Mark Akenside

“ The conqu'rors to their household gods return'd,
And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough.
X.
Shall then this glory of the antique age,
This pride of men, be lost among mankind?
Shall war's heroic arts no more ingage
The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind?
Doth valour to the soul no more belong?
No more with scorn of violence and wrong
Doth forming Nature now her sons inspire,
That, like some mystery to few reveal'd,
The skill of arms implicitly they yield,
And from their own defence abash'd and aw'd retire? ”

“ A state? and outrage? and sedition's crime?
The pow'rs of warlike prudence dwell not there;
The pow'rs who to command and to obey,
Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway
The rising race to manly concord tame? ”

“ And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around.
VIII.
Why are ye tardy? what inglorious care
Detains you from their head, your native post?
Who most their country's fame and fortune share,
'Tis theirs to share her toils, her perils most.
Each man his task in social life sustains. ”