<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395853" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>New Morality</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">From mental mists to purge a nation's eyes; <br>To animate the weak, unite the wise; <br>To trace the deep infection, that prevades <br>The crowded town, and taints the rural shades; <br>To mark how wide extends the mighty waste <br>O'er the fair realms of Science, Learning, Taste; <br>To drive and scatter all the brood of lies, <br>And chase the varying falsehood as it flies; <br>The long arrears of ridicule to pay, <br>To drag reluctant Dulness back to day; <br>Much yet remains.--To you these themes belong, <br>Ye favor'd sons of virtue and of song! <br>Say, is the field too narrow? Are the times <br>Barren of folly, and devoid of crimes? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Yet, venial vices, in a milder age, <br>Could rouse the warmth of Pope's satiric rage; <br>The doting miser, and the lavish heir, <br>The follies, and the foibles of the fair, <br>Sir Job, Sir Balaam, and old Euclio's thrift, <br>And Sappho's diamonds, with her dirty shift, <br>Blunt, Charteris, Hopkins;--meaner subjects fired <br>The keen-eyed Poet;--while the Muse inspired <br>Her ardent child--entwining as he sate, <br>His laurell'd chaplet with the thorns of hate. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>But say,--indignant does the Muse retire, <br>Her shrine deserted, and extinct its fire? <br>No pious hand to feed the sacred flame, <br>No raptured soul a Poet's charge to claim. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Bethink thee (Gifford); when some future age <br>Shall trace the promise of thy playful page;-- <br>&quot;[1]The hand which brush'd a swarm of fools away, <br>&quot;Should rouse to grasp a more reluctant prey!&quot;-- <br>Think then, will pleaded indolence excuse <br>The tame secession of thy languid Muse? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Ah! where is now that promise? Why so long <br>Sleep the keen shafts of satire and of song? <br>Oh! come with Taste and Virtue at thy side, <br>With ardent zeal inflamed, and patriot pride; <br>With keen poetic glance direct the blow, <br>And empty all thy quiver on the foe: <br>No pause--no rest--till weltering on the ground <br>The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with many a wound. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Thou too!--the nameless Bard[2],--whose honest zeal <br>For law, for morals, for the public weal, <br>Pours down impetuous on thy country's foes <br>The stream of verse, and many-languaged prose; <br>Thou too!--though oft thy ill-advised dislike <br>The guiltless head with random censure strike,-- <br>Though quaint allusions, vague and undefined, <br>Play faintly round the ear, but mock the mind; <br>Through the mix'd mass yet taste and learning shine, <br>And manly vigour stamps the nervous line; <br>And patriot warmth the generous rage inspires; <br>And wakes and points the desultory fires! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Yet more remain unknown: for who can tell <br>What bashful genius, in some rural cell, <br>As year to year, and day succeeds to day, <br>In joyless leisure wastes his life away? <br>In him the flame of early fancy shone; <br>His genuine worth his old companions own; <br>In childhood and in youth their chief confess'd, <br>His master's pride, his pattern to the rest. <br>Now far aloof retiring from the strife <br>Of busy talents and of active life, <br>As from the loop-holes of retreat, he views <br>Our stage, verse, pamphlets, politics, and news, <br>He loathes the world,--or, with reflection sad, <br>Concludes it irrecoverably mad; <br>Of taste, of learning, morals, all bereft, <br>No hope, no prospect to redeem it, left. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Awake! for shame! or ere thy nobler sense <br>Sink in the oblivious pool of indolence! <br>Must wit be found alone on falsehood's side, <br>Unknown to truth, to virtue unallied? <br>Arise! nor scorn thy country's just alarms; <br>Wield in her cause thy long neglected arms; <br>Of lofty satire pour the indignant strain, <br>Leagued with her friends, and ardent to maintain <br>'Gainst Learning's, Virtue's, Truth's, Religion's foes, <br>A kingdom's safety, and the world's repose. