His simple question stole; as into truth, And serious deeds, he smiled the laughing race;

Taught moral happy life, whate'er can bless,

Through all the winding harmony of sound :

In it the power of Eloquence, at large, Breathed the persuasive or pathetic soul; Stilled by degrees the democratic storm, Or grace mankind; and what he taught he Or bade it threatening rise, and tyrants shook,

was.

Compounded high, though plain, his doc- Flushed at the head of their victorious trine broke troops.

In different schools. The bold poetic In it the Muse, her fury never quenched, By mean unyielding phrase, or jarring sound,

phrase

Of figured Plato, Xenophon's pure strain,
Like the clear brook that steals along the
vale ;

Dissecting truth, the Stagyrite's keen eye;
The exalted Stoic pride; the Cynic sneer;
The slow-consenting Academic doubt;
And, joining bliss to virtue, the glad ease
Of Epicurus, seldom understood.

They, ever candid, reason still opposed
Toreason; and, since virtue was their aim,
Each by sure practice tried to prove his
way

The best. Then stood untouched the solid
base

Of liberty, the liberty of mind:

For systems yet, and soul-enslaving creeds, Slept with the monsters of succeeding times.

Her unconfined divinity displayed;
And, still harmonious, formed it to her
will:

Or soft depressed it to the shepherd's

moan,

Orraised it swelling to the tongue of Gods. Heroic song was thine; the Fountainbard,

Whence each poetic stream derives ts

course.

Thine the dread moral scene, thy chief delight!

Where idle Fancy durst not mix her voice, When Reason spoke august; the fervent heart,

Or plained, or stormed; and in the impassioned man,

From priestly darkness sprung th' enlight- Concealing art with art, the poet sunk,

ening arts

Of fire, and sword, and rage, and horrid

names.

This potent school of manners, but when left

Toloose neglect, a land corrupting plague,

O Greece! thou sapient nurse of finer Was not unworthy deemed of public care, arts!

Which to bright Science blooming Fancy bore,

Be this thy praise, that thou, and thou
alone,

In these hast led the way, in these excelled,
Crown'd with the laurel of assenting Time.
In thy full language, speaking mighty
things;

Like a clear torrent close, or else diffused
A broad majestic stream, and rolling on

And boundless cost, by thee; whose every

son

Even last mechanic; the true taste pos-
sessed

Of what had flavour to the nourished soul,
The sweet enforcer of the poet's strain,
Thine was the meaning music of the
heart.

Not the vain trill, that, void of passion,

runs

In giddy mazes, tickling idle ears;

But that deep-searching voice, and artful That cruel-thoughted War the impatient hand,