Page:The poetical works of William Cowper (IA poeticalworksof00cowp).pdf/140

He stood, as some inimitable hand
 Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand.
No sycophant or slave that dared oppose
 Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose,
 And every venal stickler for the yoke,
 Felt himself crushed at the first word he spoke.
Such men are raised to station and command,
 When providence means mercy to a land.
He speaks, and they appear; to him they owe
 Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow,
 To manage with address, to seize with pow'r
 The crisis of a dark decisive hour.
So Gideon earned a vict'ry not his own,
 Subserviency his praise, and that alone.
Poor England! thou art a devoted deer,
 Beset with ev'ry ill but that of fear.
The nations hunt; all mark thee for a prey,
 They swarm around thee, and thou standst at bay.
Undaunted still, though wearied and perplexed,
 Once Chatham saved thee, but who saves thee next?
Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along
 All that should be the boast of British song.
'Tis not the wreath that once adorned thy brow,
 The prize of happier times will serve thee now.
Our ancestry, a gallant christian race,
 Patterns of ev'ry virtue, ev'ry grace,
 Confessed a God, they kneeled before they fought,
 And praised him in the victories he wrought.
Now from the dust of antient days bring forth
 Their sober zeal, integrity and worth,
 Courage, ungraced by these, affronts the skies,
 Is but the fire without the sacrifice.
The stream that feeds the well-spring of the heart
 Not more invigorates life's noblest part,
 Than virtue quickens with a warmth divine,
 The pow'rs that sin has brought to a decline.

A.

Th' inestimable estimate of Brown,
 Rose like a paper-kite, and charmed the town;
 But measures planned and executed well,
 Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell.
He trod the very self-same ground you tread,
 And victory refuted all he said.

B.

And yet his judgment was not framed amiss,
 Its error, if it erred, was merely this —
 He thought the dying hour already come,
 And a complete recov'ry struck him dumb.
But that effeminacy, folly, lust,
 Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must,
 And that a nation shamefully debased,
 Will be despised and trampled on at last,
 Unless sweet penitence her pow'rs renew,
 Is truth, if history itself be true.