The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.
They hear a voice in every wind, And snatch a fearful joy.
And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.
Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.
If the best man's faults were written on his forehead, he would draw his hat over his eyes.
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.