Than Timoleon's arms require,
And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.
Heaven's all-subduing will,
With good the progeny of ill,
Attempreth every state below.
The man forget not, though in rags he lies,
And know the mortal through a crown's disguise.
Others of graver mien; behold, adorn'd
With holy ensigns, how sublime they move,
And bending oft their sanctimonious eyes
Take homage of the simple-minded throng;
Ambassadors of heaven!
Adieu, for him,
The dull engagements of the bustling world!
Adieu the sick impertinence of praise!
And hope, and action! for with her alone,
By streams and shades, to steal these sighing hours,
Is all he asks, and all that fate can give!
The Providence of heaven
Has some peculiar blessing given
To each allotted state below.
O'er yonder eastern hill the twilight pale
Walks forth from darkness; and the God of day,
With bright Astraea seated by his side,
Waits yet to leave the ocean.
Can art, alas! or genius guide the head
Where truth and freedom from the heart are fled?
Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke,
When the prime function of the soul is broke?
Seeks painted trifles and fantastic toys,
And eagerly pursues imaginary joys.
Man loves knowledge, and the beams of truth
More welcome touch his understanding's eye
Than all the blandishments of sound his ear,
Than all of taste his tongue.
Youth calls for Pleasure, Pleasure calls for Love.
Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale.
Rustic herald of the spring.
Such and so various are the tastes of men!
Oft the hours
From morn to eve have stolen unmark'd away,
While mute attention hung upon his lips.
