Explore "The True-Born Englishman" by Daniel Defoe on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The fame of virtue 'tis for which I sound, / And heroes with immortal triumphs crown'd; / Fame built on solid virtue swifter flies, / Than morning light can spread the eastern skies: / The gath'ring air returns the doubling sound; / And loud repeating thunders force it round; / Echoes return from caverns of the deep, / Old Chaos dreams on't in eternal sleep: / Time hands it forward to its latest urn, / From whence it never, never shall return: / Nothing is heard so far, or lasts so long, / 'Tis heard by ev'ry ear, and spoke by every tongue.
My hero, with the sails of honour furl'd, / Rises like the great genius of the world; / By fate and fame wisely prepared to be / The soul of war and life of victory; / He spreads the wings of virtue on the throne, / And ev'ry wind of glory fans them on; / Immortal trophies dwell upon his brow, / Fresh as the garlands he has won but now.