When sweet applause awaits the upright deed, Its breath propitious fans the noble flame, Bestows new vigour on each moral aim; But that blest man shall crown a loftier meed, Who, o'er his blossom'd fame when Slander draws Her chilling shade, still acts as bold inspires The real divine, that conscious duty fires. O BURKE! that meed hast thou, — high Heaven's applause, And Virtue's holy calm; of finer mold Whose heart kind Nature form'd, where bright unfold Justice, benevolence, heroic truth; While 'mid the wise distinguish'd beams thy mind, With Science fraught, by Attic grace refin'd. The varnish'd tale let venal hirelings frame, That praise shall yet be thine so nobly won. Though vapours foul obscure the noble sun, Again, while hill and vale with triumph ring, Bursting sublime the glorious flood shall roll; Thus shalt thou pierce the shades that round the scowl, Her paeans loud admiring Albion sing, And grateful India bless thy spotless name.
