"HERE PAUSE: THE POET CLAIMS AT LEAST THIS PRAISE"

Here pause: the poet claims at least this praise, That virtuous Liberty hath been the scope Of his pure song, which did not shrink from hope In the worst moment of these evil days; From hope, the paramount duty that Heaven lays, 5 For its own honour, on man's suffering heart.[A] Never may from our souls one truth depart— That an accursed[1] thing it is to gaze On prosperous tyrants with a dazzled eye; Nor—touched with due abhorrence of their guilt 10 For whose dire ends tears flow, and blood is spilt, And justice labours in extremity— Forget thy weakness, upon which is built, O wretched man, the throne of tyranny!