Page:The poetical works of William Cowper (IA poeticalworksof00cowp).pdf/139

And I will sing at liberty's dear feet,
 In Afric's torrid clime or India's fiercest heat.

A.

Sing where you please, in such a cause I grant
 An English Poet's privilege to rant,
 But is not freedom, at least is not our's
 Too apt to play the wanton with her pow'rs,
 Grow freakish, and o'er leaping ev'ry mound
 Spread anarchy and terror all around?

B.

Agreed. But would you sell or slay your horse
 For bounding and curvetting in his course;
 Or if, when ridden with a careless rein,
 He break away, and seek the distant plain?
No. His high mettle under good controul,
 Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal.
Let discipline employ her wholesome arts,
 Let magistrates alert perform their parts,
 Not skulk or put on a prudential mask,
 As if their duty were a desp'rate task;
 Let active laws apply the needful curb
 To guard the peace that riot would disturb,
 And liberty preserved from wild excess,
 Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress.
When tumult lately burst his prison door,
 And set Plebeian thousands in a roar,
 When he usurped authority's just place,
 And dared to look his master in the face,
 When the rude rabbles watch-word was, destroy,
 And blazing London seemed a second Troy,
 Liberty blushed and hung her drooping head,
 Beheld their progress with the deepest dread,
 Blushed that effects like these she should produce,
 Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose.
She loses in such storms her very name,
 And fierce licentiousness should bear the blame.
Incomparable gem! thy worth untold,
 Cheap, though blood-bought, and thrown away when sold;
 May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend
 Betray thee, while professing to defend;
 Prize it ye ministers, ye monarchs spare,
 Ye patriots guard it with a miser's care.

A.

Patriots, alas! the few that have been found
 Where most they flourish, upon English ground,
 The country's need have scantily supplied,
 And the last left the scene, when Chatham died.

B.

Not so — the virtue still adorns our age,
 Though the chief actor died upon the stage.
In him, Demosthenes was heard again,
 Liberty taught him her Athenian strain;
 She cloathed him with authority and awe,
 Spoke from his lips, and in his looks, gave law.
His speech, his form, his action, full of grace,
 And all his country beaming in his face,