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>If Vice appal thee,--if thou view with awe <br>Insults that brave, and crimes that 'scape the law;-- <br>Yet may the specious bastard brood, which claim <br>A spurious homage under Virtue's name, <br>Sprung from that parent of ten thousand crimes, <br>The new Philosophy of modern times,-- <br>Yet, these may rouse thee!--With unsparing hand, <br>Oh, lash the vile impostors from the land! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>First, stern Philanthropy:--not she, who dries <br>The orphan's tears, and wipes the widow's eyes; <br>Not she, who sainted Charity her guide, <br>Of British bounty pours the annual tide:-- <br>But French Philanthropy;--whose boundless mind <br>Glows with the general love of all mankind;-- <br>Philanthropy,--beneath whose baneful sway <br>Each patriot passion sinks, and dies away. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Taught in her school t'imbibe thy mawkish strain <br>Condorcet filter'd through the dregs of Paine, <br>Each pert adept disowns a Briton's part, <br>And plucks the name of England from his heart. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>What, shall, a name, a word, a sound controul <br>The aspiring thought, and cramp the expansive soul? <br>Shall one half-peopled Island's rocky round <br>A love, that glows for all Creation, bound? <br>And social charities contract the plan <br>Framed for thy Freedom, universal man? <br>--No--through the extended globe his feelings run <br>As broad and general as the unbounded sun! <br>No narrow bigot he;--his reason'd view <br>Thy interests, England, rank with thine, Peru! <br>France at our doors, he sees no danger nigh, <br>But heaves for Turkey's woes the impartial sigh; <br>A steady Patriot of the World alone, <br>The Friend of every Country--but his own. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Next comes a gentler Virtue.--Ah! beware <br>Lest the harsh verse her shrinking softness scare, <br>Visit her not too roughly;--the warm sigh <br>Breathes on her lips;--the tear-drop gems her eye. <br>Sweet Sensibility, who dwells enshrined <br>In the fine foldings of the feeling mind; <br>With delicate Mimosa's sense endued, <br>Who shrinks instinctive from a hand too rude; <br>Or, like the Anagallis, prescient flower, <br>Shuts her soft petals at the approaching shower. <br>Sweet child of sickly Fancy!--her of yore <br>From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore; <br>And while midst lakes and mountains wild he ran, <br>Full of himself, and shunn'd the haunts of man, <br>Taught her o'er each lone vale and alpine steep <br>To lisp the story of his wrongs, and weep; <br>Taught her to cherish still in either eye, <br>Of tender tears a plentiful supply, <br>And pour them in her brooks that babbled by;-- <br>--Taught by nice scale to meet her feelings strong, <br>False by degrees, and exquisitely wrong;-- <br>--For the crush'd beetle first,--the widow'd dove, <br>And all the warbled sorrows of the grove;-- <br>Next for poor suffering guilt;--and last of all, <br>For Parents, Friends, a king and Country's fall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Mark her fair votaries, prodigal of grief, <br>With cureless pangs, and woes that mock relief, <br>Droop in soft sorrow[3] o'er a faded flower <br>O'er a dead jack-ass pour the pearly shower;-- <br>But hear, unmoved, of Loire's ensanguined flood, <br>Choked up with slain;--of Lyons drench'd in blood; <br>Of crimes that blot the age, the world with shame, <br>Foul crimes, but sicklied o'er with Freedom's name; <br>Altars and thrones subverted, social life <br>Trampled to earth,--the husband from the wife, <br>Parent from child, with ruthless fury torn;-- <br>Of talents, honour, virtue, wit, forlorn, <br>In friendless exile,--of the wise and good <br>Staining the daily scaffold with their blood.-- <br>Of savage cruelties, that scare the mind, <br>The rage of madness with hell's lust combin'd-- <br>Of hearts torn reeking from the mangled breast,-- <br>They hear--and hope, that all is for the best. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Fond hope!--but Justice sanctifies the prayer-- <br>Justice!--here, Satire, strike! 