rights remain.
While law the royal agent moves,
The instrument thy choice approves,
We bow through him to you.
But change, or cease the' inspiring choice,
The sovereign sinks a private voice,
Alike in one or few!
Shall then the wretch whose dastard heart Shrinks at a tyrant's nobler part,
And only dares betray,
With reptile wiles, alas! prevail,
When force and rage and priestcraft fail,
To pilfer power away?
O! shall the bought and buying tribe,
The slaves who take and deal the bribe,
A people's claims enjoy!
So Indian murderers hope to gain
The powers and virtues of the slain,
Of wretches they destroy.
Avert it, Heaven; you love the brave,
You hate the treacherous, willing slave,
The self-devoted head.
Nor shall a hireling's voice convey
That sacred prize to lawless sway,
For which a nation bled."
Vain prayer, the coward's weak resource! Directing reason, active force
Propitious Heaven bestows.
But ne'er shall flame the thundering sky
To aid the trembling herd that fly
Before their weaker foes.
In names there dwell no magic charms,
The British virtues, British arms
Unloosed our fathers' band:
Say, Greece and Rome, if these should fail,
What names, what ancestors avail,
To save a sinking land?
Far, far from us such ills shall be,
Mankind shall boast one nation free,
One monarch truly great:
Whose title speaks a people's choice,
Whose sovereign will a people's voice,
Whose strength a prosperous state.
Ye are the salt of the earth.
SALT of the earth, ye virtuous few,
Who season humankind;
Lights of the world, whose cheering ray
Illumes the realms of mind;
Where Misery spreads her deepest shade
Your strong compassion glows;
From your bless'd lips the balm distils
That softens mortal woes.
By dying beds, in prison glooms,
Your frequent steps are found;
Angels of love! you hover near,
To bind the stranger's wound.
You wash with tears the bloody page,
Which human crimes deform;
When vengeance threats, your prayers ascend,
And break the gathering storm.
As down the summer stream of vice
The thoughtless many glide, Upwards you steer your steady bark, And stem the rushing tide.
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