First CHORUS.
Of Athenian Philosophers.
Written at the Command of his Grace, by Mr. POPE.
I.
Ye Shades, where sacred Truth is sought,
Groves, where immortal Sages taught,
Where heav'nly Visions Plato fir'd,
And Godlike Zeno lay inspir'd!
In vain your guiltless Laurels stood
Unspotted long with humane Blood:
War, horrid War, your thoughful walks invades,
And Steel now glitters in the Muses Shades.
II.
Oh Heav'n-born Sisters! Source of Art!
Who charm the Sense, or mend the Heart;
Who lead fair Virtue's Train along,
Moral Truth, and mystick Song!
To what new Clime, what distant Sky,
Forsaken, friendless, shall ye fly?
Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic Shore,
Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?
III.
When Athens sinks by Fates unjust;
When wild Barbarians spurn her Dust;
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost Shore
Shall cease to blush with Stranger's Gore;
See Arts her savage Sons controul,
An Athens rising near the Pole;
Till some new Tyrant lifts his purple Hand,
And civil Madness tears them from the Land.
IV.
Ye Gods! what Justice rules the Ball?
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves,
And Men, once ignorant, are Slaves.
Oh curs'd Effects of civil Hate;
In ev'ry Age, in ev'ry State!
Still when the Lust of Tyrant Pow'r succeeds,
Some Athens perishes, some Tully bleeds.
