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Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam, Rectique cultus pectora roborant.
THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.
I. Of chance or change, 0 let not man complain, Else shall he never never cease to wail : For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale, All feel the assault of fortune's fickle gale; Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doomed; Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale;
And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed ; And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have
But sure to foreign climes we need not range,
Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,
So I, obsequious to Truth's dread command,
face was innocent and gay, Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue, Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song.
Perish the lore that deadens young desire,'
Is the soft tenor of my song no more.
Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy, And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.
Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows.
And toss their giant arms amid the skies,