Page:Samuel Johnson (1911).djvu/257

Rh For such in distant lands the Britons shine, And stain with blood the Danube or the Rhine; This power has praise that virtue scarce can warm, Till fame supplies the universal charm. Yet Reason frowns on War's unequal game, Where wasted nations raise a single name; And mortgaged states their grandsires' wreaths regret, From age to age in everlasting debt; Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right convey, To rust on medals, or on stones decay. On what foundation stands the warrior's pride, How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquer'd lord of pleasure and of pain; No joys to him pacific sceptres yield; War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field. Behold surrounding kings their power combine, And one capitulate, and one resign; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain; "Think nothing gain'd," he cries, "till nought remain,