Page:The Pleasures of Imagination - Akenside (1744).djvu/76

62 To mutual terror and compassion's tears? No sweetly-melting softness which attracts, O'er all that edge of pain, the social pow'rs To this their proper action and their end? —Ask thy own heart. When at the midnight hour, Slow thro' that studious gloom, thy pausing eye Led by the glimm'ring taper moves around The sacred volumes of the dead; the songs Of Græcian bards, and records wrote by fame For Græcian heroes, where the present pow'r Of heav'n and earth surveys th' immortal page, Ev'n as a father blessing, while he reads The praises of his son. If then thy soul, Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days, Mix in their deeds and kindle with their flame; Say, when the prospect blackens on thy view, When rooted from the base, heroic states Mourn in the dust and tremble at the frown Of curst ambition; when the pious band Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires, Lie side by side in gore; when ruffian-pride Usurps the throne of justice, turns the pomp Of public pow'r, the majesty of rule, The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe, To