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LII. • Nor less to regulate man's moral frame · Science exerts her all-compofing fway. • Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame, • Or pines to indolence and Spleen à 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 paflions prove (Love. • How sweet the words of truth breathed from the lips of

LIII. • What cannot Art and Industry perform, · When Science plans the progress of their toil !

They smile at penury, diseale, and form ; • 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 philofophic Sage • Prepares with lenient hand their phrenzy to aliwage.

LIV. < 'Tis he alone, whose comprehenfive mind, • From situation, temper, soil, and clime • Explored, a nation's various power can bind . And various orders, in one Form fublime

Of polity, that, midlt the wrecks of time, • Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear • Th' affault 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 ftrain, 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 aini, and conscious of her power,

Sublime from cause to cause exults to risc,
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 celeltial art, Still claim'd 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 confecrates to never-dying fame.

LVIII. Of late, with cumbersome, though pompous show, Edwin would oft his flowry rhime deface, Through ardour to adorn ; but Nature now To his experienced cye a modell grace Presents, where Ornament the second place Holds to intrinsic worth and just design Subfervient itill. Simplicity apace Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine, And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th' unwieldy line.

LIX. Fain would I fing (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 to roll :

VIRGIL,

Fain would I fing, what tranlport storm’d his soul,
How the red current throbb’d his veins along,
When, like Pelides, bold beyond controul,

Gracefully terrible, lublimely itrong,
Homer raised high to heaven the loud, ih'impetuous fong.

LX
And how his lyre, though rude her first essays,
Now skill'd to sooth, io triumph, to complain,
Warbling at will through cach harmonious maze,
Was taught to modulate the artful ttrain,
I fain would fing :-but ah! I strive in vain.
Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound.
With trembling tep, to join yon weeping train,

I hatte, where gleams funeral glare around (found. Aud, mix'd with shrieks of wot, the knells of death re

LXI.
Adieu, ye lays, that fancy's flowers adorn,
The folt amulement of the vacanț mind!
He fleeps io dutt; and all the Muses mourn,
He, whom each Virtue tired, each

grace

refined,
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind ! *.
He Neeps in duft.Ah, how shall I pursue
My theme –To heart-consuming grief refign'd
Here on this recent grave I fix my view,
And poor my bitter tears.-Ye Howery lays, adieu !

LXII.
Art thou, my G** ****, for ever fed !
A rudt am I lett to unavailing woc !
When furtune's storins affail this weary head,
Where cares long tince have shed untiinely snow,
Ah, now for comfort whither Thall I
No more thy foothing voice my anguish chears :
Thy placid cyes with imiles no longer glow,
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.

(tears. 'Tis meet ihat I thould mourn :-flow forth afresh

my

go!

* This excellent person died suddenly, on the roth of February, 1773. The conclusion of the poem was written a few days after.

esies

OWEN

or CARRO N.

А

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Ο Ε M.
L A N G H O R N E.

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