BOOK I. 1757.

With what enchantment Nature's goodly scene Attracts the sense of mortals; how the mind For its own eye doth objects nobler still Prepare; how men by various lessons learn

To judge of Beauty's praise; what raptures fill The breast with fancy's native arts endow'd, And what true culture guides it to renown, My verse unfolds. Ye gods, or godlike powers,

Ye guardians of the sacred task, attend Propitious. Hand in hand around your bard Move in majestic measures, leading on His doubtful step through many a solemn path,

Conscious of secrets which to human sight Ye only can reveal. Be great in him: And let your favour make him wise to speak Of all your wondrous empire; with a voice

So temper'd to his theme, that those who hear May yield perpetual homage to yourselves. Thou chief, O daughter of eternal Love, Whate'er thy name; or Muse, or Grace, adored

By Grecian prophets; to the sons of Heaven Known, while with deep amazement thou dost there The perfect counsels read, the ideas old, Of thine omniscient Father; known on earth

By the still horror and the blissful tear With which thou seizest on the soul of man; Thou chief, Poetic Spirit, from the banks Of Avon, whence thy holy fingers cull

Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf Where Shakspeare lies, be present. And with thee Let Fiction come, on her aërial wings Wafting ten thousand colours, which in sport,

By the light glances of her magic eye, She blends and shifts at will through countless forms, Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre, Whose awful tones control the moving sphere,

Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend, And join this happy train? for with thee comes The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites, Wise Order: and, where Order deigns to come,

Her sister, Liberty, will not be far. Be present all ye Genii, who conduct Of youthful bards the lonely wandering step New to your springs and shades; who touch their ear

With finer sounds, and heighten to their eye The pomp of nature, and before them place The fairest, loftiest countenance of things. Nor thou, my Dyson,to the lay refuse

Thy wonted partial audience. What though first, In years unseason'd, haply ere the sports Of childhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay With many splendid prospects, many charms,

Allured my heart, nor conscious whence they sprung, Nor heedful of their end? yet serious Truth Her empire o'er the calm, sequester'd theme Asserted soon; while Falsehood's evil brood,

Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid Thy friendship added, in the paths of life,

The busy paths, my unaccustom'd feet Preserving: nor to Truth's recess divine, Through this wide argument's unbeaten space, Withholding surer guidance; while by turns

We traced the sages old, or while the queen Of sciences ( whom manners and the mind Acknowledge ) to my true companion's voice Not unattentive, o'er the wintry lamp

Inclined her sceptre, favouring. Now the fates Have other tasks imposed;— to thee, my friend, The ministry of freedom and the faith Of popular decrees, in early youth,

Not vainly they committed; me they sent To wait on pain, and silent arts to urge, Inglorious; not ignoble, if my cares, To such as languish on a grievous bed,

Ease and the sweet forgetfulness of ill Conciliate; nor delightless, if the Muse, Her shades to visit and to taste her springs, If some distinguish'd hours the bounteous Muse

Impart, and grant ( what she, and she alone, Can grant to mortals ) that my hand those wreaths Of fame and honest favour, which the bless'd Wear in Elysium, and which never felt

The breath of envy or malignant tongues, That these my hand for thee and for myself May gather. Meanwhile, O my faithful friend, O early chosen, ever found the same,

And trusted and beloved, once more the verse Long destined, always obvious to thine ear, Attend, indulgent: so in latest years, When time thy head with honours shall have clothed

Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind, Amid the calm review of seasons past, Fair offices of friendship, or kind peace, Or public zeal, may then thy mind well pleased

Recall these happy studies of our prime. From Heaven my strains begin: from Heaven descends The flame of genius to the chosen breast, And beauty with poetic wonder join'd,

And inspiration. Ere the rising sun Shone o'er the deep, or‘ mid the vault of night The moon her silver lamp suspended; ere The vales with springs were water'd, or with groves

Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crown'd; Then the Great Spirit, whom his works adore, Within his own deep essence view'd the forms, The forms eternal of created things:

The radiant sun; the moon's nocturnal lamp; The mountains and the streams; the ample stores Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the first, On that full scene his love divine he fix'd,

His admiration: till, in time complete, What he admired and loved his vital power Unfolded into being. Hence the breath Of life informing each organic frame:

Hence the green earth, and wild-resounding waves: Hence light and shade, alternate; warmth and cold; And bright autumnal skies, and vernal showers, And all the fair variety of things.

