IX.

Of fertile genius him they nurtur'd well,
In every science, and in every art,

By which mankind the thoughtless brutes excel,
That can or use, or joy, or grace impart,
Difclofing all the powers of head and heart:

Ne were the goodly exercises spar'd,

That brace the nerves, or make the limbs alert,
And mix elaftic force with firmnefs hard:

Was never knight on ground mote be with him compar❜d.
X.

Sometimes, with early morn, he mounted gay
The hunter-fteed, exulting o'er the dale,
And drew the roseat breath of orient day;
Sometimes, retiring to the fecret vale,

Yclad in fteel, and bright with burnish'd mail,
He strain❜d the bow, or tofs'd the founding fpear,
Or darting on the goal outstripp'd the gale,

Or wheel'd the chariot in its mid-career,

Or frenuous wrestled hard with many a tough compeer.
XI.

At other times he pry'd through Nature's store,
Whate'er the in th' etherial round contains,
Whate'er the hides beneath her verdant floor,
The vegetable and the mineral reigns;

Or else he fcann'd the globe, those small domains,
Where restless mortals fuch a turmoil keep,
Its feas, its floods, its mountains, and its plains;
But more he search'd the mind, and rouz'd from fleep.
Thofe moral feeds whence we heroic actions reap.

XII. Nor

XII.

Nor would he fcorn to stoop from high pursuits Of heavenly truth, and practise what she taught. Vain is the tree of knowledge without fruits. Sometimes in hand the spade or plough he caught, Forth-calling all with which boon earth is fraught; Sometimes he ply'd the ftrong mechanic tool, Or rear'd the fabric from the finest draught; And oft he put himself to Neptune's school, Fighting with winds and waves on the vext ocean pool. XIII.

To folace then these rougher toils, he try'd
To touch the kindling canvass into life;
With nature his creating pencil vy'd,
With nature joyous at the mimic ftrife:
Or, to fuch fhapes as grac'd Pygmalion's wife
He hew'd the marble; or, with varied fire,
He rouz'd the trumpet and the martial fife,
Or bade the lute fweet tenderness inspire,
Or verfes fram'd that well might wake Apollo's lyre.
XIV.

Accomplish'd thus he from the woods issued,
Full of great aims, and bent on bold emprize;
The work, which long he in his breast had brew'd.
Now to perform he ardent did devise;

No

To wit, a barbarous world to civilize.

Earth was till then a boundless forest wild;
Nought to be seen but favage wood, and skies;
No cities nourish'd arts, no culture fmil'd,

government, no laws, no gentle manners mild.
Q3

XV. A

XV.

A ragged wight, the worft of brutes, was man;
On his own wretched kind he, ruthless, prey'd :
The ftrongest ftill the weakest over-ran;
In every country mighty robbers fway'd,

And guile and ruffian force were all their trade. Life was a fcene of rapine, want, and woe; Which this brave knight, in noble anger, made To fwear, he would the rafcal rout o'erthrow, For, by the powers divine, it should no more be fo! XVI.

It would exceed the purport of my song,
To fay how this best Sun from orient climes
Came beaming life and beauty all along,
Before him chacing indolence and crimes.
Still as he pafs'd, the nations he fublimes,
And calls forth arts and virtues with his ray:
Then Egypt, Greece, and Rome, their golden times,
Succeffive had; but now in ruins grey

They lie, to flavish floth and tyranny a prey.

XVII.

To crown his toils, Sir Industry then spread
The fwelling fail, and made for Britain's coaft.
A fylvan life till then the natives led,

In the brown fhades and green-wood forest loft,
All careless rambling where it lik'd them most :
Their wealth the wild-deer bouncing thro' the glade;
They lodg'd at large, and liv'd at nature's coft;
Save spear, and bow, withouten other aid;
Yet not the Roman steel their naked breaft difmay'd.
XVIII. He

XVIII.

He lik'd the foil, he lik'd the clement skies, He lik'd the verdant hills and flowery plains. Be this my great, my chofen ifle (he cries) This, whilft my labours Liberty sustains, This queen of ocean all affault difdains. Nor lik'd he lefs the genius of the land, To freedom apt and perfevering pains, Mild to obey, and generous to command, Temper'd by forming Heaven with kindeft firmest hand.

XIX.

Here, by degrees, his mafter-work arose,
Whatever arts and industry can frame:
Whatever finifh'd agriculture knows,

Fair queen of arts! from heaven itself who came,
When Eden flourish'd in unspotted fame :
And ftill with her fweet innocence we find,
And tender peace, and joys without a name,
That, while they ravish, tranquillize the mind:
Nature and Art at once, delight and use combin'd.
XX.

The towns he quicken'd by mechanic arts,
And bade the fervent city glow with toil;
Bade focial Commerce raife renowned marts,
Join land to land, and marry foil to foil,
Unite the poles, and without bloody spoil
Bring home of either Ind the gorgeous stores;
Or, fhould defpotic rage the world embroil,
Bade tyrants tremble on remoteft fhores,

While o'er th' encircling deep Britannia's thunder roars.

XXI.

The drooping Muses then he westward call'd,
From the fam'd city by Propontick sea,

What time the Turk th' enfeebled Grecian thrall'd;
Thence from their cloister'd walks he fet them free,
And brought them to another Castalie,

Where Ifis many a famous nourfling breeds;

Or where old Cam foft-paces o'er the lea

In penfive mood, and tunes his Doric reeds, The whilst his flocks at large the lonely fhepherd feeds, XXII.

Yet the fine arts were what he finish'd leaft.

For why? They are the quinteffence of all,
The growth of labouring time, and flow increaft;
Unless, as feldom chances, it should fall,

That mighty patrons the coy fisters call
Up to the fun-fhine of uncumber'd ease,

[thrall,

Where no rude care the mounting thought may And where they nothing have to do but please: Ah! gracious God! thou know'ft they ask no other fees. XXIII.

But now, alas! we live too late in time:

Our patrons now ev'n grudge that little claim, Except to fuch as fleek the foothing rhyme; And yet, forfooth, they wear Mæcenas' name, Poor fons of puft-up vanity, not fame. Unbroken fpirits, chear! ftill, ftill remains Th' Eternal Patron, Liberty; whose flame, While the protects, infpires the nobleft strains. The beft, and sweetest far, are toil-created gains. XXIV. When