Not more fantastic Sancho's airy course, When, madly mounted on the magic horse, He pierc'd heaven's opening sphere with dazzled eyes, And seem'd to soar in visionary skies. Nor less, I ween, precarious is the meed Of young adventurers on the Muse's steed; Long time, the child of patrimonial ease, Hippolitus had carv'd sirloins in peace: Had quaff'd secure, unvex'd by toil or wife, The mild October of a private life: Long liv'd with calm domestic conquests crown'd, And kill'd his game on safe paternal ground: And, deaf to honor's or ambition's call, With rural spoils adorn'd his hoary hall. As bland he puff'd the pipe o'er weekly news, Lo there thy triumphs, Taaffe! thy palms, Portmore! Amid the lists our hero takes his stand; Suck'd by the sharper, to the peer a prey, He rolls his eyes that "witness huge dismay;" The shiftless beggar bears of ills the worst, In all attempts, but for their Country, bold, Britain, thy Conscript Counsellors behold; (For some, perhaps, by Fortune favor'd yet, May gain a borough from a lucky bet) Smit with the love of the laconic boot, The cap, and wig succinct, the silken suit, Meer modern Phaetons, usurp the rein, And scour in rival race the tempting plain. See, side by side, his Jockey and Sir John Discuss th' important point-of six to one. For O! the boasted privilege how dear, How great the pride, to gain a Jockey's ear!· See, like a routed host, with headlong pace, Thy Members pour amid the mingling race! All ask, what crowds the tumult could produce→→ Is Bedlam, or the Commons all broke loose? Their way nor reason guides nor caution checks, Proud on a high-bred thing to risque their necks.Thy sages hear, amid th' admiring crowd Adjudge the stakes, most eloquently loud: With critic skill, o'er dubious bets preside, The low dispute, or kindle, or decide: All empty wisdom, and judicious prate, Of distanc'd hor ses gravely fix the fate, And with paternal care unwearied watch Mean time no more the mimic patriots rise, And know no rostrum but Newmarket's stand. Is this the band of Civil Chiefs design'd On England's weal to fix the pondering mind? Who, while their Country's rights are set to sale, Quit Europe's balance for the Jockey's scale. O say, when least their sapient schemes are crost, Or when a nation, or a match is lost? Who dams and sires with more exactness trace, Than of their Country's Kings the sacred race: Think London journies are the worst of ills; Subscribe to articles, instead of bills: Strangers to all our annalists relate, Theirs are the memoirs of th' equestrian state : Who, lost to Albion's past and present views, Heber, thy chronicles alone peruse. Go on, brave youths, till, in some future age, Whips shall become the senatorial badge; Till England see her thronging senators Meet all at Westminster, in boots and spurs ; See the whole House, with mutual frenzy mad, How would a virtuous Houyhnhnm neigh disdain, Yet O! what rage would touch his generous mind, That meanest spawn of man's half-monkey race; How are the Therons of these modern days Chang'd from those chiefs who toil'd for Grecian bays, Who, fir'd with genuine glory's sacred lust, Whirl'd the swift axle through the Pythian dust! What tho' the grooms of Greece ne'er took the odds? And more an Hiero's palm, a Pindar's ode, Greece! how I kindle at thy magic name, Feel all thy warmth, and catch the kindred flame. Thy scenes sublime and awful visions rise, In ancient pride before my musing eyes. Here Sparta's sons in mute attention hang, While just Lycurgus pours the mild harangue; There Xerxes' hosts, all pale with deadly fear, Shrink at her fated Hero's flashing spear. Here, hung with many a lyre of silver string, The laureate alleys of Ilissus spring: And lo! where, rapt in beauty's heavenly dream, Hoar Plato walks his oliv'd Academe. Yet ah! no more the Land of arts and arms Delights with wisdom, or with virtue warms, Lo! the stern Turk, with more than Vandal rage, Has blasted all the wreaths of ancient age: No more her groves by Fancy's feet are trod, Each Attic Grace has left the lov'd abode. Fall'n is fair Greece! by Luxry's pleasing bane Seduc'd, she drags a barbarous foreign chain. Britannia, watch! O trim thy withering bays, Remember thou hast rival'd Graecia's praise, Great Nurse of works divine! yet oh! beware Lest thou the fate of Greece, my Country, share. |