But not alike to every mortal eye Is this great scene unveil'd. For while the claims Of social life to different labours urge The active powers of man, with wisest care

Hath Nature on the multitude of minds Impress'd a various bias, and to each Decreed its province in the common toil. To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,

The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars, The golden zones of heaven; to some she gave To search the story of eternal thought; Of space, and time; of fate's unbroken chain,

And will's quick movement; others by the hand She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore What healing virtue dwells in every vein Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes

Were destined; some within a finer mould She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame. To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds, In fuller aspects and with fairer lights,

This picture of the world. Through every part They trace the lofty sketches of his hand; In earth, or air, the meadow's flowery store, The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's mien

Dress'd in attractive smiles, they see portray'd ( As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan ) Those lineaments of beauty which delight The Mind Supreme. They also feel their force,

Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy. For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd Through fabling Egypt, at the genial touch Of morning, from its inmost frame sent forth

Spontaneous music, so doth Nature's hand, To certain attributes which matter claims, Adapt the finer organs of the mind; So the glad impulse of those kindred powers

( Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound Melodious, or of motion aptly sped ), Detains the enliven'd sense; till soon the soul Feels the deep concord, and assents through all

Her functions. Then the charm by fate prepared Diffuseth its enchantment Fancy dreams, Rapt into high discourse with prophets old, And wandering through Elysium, Fancy dreams

Of sacred fountains, of o'ershadowing groves, Whose walks with godlike harmony resound: Fountains, which Homer visits; happy groves, Where Milton dwells; the intellectual power,

On the mind's throne, suspends his graver cares, And smiles; the passions, to divine repose Persuaded yield, and love and joy alone Are waking: love and joy, such as await

An angel's meditation. Oh! attend, Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch; Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb Can thus command; oh! listen to my song;

And I will guide thee to her blissful walks, And teach thy solitude her voice to hear, And point her gracious features to thy view. Know then, whate'er of the world's ancient store,

Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected scenes, With love and admiration thus inspire Attentive Fancy, her delighted sons In two illustrious orders comprehend,

Self-taught: from him whose rustic toil the lark Cheers warbling, to the bard whose daring thoughts Range the full orb of being, still the form, Which Fancy worships, or sublime or fair,

Her votaries proclaim. I see them dawn: I see the radiant visions where they rise, More lovely than when Lucifer displays His glittering forehead through the gates of morn,

To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring. Say, why was man so eminently raised Amid the vast creation; why empower'd Through life and death to dart his watchful eye,

With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame; But that the Omnipotent might send him forth, In sight of angels and immortal minds, As on an ample theatre to join

In contest with his equals, who shall best The task achieve, the course of noble toils, By wisdom and by mercy preordain'd? Might send him forth the sovereign good to learn;

To chase each meaner purpose from his breast; And through the mists of passion and of sense, And through the pelting storms of chance and pain, To hold straight on, with constant heart and eye

Still fix'd upon his everlasting palm, The approving smile of Heaven? Else wherefore burns In mortal bosoms this unquenchèd hope, That seeks from day to day sublimer ends,

Happy, though restless? Why departs the soul Wide from the track and journey of her times, To grasp the good she knows not? In the field Of things which may be, in the spacious field

Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms, To raise up scenes in which her own desires Contented may repose; when things, which are, Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale:

Her temper, still demanding to be free; Spurning the rude control of wilful might; Proud of her dangers braved, her griefs endured, Her strength severely proved? To these high aims,

Which reason and affection prompt in man, Not adverse nor unapt hath Nature framed His bold imagination. For, amid The various forms which this full world presents

Like rivals to his choice, what human breast E'er doubts, before the transient and minute, To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime? Who, that from heights aërial sends his eye

Around a wild horizon, and surveys Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave Through mountains, plains, through spacious cities old, And regions dark with woods, will turn away

To mark the path of some penurious rill Which murmureth at his feet? Where does the soul Consent her soaring fancy to restrain, Which bears her up, as on an eagle's wings,

Destined for highest heaven; or which of fate's Tremendous barriers shall confine her flight To any humbler quarry? The rich earth Cannot detain her; nor the ambient air

With all its changes. For a while with joy She hovers o'er the sun, and views the small Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam, Emerging from the deep, like cluster'd isles

Whose rocky shores to the glad sailor's eye Reflect the gleams of morning; for a while With pride she sees his firm, paternal sway Bend the reluctant planets to move each

Round its perpetual year. But soon she quits That prospect; meditating loftier views, She darts adventurous up the long career Of comets; through the constellations holds

