"The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bowers, d His winged insects, and his rosy flowers; Calls from their woodland haunts the savage train With sounding horn, and counts them on the plainSo once, at Heav'n's command, the wand'rers came To Eden's shade, and heard their various name. "Far from the world, in yon sequester'd clime, Slow pass the sons of Wisdom, more sublime; Calm as the fields of Heav'n, his sapient eye The loved Athenian lifts to realms on high, Admiring Plato, on his spotless page, Stamps the bright dictates of the Father sage: 'Shall Nature bound to Earth's diurnal span The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man?" "Turn, child of Heav'n, thy rapture-lighten'd eye To Wisdom's walks, the sacred Nine are nigh: Hark! from bright spires that gild the Delphian height, From streams that wander in eternal light, Ranged on their hill, Harmonia's daughters swell The mingling tones of horn, and harp, and shell; Deep from his vaults, the Loxian murmurs flow, e And Pythia's awful organ peals below. "Beloved of Heav'n! the smiling Muse shall shed Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head; Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfined, |