'twere sin to spare! <br>Not she in British Courts that takes her stand, <br>The dawdling balance dangling in her hand, <br>Adjusting punishments to fraud and vice, <br>With srupulous quirks, and disquisition nice-- <br>But firm, erect, with keen reverted glance, <br>The avenging angel of regenerate France, <br>Who visits ancient sins on modern times, <br>And punishes the Pope for Cæsar's crimes.[4] </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Such is the liberal Justice which presides <br>In these our days, and modern patriot's guides; <br>Justice, whose blood-stain'd book one sole decree, <br>One statute fills--&quot;The People shall be free.&quot; <br>Free by what means?--by folly, madness, guilt, <br>By bounteous rapines, blood in oceans spilt; <br>By confiscation, in whose sweeping toils <br>The poor man's pittance with the rich man's spoils, <br>Mix'd in one common mass, are swept away, <br>To glut the short liv'd tyrant of the day:-- <br>By laws, religion, morals, all o'erthrown; <br>Rouse then, ye sovereign people, claim your own: <br>The licence that enthrals, the truth that blinds, <br>The wealth that starves you, and the power that grinds. <br>So Justice bids.--'Twas her enlighten'd doom, <br>Louis, thy holy head devoted to the tomb! <br>'Twas Justice claim'd, in that accursed hour, <br>The fatal forfeit of too lenient power. <br>Mourn for the Man we may; but for the King,-- <br>Freedom, oh! Freedom's such a charming thing! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>&quot;Much may be said on both sides.&quot;--Hark! I hear <br>A well known voice that murmurs in my ear,-- <br>The voice of Candour.--Hail! most solemn sage, <br>Thou drivelling virtue of this moral age, <br>Candour, which softens party's headlong rage. <br>Candour,--which spares its foes;--nor e'er descends <br>With bigot zeal to combat for its friends. <br>Candour,--which loves in see-saw strain to tell <br>Of acting foolishly, but meaning well; <br>Too nice to praise by wholesale, or to blame, <br>Convinced that all men's motives are the same; <br>And finds, with keen discriminating sight, <br>Black's not so black; nor white so very white. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>&quot;Fox, to be sure, was vehement and wrong; <br>But then Pitt's words you'll own were rather strong <br>Both must be blamed, both pardon'd;--'twas just so <br>With Fox and Pitt full forty years ago; <br>So Walpole, Pulteney;--factions in all times, <br>Have had their follies, ministers their crimes.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Give me the avow'd, the erect, the manly foe, <br>Bold I can meet--perhaps may turn his blow; <br>But of all plagues, good heaven, thy wrath can send, <br>Save, save, oh! save me from the Candid Friend! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>&quot;Barras loves plunder,--Merlin takes a bride,-- <br>What then?--shall Candour these good men proscribe. <br>No! ere we join the loud-accusing throng, <br>Prove--not the facts--but that they thought them wrong. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>&quot;Why hang O'Quigley?--he, misguided man, <br>In sober thought his country's weal might plan. <br>And, while his deep-wrought treason sapp'd the throne, <br>Might act from taste in morals all his own.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Peace to such Reasoners!--let them have their way <br>Shut their dull eyes against the blaze of day. <br>Priestley's a Saint, and Stone a patriot still! <br>And La Fayette a Hero, if they will. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I love the bold uncompromising mind, <br>Whose principles are fix'd, whose views defined: <br>Who scouts and scorns, in canting Candour's spite, <br>All taste in morals, innate sense of right, <br>And Nature's impulse, all uncheck'd by art, <br>And feelings fine, that float about the heart; <br>Content, for good men's guidance, bad men's awe, <br>On moral truth to rest, and Gospel law. <br>Who owns, when Traitor's feel the avenging rod, <br>Just retribution, and the hand of God; <br>Who hears the groans through Olmutz' roofs that ring, <br>Of him who mock'd, misled, betray'd his King-- <br>Hears unappall'd:--though Faction's zealots preach-- <br>Unmov'd, unsoften'd by Ftzptrck's speech. <br>--That speech[5] on which the melting Commons hung, <br>&quot;While truths divine came mended from his tongue.