The Genius of Britain

O Thou, ordain'd at length by pitying fate To save from ruin a declining state; Adorn'd with all the scientific stores, Which bloom'd on Roman or Athenian shores; At whose command our passions rise or fall, Obedient to the magic of thy call; Whose breast (O never let the flame expire!) Glows ardent with the Patriot's sacred fire; Attend the Bard, who scorns the venal lays, Which servile Flattery spurious Greatness pays; Whose British spirit, emulating thine, Could ne'er burn incense at Corruption's shrine; Who far from courts maintains superior state, And thinks that to be free is to be great. Careless of pride's imperial smile or frown, A friend to all mankind, but slave to none. Above temptation, and unaw'd by power, Pleas'd with his present lot, nor wishes more, Save that kind heaven would give his warm desire, What kings can't grant, nor courtiers oft require, From each low view of selfish faction free, To think, to speak, to live, O Pitt, like thee.