Though they delighted in the clash of arms,
Yet honor, truth, for them had nobler charms
Than for the giants of that brazen age,
Whose chief ambition was in brutal rage.
The trump of fame proclaimed their martial worth,
And styled them demi-gods throughout the earth.
Such were the men who drenched the Theban soil,
When each fell vanquished in the warlike broil;
And such the men who dared the waves in joy,
To fight for Helen at the gates of Troy.
And when, their triumphs past, the illustrious brave
Sank calmly in the slumbers of the grave,
Their spirits roamed the Islands of the Blest,
In the deep-eddying oceans of the West,
Where golden bowers invite delicious ease,
And fruits e'er ripe hang from the blooming trees.
But of all ages that were ever curs'd
With human villanies, this is the worst.
I often wish my fortune had been cast
To live in future or in ages past.
'Tis plain, at length, the Iron Age has come,
Whose wicked deeds ere long shall strike us dumb.
In former times, though full of strife and pother,
Men of one blood were faithful to each other.
But now, it seems, the gods have scourged our race
For some misdeed, nor even left that grace.
But what is worse, their sorrows shall increase,
Nor night nor day shall bring the guilty peace.
The time will come when impious son and sire
Shall, reeking in each other's blood, expire;
When man shall not, as heretofore, extend
The rites of friendship to his former friend;
