And are there yet, in this late fickly age
(Unkindly to the tow'ring growths of virtue)
Such bold exalted ſpirits? Men whoſe deeds,
To the bright annals of old Greece oppos'd,
Would throw in ſhades her yet unrival'd name,
And dim the luſtre of her faireſt page!
And glows the flame of Liberty ſo ſtrong
In this lone ſpeck of earth! this ſpot obſcure,
Shaggy with woods, and cruſted o'er with rock,
By ſlaves ſurrounded, and by ſlaves oppreſs'd!
What then ſhould Britons feel? ſhould they not catch
The warm contagion of heroic ardour,
And kindle at a fire ſo like their own?
Such were the working thoughts which ſwell'd the breaſt
Of generous Boswel; when with nobler aim
And views beyond the narrow beaten track
By trivial fancy trod, he turn'd his courſe