&quot; <br>How loving husband clings to duteous wife,-- <br>How pure religion soothes the ills of life,-- <br>How Popish ladies trust their pious fears <br>And naughty actions in their chaplain's ears. <br>Half novel and half sermon on it flow'd; <br>With pious zeal the Opposition glow'd; <br>And as o'er each the soft infection crept, <br>Sigh'd as he whined, and as he whisper'd wept; <br>E'en Cwn[6] dropt a sentimental tear, <br>And stout St. Adrw yelp'd a softer &quot;Hear!&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>O! nurse of crimes and fashions! which in vain <br>Our colder servile spirits would attain, <br>How do we ape thee, France! but blundering still <br>Disgrace the pattern by our want of skill. <br>The borrow'd step our awkward gait reveals: <br>(As clumsy Crtny[7] mars the verse he steals <br>How do we ape thee, France!--nor claim alone <br>Thy arts, thy tastes, thy morals for our own, <br>But to thy Worthies render homage due, <br>Their[8] &quot;hair-breadth 'scapes&quot; with anxious interest view; <br>Statesmen and heroines whom this age adores, <br>Tho' plainer terms would call them rogues and ws. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>See Louvet, patriot, pamphleteer, and sage, <br>Tempering with amorous fire his virtuous rage, <br>Form'd for all tasks, his various talents see,-- <br>The luscious novel, the severe decree. <br>Then mark him weltering in his nasty stye, <br>Bare his lewd transports to the public eye. <br>Not his the love in silent groves that strays, <br>Quits the rude world, and shuns the vulgar gaze. <br>In Lodoiska's full possession blest, <br>One craving void still aches within his breast; <br>Plunged in the filth and fondness of her arms, <br>Not to himself alone he stints her charms; <br>Clasp'd in each other's fond embrace they lie, <br>But know no joy, unless the world stands by. <br>--The fool of vanity, for her alone <br>He lives, loves, writes, and dies but to be known. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>His widow'd mourner flies to poison's aid <br>Eager to join her Louvet's parted shade <br>In those bright realms where sainted lovers stray, <br>But harsh emetics tear that hope away.[9] <br>--Yet hapless Louvet! where thy bones are laid, <br>The easy nymphs shall consecrate the shade.[10] <br>There, in the laughing morn of genial spring, <br>Unwedded pairs shall tender couplets sing; <br>Eringoes, o'er the hallow'd spot shall bloom, <br>And flies of Spain buzz softly round the tomb.[11] </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>But hold, severer virtue claims the Muse-- <br>Roland the just, with ribbands in his shoes[12]-- <br>And Roland's spouse who paints with chaste delight <br>The doubtful conflict of her nuptial night;-- <br>Her virgin charms what fierce attacks assail'd, <br>And how the rigid Minister[13] prevail'd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>And ah! what verse can grace thy stately mien, <br>Guide of the world, preferment's golden queen, <br>Neckar's fair daughter,--Stael, the Epicene! <br>Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and purple[14] nose <br>The bloom of young desire unceasing glows! <br>Fain would the Muse--but ah! she dares no more, <br>A mournful voice from lone Guyana's shore.[15] <br>--Sad Quatremer--the bold presumption checks, <br>Forbid to question thy ambitious sex. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>To thee, proud Barras bows;--thy charms controul <br>Rewbell's brute rage, and Merlin's subtle soul; <br>Raised by thy hands, and fashion'd to thy will, <br>Thy power, thy guiding influence, governs still, <br>Where at the blood-stain'd board expert he plies, <br>The lame artificer of fraud and lies <br>He with the mitred head and cloven heel; <br>Doom'd the coarse edge of Rewbell's jests to feel[16]; <br>To stand the playful buffet, and to hear <br>The frequent ink-stand whizzing past his ear; <br>While all the five directors laugh to see <br>&quot;The limping priest so deft at his new ministry.&quot;[17] </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Last of the Anointed five behold, and least, <br>The Directorial Lama, Sovereign Priest,-- <br>Lepaux: whom athiests worship; at whose nod <br>Bow their meek heads the men without a God.