LII.

"Nor less to regulate man's moral frame

"Science exerts her all-composing 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 shade of Academus' grove;

"Where cares molest not, discord melts away

"In harmony, and the pure passions prove

"How sweet the words of truth breath'd from the lips of

"Love.

LIII.

"What cannot Art and Industry perform,

"When Science plans the progress of their toil!
"They smile at penury, disease, and storm;
"And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil.
"When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil
"A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage
"Order transforms to anarchy and spoil,
"Deep-versed in man the philosophic Sage

"Prepares with lenient hand their phrenzy to assuage.

LIV.

"'Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind,
"From situation, temper, soil, and clime
"Explored, a nation's various powers can bind
"And various orders, in one Form sublime
"Of polity, that, midst the wrecks of time,
"Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear

"Th' assault of foreign or domestic crime,
"While public faith, and public love sincere,

"And Industry and Law maintain their sway severe."

LV.

Enraptured by the Hermit's strain, the Youth
Proceeds the path of Science to explore.

And now, expanding to the beams of Truth,
New energies, and charms unknown before,
His mind discloses: Fancy now no more
Wantons on fickle pinion through the skies;
But, fix'd in aim, and conscious of her power,
Sublime from cause to cause exults to rise,

Creation's blended stores arranging as she flies.

LVI.

Nor love of novelty alone inspires,

Their laws and nice dependencies to scan;
For, mindful of the aids that life requires,
And of the services man owes to man,

He meditates new arts on Nature's plan;

The cold desponding breast of Sloth to warm,
The flame of Industry and Genius fan,

And Emulation's noble rage alarm,

And the long hours of Toil and Solitude to charm.

LVII.

But she, who set on fire his infant heart,

And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shared
And bless'd, the Muse, and her celestial art,
Still claim th' Enthusiast's fond and first regard.
From Nature's beauties variously compared
And variously combined, he learns to frame

Those forms of bright perfection, which the Bard, While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame, Enamour'd consecrates to never-dying fame.

F

LVIII.

Of late, with cumbersome, though pompous show,
Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface,
Through ardour to adorn; but Nature now
To his experienced eye a modest grace
Presents, where Ornament the second place
Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design

Subservient still. Simplicity apace

Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine,

And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th' unwieldy line.

LIX.

Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)

What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole,

When the great Shepherd of the Mantuan plains

*

His deep majestic melody 'gan roll:

Fain would I sing, what transport storm'd his soul,
How the red current throbb'd his veins along,

When, like Pelides, bold beyond contrɔul,

Gracefully terrible, sublimely strong,

Homer raised high to heaven the loud, th' impetuous song.

Virgil.

LX.

And how his lyre, though rude her first essays,
Now skill'd to sooth, to triumph, to complain,
Warbling at will through each harmonious maze,
Was taught to modulate the artful strain,

I fain would sing :-but ah! I strive in vain.-
Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound.—
With trembling step, to join yon weeping train,
I haste, where gleams funereal glare around,

And, mix'd with shrieks of wo, the knells of death resound.

LXI.

Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn,
The soft amusement of the vacant mind!

He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn,
He, whom each Virtue fired, each Grace refined,
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind! *—
He sleeps in dust.-Ah, how should I pursue
My theme! To heart-consuming grief resign'd,
Here on his recent grave I fix my view,

And pour my bitter tears.-Ye flowery lays, adieu !

This excellent person died suddenly, on the 10th of February, 1773. The conclu sion of the poem was written a few days after.