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II.
To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine;
From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones
And cities bord'ring on the Cimbric main,
Ye lost, ye self-deserted? whose proud lords
Have baffled your tame hands, and giv'n your swords
To slavish ruffians hir'd for their command:
These, at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod,
See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod:
These are the public will, the reason of the land.
III.
Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms,
Yet vain of freedom, how dost thou beguile
With dreams of hope these near and loud alarms?
Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd,
The praise and envy of the nations round,
What care hast thou to guard from fortune's sway?
Amid the storms of war, how soon may all
The lofty pile from its foundations fall,
Of ages the proud toil, the ruin of a day!
