To wake each joylefs morn, and fearch again The famith'd haunts of folitary men, Whofe race, unyielding as their native ftorm, Knows not a trace of Nature but the form; Pale, but intrepid, fad, but unfubdued, Hyænas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore ; Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff fublime, He found a warmer world, a milder clime, Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend! 2 110 115 120 Congenial Hope! thy paffion-kindling power, How bright, how ftrong, in youth's untroubled hour! On yon proud height, with genius hand in hand, I fee thee light, and wave thy golden wand. "Go, Child of Heaven! (thy winged words proclaim) 'Tis thine to fearch the boundlefs fields of fame! 126 Lo! Newton, Prieft of Nature, fhines afar, Scans the wide world, and numbers ev'ry star! And watch the fhrine with wonder-beaming eye? 130 The speed of light, the circling march of found; "The Swedish fage admires, in yonder bow'rs, 4 His winged infects, and his rofy flow'rs; Calls from their woodland haunts the favage train With founding horn, and counts them on the plain- 135 140 "Far from the world, in yon fequefter'd clime, Slow pafs the fons of Wisdom, more fublime; Calm as the fields of Heav'n, his fapient eye The lov'd Athenian lifts to realms on high, Stamps the bright dictates of the Father sage : • Shall Nature bound to Earth's diurnal span The fire of God, th' immortal foul of man? 145 "Turn, Child of Heav'n, thy rapture-lighten'd eye To Wisdom's walks, the facred Nine are nigh: 150 Hark! from bright fpires that gild the Delphian height, From streams that wander in eternal light, Rang'd on their hill, Harmonia's daughters fwell The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell; Deep from his vaults, the Loxian murmurs flow, "Belov'd of Heav'n! the smiling mufe fhall fhed Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head; Shall fwell thy heart to rapture unconfin'd, And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind. 160 I see thee roam her guardian pow'r bencath, And talk with fpirits on the midnight heath; Inquire of guilty wand'rers whence they came, Then weave in rapid verfe the deeds they tell, And read the trembling world the tales of hell. "When Venus, thron'd in clouds of rofy hue, Flings from her golden urn the vefper dew, And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ, Sacred to love and walks of tender joy; 165 170 A milder mood the goddess fhall recall, And foft as dew thy tones of music fall ; 175 |