What means then shall we try? where hope to find A friendly harbour for the restless mind?
Who ftill, you fee, impatient to obtain Knowledge immenfe, (fo Nature's laws ordain) Ev'n now, though fetter'd in corporeal clay, Climbs step by step the profpect to survey, And feeks, unweary'd, Truth's eternal ray. No fleeting joys she asks, which must depend On the frail fenfes, and with them must end; But fuch as fuit her own immortal fame,
Free from all change, eternally the same.
Take courage then, these joys we shall attain; Almighty Wisdom never acts in vain
Nor fhall the foul, on which it has bestow'd Such pow'rs, e'er perish, like an earthly clod; But purg'd at length from foul corruption's stain, Freed from her prison, and unbound her chain, She shall her native strength, and native skies regain : To heav'n an old inhabitant return,
And draw nectareous ftreams from truth's perpetual urn. Whilst life remains, (if life it can be call'd T'exist in fleshly bondage thus enthrall'd) Tir'd with the dull purfuit of worldly things,
The foul scarce wakes, or opes her gladfome wings,
Yet ftill the godlike exile in difgrace Retains fome marks of her celeftial race;
Elfe whence from Mem'ry's ftore can fhe produce
Such various thoughts, or range them fo for use? Can matter these contain, dispose, apply?
Can in her cells fuch mighty treasures lye?
Or can her native force produce them to the eye? Whence is this pow'r, this foundress of all arts, Serving, adorning life, through all its parts,
Which names impos'd, by letters mark'd those names, Adjusted properly by legal claims,
From woods, and wilds collected rude mankind, And cities, laws, and governments defign'd?
What can this be, but fome bright ray from heaven, Some emanation from Omniscience given? When now the rapid ftream of Eloquence Bears all before it, paffion, reason, sense, Can its dread thunder, or its light'ning's force Derive their effence from a mortal source? What think you of the bard's enchanting art, Which, whether he attempts to warm the heart With fabled scenes, or charm the ear with rhyme, Breathes all pathetic, lovely, and sublime?
Whilst things on earth roll round from age to age, The fame dull farce repeated; on the stage The poet gives us a creation new,
More pleafing, and more perfect than the true; The mind, who always to perfection hastes, Perfection, fuch as here she never tastes, With gratitude accepts the kind deceit, And thence forefees a fyftem more compleat. Of those what think you, who the circling race Of funs, and their revolving planets trace, And comets journeying through unbounded space? Say, can you doubt, but that th' all-searching foul, That now can traverse heaven from pole to pole, From thence defcending vifits but this earth,
And shall once more regain the regions of her birth? Could the thus act, unless fome Power unknown, From matter quite diftinct, and all her own, Supported, and impell'd her? She approves Self-conscious, and condemns; fhe hates, and loves, Mourns, and rejoices, hopes, and is afraid, Without the body's unrequested aid: Her own internal ftrength her reason guides, By this she now compares things, now divides;
Truth's scatter'd fragments piece by piece collects,
Rejoins, and thence her edifice erects;
Piles arts on arts, effects to caufes ties, And rears th' afpiring fabric to the skies: From whence, as on a distant plain below, She fees from caufes confequences flow,
And the whole chain diftinctly comprehends,
Which from th' Almighty's throne to earth defcends:
And lastly, turning inwardly her
eyes, Perceives how all her own ideas rife, Contemplates what fhe is, and whence fhe came, And almoft comprehends her own amazing frame. Can mere machines be with fuch pow'rs endued, Or conscious of those pow'rs, fuppofe they could? For body is but a machine alone
Mov'd by external force, and impulfe not its own. Rate not the extenfion of the human mind
By the plebeian standard of mankind,
But by the fize of thofe gigantic few,
Whom Greece and Rome ftill offer to our view; Or Britain well-deserving equal praise,
Parent of heroes too in better days.
Why should I try her num'rous fons to name By verfe, law, eloquence confign'd to fame?
Or who have forc'd fair Science into fight Long loft in darkness, and afraid of light? O'er all fuperior, like the folar ray
First Bacon uther'd in the dawning day, And drove the mifts of fophiftry away; Pervaded nature with amazing force,
Following experience ftill throughout his course, And finishing at length his deftin'd way,
To Newton he bequeath'd the radiant lamp of day. Illustrious fouls! if any tender cares
Affect angelic breasts for man's affairs, If in your present happy heav'nly ftate, You're not regardless quite of Britain's fate, Let this degen'rate land again be bleft
With that true vigour, which the once poffeft; Compel us to unfold our flumb'ring eyes, And to our ancient dignity to rife.
Such wond'rous pow'rs as these must fure be given For most important purposes by heaven;
Who bids these stars as bright examples fhine Befprinkled thinly by the hand divine,
To form to virtue each degenerate time, And point out to the foul its origin fublime.
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