Her course, and now looks back on all the stars Whose blended flames as with a milky stream Part the blue region. Empyréan tracts, Where happy souls beyond this concave heaven

Abide, she then explores, whence purer light For countless ages travels through the abyss, Nor hath in sight of mortals yet arrived. Upon the wide creation's utmost shore

At length she stands, and the dread space beyond Contemplates, half-recoiling: nathless, down The gloomy void, astonish'd, yet unquell'd, She plungeth; down the unfathomable gulf

Where God alone hath being. There her hopes Rest at the fated goal. For, from the birth Of human kind, the Sovereign Maker said That not in humble, nor in brief delight,

Not in the fleeting echoes of renown, Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap, The soul should find contentment; but, from these Turning disdainful to an equal good,

Through Nature's opening walks enlarge her aim, Till every bound at length should disappear, And infinite perfection fill the scene. But lo, where Beauty, dress'd in gentler pomp,

With comely steps advancing, claims the verse Her charms inspire. O Beauty, source of praise, Of honour, even to mute and lifeless things; O thou that kindlest in each human heart

Love, and the wish of poets, when their tongue Would teach to other bosoms what so charms Their own; O child of Nature and the soul, In happiest hour brought forth; the doubtful garb

Of words, of earthly language, all too mean, Too lowly I account, in which to clothe Thy form divine; for thee the mind alone Beholds, nor half thy brightness can reveal

Through those dim organs, whose corporeal touch O'ershadoweth thy pure essence. Yet, my Muse, If Fortune call thee to the task, wait thou Thy favourable seasons; then, while fear

And doubt are absent, through wide nature's bounds Expatiate with glad step, and choose at will Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains, Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air,

To manifest unblemish'd Beauty's praise, And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend Her gracious empire. Wilt thou to the isles Atlantic, to the rich Hesperian clime,

Fly in the train of Autumn, and look on, And learn from him; while, as he roves around, Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove, The branches bloom with gold; where'er his foot

Imprints the soil, the ripening clusters swell, Turning aside their foliage, and come forth In purple lights, till every hillock glows As with the blushes of an evening sky?

Or wilt thou that Thessalian landscape trace, Where slow Penéus his clear glassy tide Draws smooth along, between the winding cliffs Of Ossa and the pathless woods unshorn

That wave o'er huge Olympus? Down the stream, Look how the mountains with their double range Embrace the vale of Tempé: from each side Ascending steep to heaven, a rocky mound

Cover'd with ivy and the laurel boughs That crown'd young Phoebus for the Python slain. Fair Tempé! on whose primrose banks the morn Awoke most fragrant, and the noon reposed

In pomp of lights and shadows most sublime: Whose lawns, whose glades, ere human footsteps yet Had traced an entrance, were the hallow'd haunt Of sylvan powers immortal: where they sate

Oft in the golden age, the Nymphs and Fauns, Beneath some arbour branching o'er the flood, And leaning round hung on the instructive lips Of hoary Pan, or o'er some open dale

Danced in light measures to his sevenfold pipe, While Zephyr's wanton hand along their path Flung showers of painted blossoms, fertile dews, And one perpetual spring. But if our task

More lofty rites demand, with all good vows Then let us hasten to the rural haunt Where young Melissa dwells. Nor thou refuse The voice which calls thee from thy loved retreat,

But hither, gentle maid, thy footsteps turn: Here, to thy own unquestionable theme, O fair, O graceful, bend thy polish'd brow, Assenting; and the gladness of thy eyes

Impart to me, like morning's wishèd light Seen through the vernal air. By yonder stream, Where beech and elm along the bordering mead Send forth wild melody from every bough,

Together let us wander; where the hills Cover'd with fleeces to the lowing vale Reply; where tidings of content and peace Each echo brings. Lo, how the western sun

O'er fields and floods, o'er every living soul, Diffuseth glad repose! There,— while I speak Of Beauty's honours, thou, Melissa, thou Shalt hearken, not unconscious, while I tell

How first from Heaven she came: how, after all The works of life, the elemental scenes, The hours, the seasons, she had oft explored, At length her favourite mansion and her throne

She fix'd in woman's form; what pleasing ties To virtue bind her; what effectual aid They lend each other's power; and how divine Their union, should some unambitious maid,

To all the enchantment of the Idalian queen, Add sanctity and wisdom; while my tongue Prolongs the tale, Melissa, thou may'st feign To wonder whence my rapture is inspired;

But soon the smile which dawns upon thy lip Shall tell it, and the tenderer bloom o'er all That soft cheek springing to the marble neck, Which bends aside in vain, revealing more

