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There as the hoary villagers relate
Sertorius, Sylla, Marius, weep their fate,
Their spectres gliding on the lightning blue,
Oft doom'd their ancient stations to renew;
Sertorius bleeding on Perpenna's knife,
And Marius sinking in ambition's strife;
As forest boars entangled in a chain,
Dragg'd on, as stings each Leader's rage or pain;
And each the furious Leader in his turn,
'Till low they lie, a ghastly wreck forlorn.
And say, ye tramplers on your country's mounds,
Say, who' shall fix the swelling torrent's bounds?
Or who shall sail the pilot of the flood?
Alas, full oft some worthless trunk of wood
Is whirl'd into the port, blind Fortune's boast,
While noblest vessels, founder'd, strew the coast!
If wars of fairer fame and old applause,
That bear the title of our country's cause,
