Sure from fome angel he the fecret knew,
Who through this labyrinth has lent the clue.
But what, alas! avails it poor mankind,
To fee this promis'd land, yet stay behind?
The way is fhewn, but who has ftrength to go?
Who can all sciences profoundly know?
Whofe fancy flies beyond weak Reafon's fight,
And yet has judgment to direct it right?
Whose just discernment, Virgil-like, is such
Never to fay too little or too much?
Let fuch a man begin without delay;
But he must do beyond what I can fay;
Must above Taffo's lofty flights prevail,
Succeed where Spenser, and ev'n Milton fail.

ODE ON

I.

BRUTUS.

IS faid, that favourite, mankind,

Was made the lord of all below; But yet the doubtful are concern'd to find, 'Tis only one man tells another so.

And, for this great dominion here, Which over other beafts we claim, Reafon our best credential does appear, By which indeed we domineer,

But how abfurdly, we may fee with shame.

Reason, that folemn trifle! light as air,
Driven up and down by cenfure or applause ;
By partial love away 'tis blown,

Or the least prejudice can weigh it down ;
Thus our high privilege becomes our fnare.
In any nice and weighty caufe,

How weak, at beft, is Reason! yet the grave
Impofe on that small judgment which we have.

II.

In all those wits, whose names have spread so wide,

And ev❜n the force of time defy'd, Some failings yet may be defcry'd. Among the reft, with wonder be it told,

That Brutus is admir'd for Cæfar's death;

By which he yet furvives in Fame's immortal breath.
Brutus, ev'n he, of all the reft,

In whom we should that deed the most deteft,
Is of mankind efteem'd the best.

As fnow defcending from fome lofty hill,
Is by its rolling courfe augmenting ftill,
So from illuftrious authors down have roll'd
Thofe great encomiums he receiv'd of old :
Republic orators will shew esteem,

And gild their cloquence with praise of him ;
But Truth, unveil'd, like a bright fun appears,
To fhine away this heap of feventeen hundred years.

III. ..

In vain 'tis urg'd by an illuftrious wit,

(To whom in all befides I willingly fubmit)

That Cæfar's life no pity could deferve

From one who kill'd himself, rather than ferve.

Had Brutus chose rather himself to flay,

Than any mafter to obey,

Happy for Rome had been that noble pride;

The world had then remain'd in peace, and only Brutus

dy'd.

For he, whose foul difdains to own

Subjection to a tyrant's frown,

And his own life would rather end,

Would fure much rather kill himself, than only hurt his friend.

To his own fword in the Philippian field
Brutus indeed at laft did yield:

But in those times felf-killing was not rare,
And his proceeded only from despair :

He might have chofen elfe to live,
In hopes another Cæfar would forgive;

Then, for the good of Rome, he could once more
Confpire against a life which had spar'd his before.

IV.

Our country challenges our utmost care,

And in our thoughts deferves the tenderest share;
Her to a thousand friends we should prefer,

Yet not betray them, though it be for her.
Hard is his heart, whom no defert can move,

A miftrefs or a friend to love,

Above whate'er he does befides enjoy ;

But may he, for their fakes, his fire or fons deftroy!

For facred juftice, or for public good,

Scorn'd be our wealth, our honour, and our blood:
In fuch a cause, want is a happy state,

Ev'n low difgrace would be a glorious fate;
And death itself, when noble fame furvives,
More to be valued than a thoufand lives.
But 'tis not furely of fo fair renown
To fpill another's blood, as to expose our own :
Of all that's ours we cannot give too much,
But what belongs to friendship, oh! 'tis facrilege to touch.

V.

Can we ftand by unmov'd, and fee

Our mother robb'd and ravish'd?

Can we be

Excus'd, if in her cause we never ftir,

Pleas'd with the strength and beauty of the ravisher?
Thus fings our bard with heat almost divine;
'Tis pity that his thought was not as ftrong as fine.
Would it more juftly did the cafe exprefs,

Or that its beauty and its grace were lefs.
(Thus a nymph fometimes we fee,
Who fo charming seems to be,
That, jealous of a foft furprize,
We scarce durft truft our eager eyes)

Such a fallacious ambush to escape,
It were but vain to plead a willing rape;

A valiant fon would be provok'd the more;

A force we therefore must confess, but acted long before;

A marriage fince did intervene,

With all the folemn and the facred scene;

Loud

Loud was the Hymenean fong;

The violated dame * walk'd smilingly along,

And in the midst of the most facred dance,
As if enamour'd of his fight,
Often she caft a kind admiring glance
On the bold struggler for delight;

Who afterwards appear'd fo moderate and cool,
As if for public good alone he fo defir'd to rule.

VI.

But, oh! that this were all which we can urge
Against a Roman of fo great a foul!

And that fair truth permitted us to purge
His fact, of what appears fo foul!
Friendship, that facred and fublimest thing!
The nobleft quality, and chiefest good,
(In this dull age scarce understood)

Infpires us with unusual warmth her injur'd rites to fing. Affift, ye angels! whofe immortal bliss,

Though more refin'd, chiefly confifts in this.
How plainly your bright thoughts to one another shine!
Oh! how ye all agree in harmony divine!

The race of mutual love with equal zeal ye run,
A course, as far from any end, as when at first begun.
Ye saw, and smil'd upon this matchless pair,

Who still betwixt them did so many virtues fhare,
Some which belong to peace, and some to strife,
Thofe of a calm, and of an active life,