. . . .
. . . . .
Who, proud to kiss each separate rod of power,
Bless, while he reigns, the minion of the hour;
Worship each would-be god, that o'er them moves,
And take the thundering of his brass for JOVE'S!
If _this_ be wisdom, then farewell, my books,
Farewell, ye shrines of old, ye classic brooks.
Which fed my soul with currents, pure and fair,
Of living Truth that now must stagnate there!--
Instead of themes that touch the lyre with light,
Instead of Greece and her immortal fight
For Liberty which once awaked my strings,
Welcome the Grand Conspiracy of Kings,
The High Legitimates, the Holy Band,
Who, bolder' even than He of Sparta's land,
Against whole millions, panting to be free,
Would guard the pass of right line tyranny.
Instead of him, the Athenian bard whose blade
Had stood the onset which his pen portrayed,
Welcome . . . .
. . . . .
And, 'stead of ARISTIDES--woe the day
Such names should mingle!--welcome Castlereagh!
Here break we off, at this unhallowed name.[3]
Like priests of old, when words ill-omened came.
My next shall tell thee, bitterly shall tell.
Thoughts that . . . .
. . . .
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