Classic Poem

III viii 111 35

IRENE
Ambition is the Stamp impress'd by Heav'n
To mark the noblest Minds, with active Heat
Inform'd they mount the Precipice of Pow'r,
Grasp at Command, and tow'r in quest of Empire;
While vulgar Souls compassionate their Cares,
Gaze at their Height and tremble at their Danger:
Thus meaner Spirits with Amazement mark
The varying Seasons, and revolving Skies,
And ask, what guilty Pow'r's rebellious Hand
Rolls with eternal Toil the pond'rous Orbs;
While some Archangel nearer to Perfection,
In easy State presides o'er all their Motions,
Directs the Planets with a careless Nod,
Conducts the Sun, and regulates the Spheres.

ASPASIA
Well may'st thou hide in Labyrinths of Sound
The Cause that shrinks from Reason's powerful Voice.
Stoop from thy Flight, trace back th'entangled Thought,
And set the glitt'ring Fallacy to view.
Not Pow'r I blame, but Pow'r obtain'd by Crime,
Angelic Greatness is Angelic Virtue.
Amidst the Glare of Courts, the Shouts of Armies,
Will not th'Apostate feel the Pangs of Guilt,
And wish too late for Innocence and Peace?
Curst as the Tyrant of th'infernal Realms,
With gloomy State and agonizing Pomp.