Page:An Epistle to Curio - Akenside (1744).djvu/23

 See the pale Form of barb'rous Grandeur dwell, Like some grim Idol in a Sorc'rer's Cell! To her in Chains thy Dignity was led; At her polluted Shrine thy Honour bled; With blasted Weeds thy awful Brow she crown'd. Thy pow'rful Tongue with poison'd Philters bound, That baffled Reason straight indignant flew, And fair Persuasion from her Seat withdrew: For now no longer Truth supports thy Cause; No longer Glory prompts thee to Applause; No longer Virtue breathing in thy Breast, With all her conscious Majesty confest, Still bright and brighter wakes th' almighty Flame To rouze the Feeble and the Wilful tame, And where she sees the catching Glimpses roll, Spreads the strong Blaze and all involves the Soul; But cold Restraints thy conscious Fancy chill, And formal Passions mock thy struggling Will; Or