What it would thus keep silent, and in vain The sense of praise dissembling. Then my song Great Nature's winning arts, which thus inform With joy and love the rugged breast of man,

Should sound in numbers worthy such a theme: While all whose souls have ever felt the force Of those enchanting passions, to my lyre Should throng attentive, and receive once more

Their influence, unobscured by any cloud Of vulgar care, and purer than the hand Of Fortune can bestow; nor, to confirm Their sway, should awful Contemplation scorn

To join his dictates to the genuine strain Of Pleasure's tongue; nor yet should Pleasure's ear Be much averse. Ye chiefly, gentle band Of youths and virgins, who through many a wish

And many a fond pursuit, as in some scene Of magic bright and fleeting, are allured By various Beauty, if the pleasing toil Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn

Your favourable ear, and trust my words. I do not mean on bless'd Religion's seat, Presenting Superstition's gloomy form, To dash your soothing hopes; I do not mean

To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens, Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth, And scare you from your joys. My cheerful song With happier omens calls you to the field,

Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase, And warm like you. Then tell me ( for ye know ), Doth Beauty ever deign to dwell where use And aptitude are strangers? is her praise

Confess'd in aught whose most peculiar ends Are lame and fruitless? or did Nature mean This pleasing call the herald of a lie, To hide the shame of discord and disease,

And win each fond admirer into snares, Foil'd, baffled? No; with better providence The general mother, conscious how infirm Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,

Thus, to the choice of credulous desire, Doth objects the completest of their tribe Distinguish and commend. Yon flowery bank Clothed in the soft magnificence of Spring,

Will not the flocks approve it? will they ask The reedy fen for pasture? That clear rill Which trickleth murmuring from the mossy rock, Yields it less wholesome beverage to the worn

And thirsty traveller, than the standing pool With muddy weeds o'ergrown? Yon ragged vine Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn the rage Of Eurus, will the wine-press or the bowl

Report of her, as of the swelling grape Which glitters through the tendrils, like a gem When first it meets the sun. Or what are all The various charms to life and sense adjoin'd?

Are they not pledges of a state entire, Where native order reigns, with every part In health, and every function well perform'd? Thus, then, at first was Beauty sent from Heaven,

The lovely ministress of Truth and Good In this dark world: for Truth and Good are one; And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her, With like participation. Wherefore then,

O sons of earth, would ye dissolve the tie? Oh! wherefore with a rash and greedy aim Seek ye to rove through every flattering scene Which Beauty seems to deck, nor once inquire

Where is the suffrage of eternal Truth, Or where the seal of undeceitful Good, To save your search from folly? Wanting these, Lo, Beauty withers in your void embrace;

And with the glittering of an idiot's toy Did Fancy mock your vows. Nor yet let hope, That kindliest inmate of the youthful breast, Be hence appall'd, be turn'd to coward sloth

Sitting in silence, with dejected eyes Incurious and with folded hands; far less Let scorn of wild fantastic folly's dreams, Or hatred of the bigot's savage pride

Persuade you e'er that Beauty, or the love Which waits on Beauty, may not brook to hear The sacred lore of undeceitful Good And Truth eternal. From the vulgar crowd

Though Superstition, tyranness abhorr'd, The reverence due to this majestic pair With threats and execration still demands; Though the tame wretch, who asks of her the way

To their celestial dwelling, she constrains To quench or set at nought the lamp of God Within his frame; through many a cheerless wild Though forth she leads him credulous and dark

And awed with dubious notion; though at length Haply she plunge him into cloister'd cells And mansions unrelenting as the grave, But void of quiet, there to watch the hours

Of midnight; there, amid the screaming owl's Dire song, with spectres or with guilty shades To talk of pangs and everlasting woe; Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star

Presides o'er your adventure. From the bower Where Wisdom sat with her Athenian sons, Could but my happy hand entwine a wreath Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,

Then ( for what need of cruel fear to you, To you whom godlike love can well command? ), Then should my powerful voice at once dispel Those monkish horrors; should in words divine

Relate how favour'd minds like you inspired, And taught their inspiration to conduct By ruling Heaven's decree, through various walks And prospects various, but delightful all,

Move onward; while now myrtle groves appear, Now arms and radiant trophies, now the rods Of empire with the curule throne, or now The domes of contemplation and the Muse.

Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye Through the fair toils and ornaments of earth Discerns the nobler life reserved for heaven, Favour'd alike they worship round the shrine

Where Truth conspicuous with her sister-twins, The undivided partners of her sway, With Good and Beauty reigns. Oh! let not us By Pleasure's lying blandishments detain'd,

Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage, Oh! let not us one moment pause to join That chosen band. And if the gracious Power, Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song,

Will to my invocation grant anew The tuneful spirit, then through all our paths Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre Be wanting; whether on the rosy mead

When Summer smiles, to warn the melting heart Of Luxury's allurement; whether firm Against the torrent and the stubborn hill To urge free Virtue's steps, and to her side

Summon that strong divinity of soul Which conquers Chance and Fate: or on the height, The goal assign'd her, haply to proclaim Her triumph; on her brow to place the crown

Of uncorrupted praise; through future worlds To follow her interminated way, And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man. Such is the worth of Beauty; such her power,

So blameless, so revered. It now remains, In just gradation through the various ranks Of being, to contemplate how her gifts Rise in due measure, watchful to attend

The steps of rising Nature. Last and least, In colours mingling with a random blaze, Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the forms Of simplest, easiest measure; in the bounds

Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent To symmetry adds colour: thus the pearl Shines in the concave of its purple bed, And painted shells along some winding shore

Catch with indented folds the glancing sun. Next, as we rise, appear the blooming tribes Which clothe the fragrant earth; which draw from her Their own nutrition; which are born and die,

Yet, in their seed, immortal; such the flowers With which young Maia pays the village maids That hail her natal morn; and such the groves Which blithe Pomona rears on Vaga's bank,

To feed the bowl of Ariconian swains Who quaff beneath her branches. Nobler still Is Beauty's name where, to the full consent Of members and of features, to the pride

Of colour, and the vital change of growth, Life's holy flame with piercing sense is given, While active motion speaks the temper'd soul: So moves the bird of Juno: so the steed

With rival swiftness beats the dusty plain, And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy Salute their fellows. What sublimer pomp Adorns the seat where Virtue dwells on earth,

And Truth's eternal day-light shines around, What palm belongs to man's imperial front, And woman powerful with becoming smiles, Chief of terrestrial natures, need we now

Strive to inculcate? Thus hath Beauty there Her most conspicuous praise to matter lent, Where most conspicuous through that shadowy veil Breaks forth the bright expression of a mind,

By steps directing our enraptured search To Him, the first of minds; the chief; the sole; From whom, through this wide, complicated world, Did all her various lineaments begin;

To whom alone, consenting and entire, At once their mutual influence all display. He, God most high ( bear witness, Earth and Heaven ), The living fountains in himself contains

Of beauteous and sublime; with him enthroned Ere days or years trod their ethereal way, In his supreme intelligence enthroned, The queen of love holds her unclouded state,

Urania. Thee, O Father! this extent Of matter; thee the sluggish earth and tract Of seas, the heavens and heavenly splendours feel Pervading, quickening, moving. From the depth

Of thy great essence, forth didst thou conduct Eternal Form: and there, where Chaos reign'd, Gav'st her dominion to erect her seat, And sanctify the mansion. All her works

Well pleased thou didst behold: the gloomy fires Of storm or earthquake, and the purest light Of summer; soft Campania's new-born rose, And the slow weed which pines on Russian hills

Comely alike to thy full vision stand: To thy surrounding vision, which unites All essences and powers of the great world In one sole order, fair alike they stand,

As features well consenting, and alike Required by Nature ere she could attain Her just resemblance to the perfect shape Of universal Beauty, which with thee

Dwelt from the first. Thou also, ancient Mind, Whom love and free beneficence await In all thy doings; to inferior minds, Thy offspring, and to man, thy youngest son,

Refusing no convenient gift nor good; Their eyes didst open, in this earth, yon heaven, Those starry worlds, the countenance divine Of Beauty to behold. But not to them

Didst thou her awful magnitude reveal Such as before thine own unbounded sight She stands ( for never shall created soul Conceive that object ), nor, to all their kinds,

The same in shape or features didst thou frame Her image. Measuring well their different spheres Of sense and action, thy paternal hand Hath for each race prepared a different test

Of Beauty, own'd and reverenced as their guide Most apt, most faithful. Thence inform'd, they scan The objects that surround them; and select, Since the great whole disclaims their scanty view,

Each for himself selects peculiar parts Of Nature; what the standard fix'd by Heaven Within his breast approves, acquiring thus A partial Beauty, which becomes his lot;

A Beauty which his eye may comprehend, His hand may copy, leaving, O Supreme, O thou whom none hath utter'd, leaving all To thee that infinite, consummate form,

