MARTHON.
But still our gallant emp'ror and his friends,
Oppos'd to Mah'met and his num'rous host
With all his warlike engines, are in truth
As if one toss'd against the whirl'd-up sands
Of their Arabian plains, one grasp of dust.
OTHUS.
The essence and true spirit of their kind;
The soul of thousands. A brave band they are,
Not levied by the power and wealth of states;
And the best feelings of the human heart
Have been the agents of their princely chief,
Recruiting nobly. Virtuous Sympathy,
Who on the weaker and deserted side
His ample, lib'ral front doth ever range;
Keen Indignation, who, with clenched hand
And sternly-flashing eye, ever beholds
The high o'erbearing crest of proud oppression;
And gen'rous Admiration, above all,
Of noble deeds, whose heav'n-enlighten'd smile,
And imitative motion, ever wake
With eager heart-throbs at the glorious sight
Of manly daring, have unto their numbers
Some score of dauntless spirits lately added;
Such as would ride upon the whirlwind's back,
If it might be, and with Heaven's spearmen cope.
