XLV. Then waken from long lethargy to life * The feeds of happinefs, and powers of thought: Then jarring appetites forgoe their ftrife, A ftrife by ignorance to madness wrought. Pleasure by favage man is dearly bought With fell revenge, luft that defies controul, With gluttony and death. The mind untaught • Is a dark waste, where fiends and tempefts how!; As Phoebus to the world, is Science to the Soul. XLVI. And Reafon now through Number, Time, and Space, • Darts the keen luster of her serious eye, • And learns from facts compared the laws to trace, Whofe long progreffion leads to Deity. • Can mortal ftrength prefume to foar fo high! In the deep windings of the grove, no more *The influence of the Philofophic Spirit,-in humanizing the mind, and preparing it for intellectual exertion and delicate pleafure ;-in exploring, by the help of geometry, the fyftem, of the univerfe;-in banifhing fuperftition;-in promoting navigation, agriculture, medicine, and moral and political feience :from Stanza XLV, to Stanza LV. XLVIII. Many a long-lingering year, in lonely isle, Stun'd with th' cternal turbulence of waves, 'Lo, with dim eyes, that never learn'd to smile, And trembling hands, the famifh'd native craves • Of Heaven his wretched fare: fhivering in caves, Or fcorch'd on rocks, he pines from day to day; But Science gives the word; and lo, he braves The furge and tempeft, lighted by her ray, And to a happier land wafts merrily away. XLIX. And even where Nature loads the teeming plain With the full pomp of vegetable store, Her bounty, unimproved, is deadly bane: 'Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to shore, Stretch their enormous gloom; which to explore Even Fancy trembles, in her fprightlieft mood; For there, each eyeball gleams with luft of gore, 'Nestles each murderous and each monftrous brood, • Plague lurks in every fhade, and steams from every flood. L. 'Twas from Philofophy man learn'd to tame Lo, from the echoing ax, and thundering flame, • Poifon and plague and yielding rage are fled. The waters, bursting from their flimy bed, Bring health and melody to every vale: And, from the breezy main, and mountain's head, To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale. LI. • What dire neceffities on every hand Our art, our ftrength, our fortitude require? • Of foes inteftine what a numerous band Against this little throb of life conspire! • Yet Science can elude their fatal ire A while, and turn afide Death's level'd dart, • And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart, And yet a few foft nights and balmy days impart. LII. Nor lefs to regulate man's moral frame • Seience exerts her all-compofing sway. Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame, Or pines to indolence and Spleen a prey, • Or Avarice, a fiend more fierce than they? Flee to the fhade of Academus' grove; Where cares molett not, difcord melts away In harmony, and the pure paffions prove (Love. How fweet the words of truth breathed from the lips of LIII. • What cannot Art and Industry perform, When Science plans the progrefs of their toil! And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil. Deep-verfed in man the philosophic Sage Prepares with lenient hand their phrenzy to affwage. LIV. 'Tis he alone, whofe comprehensive mind, Enraptured by the Hermit's ftrain, the Youth LVI. Nor love of novelty alone infpires, Their laws and nice dependencies to fean; And Emulation's noble rage alarm, And the long hours of Toil and Solitude to charm. But She who fet on fire his infant heart, And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shaređ And bleis'd the Mute and her celeitial art, Still claim & th' Enthufiaft's fond and first regard. From Nature's beauties variously compared And variously combined, he learns to frame Thofe forms of bright perfection, which the Bard, While boundless hopes and boundlefs views inflame, Enamour'd confecrates to never-dying fame. LVIII. Of late, with cumberfome, though pompous fhow, Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine, line. LIX. Fain would I fing (much yet unfung remains) * VIRGIL. Fain would I fing, what tranfport form'd his foul, How the red current throbb'd his veins along, When, like Pelides, bold beyond control, Gracefully terrible, fublimely ftrong, -Homerraifed high to heaven the loud, th' impetuous fong. And how his lyre, though rude her first essays, I fain would fing :-but ah! I ftrive in vain.- LXI. Adieu, ye lays, that fancy's flowers adorn, Here on this recent my view, And poor my bitter tears.-Ye flowery lays, adieu! LXII. Art thou, my G*******, for ever filed! When fortune's ftorms affail this weary head, *This excellent perfon died fuddenly, on the 10th of February, 1773. The conclufion of the poem was written a few days after. |