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And the low puppetry of thrones, to muse
On that blest triumph, when the patriot Sage
Call'd the red lightnings from th' o'er-rushing cloud
And dash'd the beauteous Terrors on the earth 255
Smiling majestic. Such a phalanx ne'er
Measur'd firm paces to the calming sound
Of Spartan flute! These on the fated day,
When flung to rage by Pity eloquent men
Have rous'd with pealing voice th' unnumber'd tribes260
That toil and groan and bleed, hungry and blind,
These hush'd awhile with patient eye serene
Shall watch the mad careering of the storm;
Then o'er the wild and wavy chaos rush
And tame th' outrageous mass, with plastic might265
Moulding Confusion to such perfect forms,
As erst were wont, bright visions of the day!
