Classic Poem

Spoke by Mr . J OHNSON .

To night, no languid love shall dare complain:
Woe , far more serious, asks more serious pain ;
Critic , be ours; 'tis now, the patriot 's cause;
What Briton wars, on liberty — and laws!
Sweet liberty! thou sunshine of the heart!
Thou smile of nature! and thou soul of art!
Without thy aid, no human hope could grow:
And love, and wealth, and wisdom, were but woe!
Thine, in all ages, all the wise and brave:
No hero ever was — or wish'd a slave.

BRITAIN , fair queen of states! feel if thou can'st,
Feel thy own happiness — 'Tis all thou want'st :
Blest Isle! while every groaning nation ; round,
Bows, to the servile yoke, ignobly bound,
Thou , from their confines , and their miseries , rent,
Safe, sea-set gem! — thy own , great continent!
Shew'st a tame, truckling world, one generous land ,
Where power ne'er prosper'd, in a tyrant's hand!
Live, ye brave guardians of your country's cause!
Live, and give freedom life, by living laws .
From your white cliffs , look round a world enslav'd;
And hug th' asserted rights , your fathers sav'd.

But, while slow-rous'd, your dreaded arms , prevail,
And commerce , spite of envy , spreads her sail,
Stoop not to forfeit Wits all-bright'ning claim:
Sword, Trade , and pen , should guard the conqu'ror's fame .
Taste, for yourselves — be all French power disdain'd:
Not e'en a slave wou'd bear his fancy chain'd.
Off with their fripp'ry modes — their Kings , in vain,
Attempt us — shall their cooks , and taylors reign?
Cross 'em, in taste, dress, politicks , — and DANOD ;
Scorn, e'en, a S TEP , that leaves the lead , to France ;
Smile at the pride , their light stage-cap'rer feels,
Firm-standing Britons need no flying heels .
Rise, rise, lost muse! re-wake the slumb'ring scene,
Teach show, to animate — and sound, to mean .
Solemn, and high, new-string the tragic lyre;
Tempt back the Poet's G OD , to lend his fire .
Here , must he dwell ; his face no slave dares see,
And who, not British-born , is, now, left free ?

Hither, from Rome, Rome's antient genius flies:
For fancy cannot live, where courage dies,
Hail, my last hope , she crys — inspir'd by me ,
Wish, think, talk, write, and act — for liberty .
Yet — would you build my fabrick, to endure ,
Be your hearts warm, but let your hands be pure.
Never, to shine , yourselves, your country sell :
Displac'd, think nobly: when in power, act well.
Agree , like modern, fight , like antient, Rome :
War but abroad — and taste sweet peace, at home .
Let no self-server , general trust betray;
No pique , no party bar the public way:
Front an arm'd world , with union on your side,
No foe shall shake you — if no friends divide.