Which the great powers, the gods around thy throne And nearest to thy counsels, know with thee For ever to have been; but who she is, Or what her likeness, know not. Man surveys

A narrower scene, where, by the mix'd effect Of things corporeal on his passive mind, He judgeth what is fair. Corporeal things The mind of man impel with various powers,

And various features to his eye disclose. The powers which move his sense with instant joy, The features which attract his heart to love, He marks, combines, reposits. Other powers

And features of the self-same thing ( unless The beauteous form, the creature of his mind, Request their close alliance ) he o'erlooks Forgotten; or with self-beguiling zeal,

Whene'er his passions mingle in the work, Half alters, half disowns. The tribes of men Thus from their different functions and the shapes Familiar to their eye, with art obtain,

Unconscious of their purpose, yet with art Obtain the Beauty fitting man to love; Whose proud desires from Nature's homely toil Oft turn away, fastidious, asking still

His mind's high aid, to purify the form From matter's gross communion; to secure For ever, from the meddling hand of Change Or rude Decay, her features; and to add

Whatever ornaments may suit her mien, Where'er he finds them scatter'd through the paths Of Nature or of Fortune. Then he seats The accomplish'd image deep within his breast,

Reviews it, and accounts it good and fair. Thus the one Beauty of the world entire, The universal Venus, far beyond The keenest effort of created eyes,

And their most wide horizon, dwells enthroned In ancient silence. At her footstool stands An altar burning with eternal fire Unsullied, unconsumed. Here every hour,

Here every moment, in their turns arrive Her offspring; an innumerable band Of sisters, comely all! but differing far In age, in stature, and expressive mien,

More than bright Helen from her new-born babe. To this maternal shrine in turns they come, Each with her sacred lamp; that from the source Of living flame, which here immortal flows,

Their portions of its lustre they may draw For days, or months, or years; for ages, some; As their great parent's discipline requires. Then to their several mansions they depart,

In stars, in planets, through the unknown shores Of yon ethereal ocean. Who can tell, Even on the surface of this rolling earth, How many make abode? The fields, the groves,

The winding rivers and the azure main, Are render'd solemn by their frequent feet, Their rites sublime. There each her destined home Informs with that pure radiance from the skies

Brought down, and shines throughout her little sphere, Exulting. Straight, as travellers by night Turn toward a distant flame, so some fit eye, Among the various tenants of the scene,

Discerns the heaven-born phantom seated there, And owns her charms. Hence the wide universe, Through all the seasons of revolving worlds, Bears witness with its people, gods and men,

To Beauty's blissful power, and with the voice Of grateful admiration still resounds: That voice, to which is Beauty's frame divine As is the cunning of the master's hand

To the sweet accent of the well-tuned lyre. Genius of ancient Greece, whose faithful steps Have led us to these awful solitudes Of Nature and of Science; nurse revered

Of generous counsels and heroic deeds; Oh! let some portion of thy matchless praise Dwell in my breast, and teach me to adorn This unattempted theme. Nor be my thoughts

Presumptuous counted, if, amid the calm Which Hesper sheds along the vernal heaven, If I, from vulgar Superstition's walk, Impatient steal, and from the unseemly rites

Of splendid Adulation, to attend With hymns thy presence in the sylvan shade, By their malignant footsteps unprofaned. Come, O renownèd power; thy glowing mien

Such, and so elevated all thy form, As when the great barbaric lord, again And yet again diminish'd, hid his face Among the herd of satraps and of kings;

And, at the lightning of thy lifted spear, Crouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils, Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs, Thy smiling band of Arts, thy godlike sires

Of civil wisdom, thy unconquer'd youth, After some glorious day rejoicing round Their new-erected trophy. Guide my feet Through fair Lycéum's walk, the olive shades

Of Academus, and the sacred vale Haunted by steps divine, where once, beneath That ever living platane's ample boughs, Ilissus, by Socratic sounds detain'd,

On his neglected urn attentive lay; While Boreas, lingering on the neighbouring steep With beauteous Orithyía, his love tale In silent awe suspended. There let me

With blameless hand, from thy unenvious fields, Transplant some living blossoms, to adorn My native clime; while, far beyond the meed Of Fancy's toil aspiring, I unlock

The springs of ancient wisdom; while I add ( What cannot be disjoin'd from Beauty's praise ) Thy name and native dress, thy works beloved And honour'd; while to my compatriot youth

I point the great example of thy sons, And tune to Attic themes the British lyre.