 | Churchill defended, a poem |  |
Do noble Ethicks claim her moving Lays?
Who gives an Aristotle any Praise?
Who can endure the Saws of ancient Fools,
The Mould, and Cobwebs of the doting Schools?
No, powerful Bards; yours is a higher Part,
Who can resist the Language of the Heart?
—Your Numbers vibrate on my tingling Ear—
What Wretches are not better while they hear?
Poets!—I feel your animating Heat,
My Pulse, and Breast with virtuous Fervour beat:
Yes, yes, I'll wipe away the Widow's Tear,
The tender Orphan I will help to rear:
Yes, to my bleeding Country's Aid I'll fly,
I'll live with Freedom, or with Freedom die!—
Enough—enough—a seeble Mortal spare,
The Heavenly Extacy I cannot bear;
Too fired for my terrestrial Clod I grow:
Oh! all your Lines are Nature and Rousseau.
Who gives an Aristotle any Praise?
Who can endure the Saws of ancient Fools,
The Mould, and Cobwebs of the doting Schools?
No, powerful Bards; yours is a higher Part,
Who can resist the Language of the Heart?
—Your Numbers vibrate on my tingling Ear—
What Wretches are not better while they hear?
Poets!—I feel your animating Heat,
My Pulse, and Breast with virtuous Fervour beat:
Yes, yes, I'll wipe away the Widow's Tear,
The tender Orphan I will help to rear:
Yes, to my bleeding Country's Aid I'll fly,
I'll live with Freedom, or with Freedom die!—
Enough—enough—a seeble Mortal spare,
The Heavenly Extacy I cannot bear;
Too fired for my terrestrial Clod I grow:
Oh! all your Lines are Nature and Rousseau.
| Churchill defended, a poem | |