X.

Resplendent sight! Behold the coxcomb Czar,[316] The Autocrat of waltzes[317] and of war! As eager for a plaudit as a realm, And just as fit for flirting as the helm; A Calmuck beauty with a Cossack wit, And generous spirit, when 'tis not frost-bit; Now half dissolving to a liberal thaw,[em] 440 But hardened back whene'er the morning's raw; With no objection to true Liberty, Except that it would make the nations free. How well the imperial dandy prates of peace! How fain, if Greeks would be his slaves, free Greece! How nobly gave he back the Poles their Diet, Then told pugnacious Poland to be quiet! How kindly would he send the mild Ukraine, With all her pleasant Pulks,[318] to lecture Spain! How royally show off in proud Madrid 450 His goodly person, from the South long hid! A blessing cheaply purchased, the world knows, By having Muscovites for friends or foes. Proceed, thou namesake of great Philip's son! La Harpe, thine Aristotle, beckons on;[319] And that which Scythia was to him of yore Find with thy Scythians on Iberia's shore. Yet think upon, thou somewhat aged youth, Thy predecessor on the banks of Pruth; Thou hast to aid thee, should his lot be thine, 460 Many an old woman,[320] but not Catherine.[321] Spain, too, hath rocks, and rivers, and defiles-- The Bear may rush into the Lion's toils. Fatal to Goths are Xeres' sunny fields;[322] Think'st thou to thee Napoleon's victor yields? Better reclaim thy deserts, turn thy swords To ploughshares, shave and wash thy Bashkir[323] hordes, Redeem thy realms from slavery and the knout, Than follow headlong in the fatal route, To infest the clime whose skies and laws are pure 470 With thy foul legions. Spain wants no manure: Her soil is fertile, but she feeds no foe: Her vultures, too, were gorged not long ago; And wouldst thou furnish them with fresher prey? Alas! thou wilt not conquer, but purvey. I am Diogenes, though Russ and Hun[324] Stand between mine and many a myriad's sun; But were I not Diogenes, I'd wander Rather a worm than _such_ an Alexander! Be slaves who will, the cynic shall be free; 480 His tub hath tougher walls than Sinope:[en] Still will he hold his lantern up to scan The face of monarchs for an "honest man."[325]