[18] </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Ere long, perhaps, to this astonish'd Isle, <br>Fresh from the shores of subjugated Nile, <br>Shall Buonaparte's victor fleet protect <br>The genuine Theo-philanthropic sect,-- <br>The sect of Marat, Mirabeau, Voltaire,-- <br>Led by their pontiff, good La Reveillere. <br>--Rejoiced our Clubs shall greet him, and install <br>The holy Hunch-back in thy dome, St. Paul! <br>While countless votaries thronging in his train <br>Wave their Red Caps, and hymn this jocund strain: </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>&quot;Courier's and Stars, Sedition's Evening Host, <br>&quot;Thou Morning Chronicle, and Morning Post, <br>&quot;Whether ye make the Rights of man your theme, <br>&quot;Your Country Libel, and your God blaspheme, <br>&quot;Or dirt on private worth and virtue throw, <br>&quot;Still blasphemous or blackguard, praise Lepaux! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>&quot;And ye five other wandering Birds, that move <br>&quot;In sweet accord of harmony and love, <br>&quot;C---dge and S---th---y, L---d, and L---be and Co. <br>&quot;Tune all your mystic harps to praise Lepaux! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>&quot;Pr---tl---y and W---f---ld, humble holy men, <br>&quot;Give praises to his name with tongue and pen! <br>&quot;T---lw---l, and ye that lecture as ye go, <br>&quot;And for your pains get pelted, praise Lepaux! <br>&quot;Praise him each Jacobin, or fool, or knave, <br>&quot;And your cropp'd heads in sign of worship wave! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>&quot;All creeping creatures, venomous and low, <br>&quot;Paine, Wllms, Gdwn, Hlcrft, praise Lepaux! <br>&quot;------ and ------ with ------ join'd, <br>&quot;And every other beast after his kind. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>&quot;And thou, Leviathan! on ocean's brim <br>&quot;Hugest of living things that sleep and swim; <br>&quot;Thou, in whose nose by Burke's gigantic hand <br>&quot;The hook was fix'd to drag thee to the land <br>&quot;With, ------, and ------[19] in thy train, <br>&quot;And ------ wallowing in the yeasty main,[20] <br>&quot;Still as ye snort, and puff, and spout, and blow, <br>&quot;In puffing, and in spouting, praise Lepaux!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Britain, beware; nor let the insidious foe, <br>Of force despairing, aim a deadlier blow. <br>Thy peace, thy strength, with devilish wiles assail, <br>And when her arms are vain, by arts prevail. <br>True, thou art rich, art powerful! through thine Isle <br>Industrious skill, contented labour smile; <br>Far seas are studded with thy countless sails; <br>What wind but wafts them, and what shore but hails! <br>True, thou art brave!--o'er all the busy land <br>In patriot ranks embattled myriads stand; <br>Thy foes behold with impotent amaze, <br>And drop the lifted weapon as they gaze! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>But what avails to guard each outward part, <br>If subtlest poison, circling at thy heart, <br>Spite of thy courage, of thy power, and wealth <br>Mine the sound fabric of thy vital health? </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>So thine own Oak, by some fair streamlet's side <br>Waves its broad arms, and spreads its leafy pride, <br>Towers from the earth, and rearing to the skies <br>Its conscious strength, the tempest's wrath defies: <br>Its ample branches shield the fowls of air, <br>To its cool shades the panting herds repair. <br>The treacherous current work its noiseless way, <br>The fibres loosen and the roots decay; <br>Prostrate the beauteous ruin lies; and all <br>That shared its shelter, perish in its fall. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>O thou!--lamented Sage!--whose prescient scan <br>Pierced through foul Anarchy's gigantic plan, <br>Prompt to incredulous hearers to disclose <br>The guilt of France, and Europe's world of woes: <br>The mighty sea-mark of these troubled days! <br>Thou, on whose name each distant age shall gaze, <br>O large of soul, of genius unconfined, <br>Born to delight, instruct, and mend mankind; <br>Burke! in whose breast a Roman ardour glow'd; <br>Whose copious tone with Grecian richness flow'd; <br>Well hast thou found (if such thy Country's doom) <br>A timely refuge in the sheltering tomb! