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Si te fortè mea gravis uret sarcina charte
-HOR. LIB. I. Epist. 13.
A. YOU told me, I remember, glory, built
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.
Laurels won in the Field of Honour.
Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust,
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are
Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, Reward his mem'ry, dear to ev'ry muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In honour's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, And will prevail or perish in her cause. "Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes His portion in the good that heav'n bestows. And, when recording history displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days; Tells of a few stout hearts that fought and died Where duty plac'd them, at their country's side; The man that is not mov'd with what he reads, That takes not fire at their heroic deeds