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LII.

Nor lefs to regulate man's moral frame Science exerts her all-compofing fway. Flutters thy breaft 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 fhade of Academus' grove; • Where cares moleft 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,

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When Science plans the progrefs of their toil!
They fmile at penury, difeafe, and form;

And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil.
When tyrants fcourge, or demagogues embroil
A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage
Order transforms to anarchy and fpoil,

Deep-verfed in man the philofophic Sage

Prepares with lenient hand their phrenzy to affwage.
LIV.

"Tis he alone, whofe comprehenfive mind,
From fituation, temper, foil, and clime
Explored, a nation's various power can bind
And various orders, in one Form fublime
Of polity, that, midft the wrecks of time,
Secure fhall lift its head on high, nor fear
Th' affault of foreign or domeftic crime,
While public faith, and public love fincere,
And Industry and Law maintain their fway fevere.'
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 difclofes : Fancy now no more
Wantons on fickle pinion through the fkies;
But, fix'd in ain, and confcious of her power,
Sublime from caufe to cause exults to rife,
Creation's blended ftores arranging as the 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 fervices man owes to man,
He meditates new arts on Nature's plan ;
The cold defponding breaft 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 fet on fire his infant heart,

And all his dreams, and all his wanderings fhared And blefs'd the Mufe and her celestial art, Still claim'd th' Enthusiast'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 boundless views inflame, Enamour'd confecrates to never-dying fame.

LVIII.

Of late, with cumbersome, though pompous fhow,
Edwin would oft his flowry rhime deface,
Through ardour to adorn; but Nature now
To his experienced eye a modeft grace
Prefents, where Ornament the fecond place
Holds to intrinfic worth and juft defign
Subfervient till. Simplicity apace

Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine, And clears th' ambiguous phrafe, and lops th' unwieldy line.

LIX.

Fain would I fing (much yet unfung remains)
What fweet delirium o'er his bofom itole,

When the great Shepherd of the Mantuan plains *
His deep majeftic melody 'gan to roll :

* VIRGIL.

Fain would I fing, what tranfport ftorm'd his foul,
How the red current throbb'd his veins along,
When, like Pelides, bold beyond controul,
Gracefully terrible, tublimely ftrong,

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

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

I fain would fing-but ah! I ftrive in vain.— Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound.— With trembling ftep, to join you weeping train, 1 hatte, where gleams funeral glare around (found. Aud, mix'd with fhrieks of wot, the knells of death re

LXI.

Adieu, ye lays, that fancy's flowers adorn,
The folt amulement of the vacant mind!
He fleeps in duft, and all the Mufes mourn,
He, whom each Virtue tired, each grace refined,
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind!
He fleeps in duft.-Ah, how fhall I pursue
My theme To heart-confuming grief refign'd
Here on this recent grave I fix my view,

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

LXII.

Art thou, my G*******, for ever fled!
And am I left to unavailing woe!

When fortune's forms affail this weary head,
Where cares long fince have fhed untimely fnow,
Ah, now for comfort whither thall I go!
No more thy foothing voice my anguish chears :
Thy placid eyes with imiles no longer glow,
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.

(tears.

'Tis meet that I thould mourn :-flow forth afresh my

*This excellent perfon died fuddenly, on the 10th of February, 1773The conclufion of the poem was

written a few days after.

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