Nobilitas sola est atque unica virtus.— JUV.

Mark those proud boasters of a splendid line,

Like gilded ruins, mouldering while they shine,

How heavy sits that weight, of alien show,

Like martial helm upon an infant's brow;

Those borrowed splendors whose contrasting light

Throws back the native shades in deeper night.

Ask the proud train who glory's train pursue,

Where are the arts by which that glory grew?

The genuine virtues with that eagle-gaze

Sought young Renown in all her orient blaze!

Where is the heart by chymic truth refined,

The exploring soul whose eye had read mankind?

Where are the links that twined, with heavenly art,

His country's interest round the patriot's heart?