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>As far as realms, where Eastern kings are laid, <br>In pomp of death, beneath the cypress shade, <br>The perfumed lamp with unextinguish'd light <br>Flames thro' the vault, and cheers the gloom of night. <br>So, mighty Burke! in thy sepulchral urn, <br>To fancy's view, the lamp of Truth shall burn. <br>Thither late times shall turn their reverent eyes, <br>Led by thy light, and by thy wisdom wise. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>There are, to whom (their taste such pleasures cloy) <br>No light thy wisdom yields, thy wit no joy. <br>Peace to their heavy heads, and callous hearts, <br>Peace--such as sloth, as ignorance imparts!-- <br>Pleased may they live to plan their Country's good, <br>And crop, with calm content, their flow'ry food! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>What though thy venturous spirit loved to urge <br>The labouring theme to Reason's utmost verge, <br>Kindling and mounting from the enraptured sight;-- <br>Still anxious wonder watch'd thy darling flight! <br>While vulgar minds, with mean malignant stare, <br>Gazed up, the triumph of thy fall to share! <br>Poor triumph! price of that extorted praise, <br>Which still to daring Genius Envy pays. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Oh! for thy playful smile,--thy potent frown,-- <br>To abash bold Vice, and laugh pert folly down! <br>So should the Muse in Humour's happiest vein, <br>With verse that flow'd in metaphoric strain, <br>And apt allusions to the rural trade, <br>Tell of what wood young Jacobins are made; <br>How the skill'd Gardener grafts with nicest rule <br>The slip of Coxcomb, on the stock of fool; <br>Forth in bright blossom bursts the tender sprig, <br>A thing to wonder at,[21] perhaps a Whig, <br>Should tell, how wise each half-fledged pedant prates <br>Of weightiest matter, grave distinctions, states-- <br>That rules of policy, and public good, <br>In Saxon times were rightly understood; <br>That Kings are proper, may be useful things, <br>But then some Gentlemen object to Kings; <br>That in all times the Minister's to blame; <br>That British Liberty's an empty name, <br>Till each fair burgh, numerically free, <br>Shall choose its Members by the Rule of Three. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>So should the Muse, with verse in thunder clothed, <br>Proclaim the crimes by God and Nature loathed. <br>Which--(when fell poison revels in the veins-- <br>That poison fell, which frantic Gallia drains <br>From the crude fruit of Freedom's blasted tree) <br>Blots the fair records of Humanity. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>To feebler nations let proud France afford <br>Her damning choice,--the chalice or the sword,-- <br>To drink or die; oh fraud! oh specious lie! <br>Delusive choice! for if they drink, they die. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>The sword we dread not: of ourselves secure, <br>Firm were our strength, our Peace and Freedom sure, <br>Let all the world confederate all its powers, <br>&quot;Be they not back'd by those that should be ours,&quot; <br>High on his rock shall Britain's Genius stand, <br>Scatter the crowded hosts, and vindicate the land. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Guard we but our own hearts: with constant view <br>To ancient morals, ancient manners true, <br>True to their manlier virtues, such as nerved <br>Our father's breasts, and this proud Isle preserved <br>For many a rugged age:--and scorn the while,-- <br>Each philosophic atheist's specious guile-- <br>The soft seductions, the refinements nice, <br>Of gay morality, and easy vice: <br>So shall we brave the storm: our 'stablish'd power <br>Thy refuge, Europe, in some happier hour. <br>But, French in heart--tho' victory crowns our brow, <br>Low at our feet though prostrate nations bow, <br>Wealth gild our cities, commerce crown our shore <br>London may shine, but England is no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Canning">George Canning</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395853" data-title="New Morality de George Canning" data-description="From mental mists to purge a nation's eyes; To animate the weak, unite the wise; To trace the deep infection, that prevades The crowded town, and taints the rural shades; To mark how wide extends the mighty waste O'er the fair realms of Scien..."></div> </div> </div>

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