Extract from a Poem called antient and modern Rome

Reflection hath its joy, a pensive calm That shrouds the soul, and bears it on the wings Of vagrant thought, to mem'ry's wide domain! Now let's indulge it, while we here remark The mad career of fortune, and behold Imperial Rome, 'midst all her triumphs, fall'n! So closes ev'ry scene, and thus decay The works of man—allow'd a little space To shine, attract, then fade, and be forgot! For see the paths that lead to pow'r, and fame, And those which feel the peasant's silent step, End in one point; observe ambition's flight, And laugh at all the wild fantastic dreams Of human folly. Seeking then thy arms, Oh, virtue! let us court thee as our good; Our only treasure, and our only hope; Our shield, to guard us 'gainst a faithless world, And all its poison'd arrows: Thou unhurt, Sprung from immortal truth, serenely bright, Sustain'st the general wreck; and like the sun Shalt still appear with undiminish'd light, When all the boasted monuments of pride Shall sink, and mingle with the dust they bid!

HABITUAL evils are not quickly chang'd; But many days must pass, and many sorrows, Conscious remorse, and anguish must be felt, To curb desire, to break the stubborn will, And work a second nature in the soul, 'Ere virtue can resume the place she lost: 'Tis else dissimulation.—