What joy, for fatherland to die!Death's darts e'en flying feet o'ertake,Nor spare a recreant chivalry,A back that cowers, or loins that quake.True Virtue never knows defeat:Her robes she keeps unsullied still,Nor takes, nor quits, her curule seatTo please a people's veering will.True Virtue opens heaven to worth:She makes the way she does not find:The vulgar crowd, the humid earth,Her soaring pinion leaves behind.Seal'd lips have blessings sure to come:Who drags Eleusis' rite today,That man shall never share my home,Or join my voyage: roofs give wayAnd boats are wreck'd: true men and thievesNeglected Justice oft confounds:Though Vengeance halt, she seldom leavesThe wretch whose flying steps she hounds.