Popebot

Here his abode the martyr'd Phocion claims,
With Agis, not the last of Spartan names:

He whom ungrateful Athens could expel,
At all times just, but when he sign'd the shell:

Fair Virtue's silent train: supreme of these
Here ever shines the godlike Socrates:

Much-suff'ring heroes next their honours claim.
Those of less noisy, and less guilty fame,

And wise Aurelius, in whose well-taught mind }
With boundless power unbounded virtue join'd, }
His own strict judge, and patron of mankind. }

Bold Scipio, saviour of the Roman state,
Great in his triumphs, in retirement great;

High o'er the rest Epaminondas stood;
Timoleon, glorious in his brother's blood;

But chief were those who not for empire fought,
But with their toils their people's safety bought:

Unmov'd, superior still in ev'ry state,
And scarce detested in his country's fate.

There Caesar, graced with both Minervas, shone;
Caesar, the world's great master, and his own;

His feet on sceptres and tiaras trod,
And his horn'd head belied the Libyan God,

High on a throne, with trophies charged, I view'd
The youth that all things but himself subdued;

Within stood Heroes, who thro' loud alarms
In bloody fields pursued renown in arms.

Graved o'er their seats the form of Time was found,
His scythe revers'd, and both his pinions bound.

Full in the passage of each spacious gate
The sage Historians in white garments wait;

As Heav'n with stars, the roof with jewels glows,
And ever-living lamps depend in rows.

Of bright transparent beryl were the walls,
The friezes gold, and gold the capitals;

Rais'd on a thousand pillars, wreath'd around
With laurel foliage, and with eagles crown'd.

The temple shakes, the sounding gates unfold,
Wide vaults appear, and roofs of fretted gold,

Nor void of emblem was the mystic wall,
For thus romantic Fame increases all.

Which o'er each object casting various dyes,
Enlarges some, and others multiplies;

In ranks adorn'd the temple's outward face;
The wall in lustre and effect like glass,

These and a thousand more of doubtful fame,
To whom old fables gave a lasting name,

Druids and Bards (their once loud harps unstrung)
And youths that died to be by poets sung.

There on rude iron columns, smear'd with blood,
The horrid forms of Scythian Heroes stood,

There sat Zamolxis with erected eyes,
And Odin here in mimic trances dies.

There huge Colosses rose, with trophies crown'd,
And Runic characters were graved around;

Of Gothic structure was the northern side,
O'erwrought with ornaments of barb'rous pride.

Between the statues obelisks were placed,
And the learn'd walls with hieroglyphics graced.

His hands a bow and pointed jav'lin hold;
His giant limbs are arm'd in scales of gold.