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 pa.s.sions prove, 'How sweet the words of truth, breathed 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 a.s.suage.

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 'The a.s.sault 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, fixed 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 n.o.ble 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 blessed, the Muse, and her celestial art, Still claim the 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, Enamoured consecrates to never-dying fame.

LVIII.

Of late, with c.u.mbersome, 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 the ambiguous phrase, and lops the 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 stormed his soul, How the red current throbbed his veins along, When, like Pelides, bold beyond controul, Gracefully terrible, sublimely strong, Homer raised high to heaven the loud, the impetuous song.

LX.

And how his lyre, though rude her first essays, Now skilled 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, mixed with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound.

LXI.

Adieu, ye lays, that fancy's flowers adorn, The soft amus.e.m.e.nt 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 resigned, Here, on his recent grave I fix my view, And pour my bitter tears.--Ye flowery lays, adieu!

LXII.

Art thou, my GREGORY, for ever fled!

And am I left to unavailing woe!

When fortune's storms a.s.sail this weary head, Where cares long since have shed untimely snow, Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go!

No more thy soothing voice my anguish chears: Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow, My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.

'Tis meet that I should mourn:--flow forth afresh my tears.

POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

RETIREMENT.

1758.

When, in the crimson cloud of Even, The lingering light decays, And Hesper, on the front of heaven, His glittering gem displays; Deep in the silent vale, unseen, Beside a lulling stream, A pensive Youth, of placid mien, Indulged this tender theme.

Ye cliffs, in h.o.a.ry grandeur piled, High o'er the glimmering dale; Ye woods, along whose windings wild, Murmurs the solemn gale; Where Melancholy strays forlorn, And Woe retires to weep, What time the wan moon's yellow horn Gleams on the western deep.

To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms Ne'er drew Ambition's eye, 'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms, To your retreats I fly.

Deep in your most sequestered bower, Let me at last recline, Where Solitude, mild, modest power, Leans on her ivy'd shrine.

How shall I woo thee, matchless Fair!

Thy heavenly smile how win!

Thy smile, that smooths the brow of care, And stills the storm within.

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove Thine ardent votary bring, And bless his hours, and bid them move, Serene, on silent wing.

Oft let remembrance sooth his mind With dreams of former days, When, in the lap of peace reclined, He framed his infant lays; When Fancy roved at large, nor Care, Nor cold Distrust alarmed, Nor Envy, with malignant glare, His simple youth had harmed.

'Twas then, O Solitude, to thee His early vows were paid, From heart sincere, and warm, and free, Devoted to the shade.

Ah why did Fate his steps decoy In stormy paths to roam, Remote from all congenial joy?-- O take the Wanderer home!