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Soon as the short-lived tempest was yspent, Steam'd from the jaws of vex'd Avernus' hole, And hush'd the hubbub of the rabblement, Sir Industry the first calm moment stole. "There must (he cry'd), amid so vast a shoal, "Be some who are not tainted at the heart, "Not poison'd quite by this same villain's bowl: "Come then, my bard! thy heavenly fire impart : "Touch soul with soul, till forth the latent spirit start."


'The bard obey'd; and taking from his side,
Where it in seemly sort depending hung,
His British harp, its speaking strings he try'd,
The which with skilful touch he deffly strung,
Till tinkling in clear symphony they rung.
Then, as he felt the Muses come along,
Light o'er the chords his raptur'd hand he flung,
And play'd a prelude to his rising song:

The whilst, like midnight mute, ten thousands round him throng.


Thus, ardent, burst his strain.

"Ye hapless race,

"Dire-labouring here to smother Reason's ray, "That lights our Maker's image in our face, "And gives us wide o'er earth unquestion'd sway; "What is th' ador'd Supreme Perfection, say? "What, but eternal never-resting soul, "Almighty power, and all-directing day; "By whom each atom stirs, the planets roll; "Who fills, surrounds, informs, and agitates the whole.


"Come, to the beaming God your hearts unfold! "Draw from its fountain life! "Tis thence, alone, "We can excel. Up from unfeeling mold, "To seraphs burning round th' Almighty's throne, "Life rising still on life, in higher tone, "Perfection forms, and with perfection bliss. "In universal Nature this clear shown, "Not needeth proof: to proof it were, I wis, "To prove the beauteous world excels the brute abyss.


"Is not the field, with lively culture green, "A sight more joyous than the dead morass? "Do not the skies, with active ether clean, "And fann'd by sprightly Zephyrs, far surpass "The foul November fogs, and slumberous mass, "With which sad Nature veils her drooping face? "Does not the mountain-stream, as clear as glass, "Gay-dancing on, the putrid pool disgrace? “The same in all holds true, but chief in human race.


"It was not by vile loitering in ease,

"That Greece obtain❜d the brighter palm of art, "That soft yet ardent Athens learn'd to please, "To keen the wit, and to sublime the heart, "In all supreme! complete in every part! "It was not thence majestic Rome arose, "And o'er the nations shook her conquering dart: "For sluggard's brow the laurel never grows; "Renown is not the child of indolent repose.


"Had unambitious mortals minded nought, "But in loose joy their time to wear away; "Had they alone the lap of dalliance sought, "Pleased on her pillow their dull heads to lay, "Rude Nature's state had been our state to-day; "No cities e'er their towery fronts had raised, "No arts had made us opulent and gay; "With brother brutes the human race had grazed; "None e'er had soar'd to fame, none honour'd been, "none praised.


"Great Homer's song had never fired the breast "To thirst of glory and heroic deeds;

"Sweet Maro's muse, sunk in inglorious rest, "Had silent slept amid the Mincian reeds: "The wits of modern time had told their beads, "And monkish legends been their only strains; "Our Milton's Eden had laid wrapt in weeds, "Our Shakspeare stroll'd and laugh'd with Warwick "swains,

"Ne had my master Spenser charm'd his Mulla's plains.


"Dumb too had been the sage historic Muse, "And perish'd all the sons of ancient fame; "Those starry lights of virtue, that diffuse "Through the dark depth of time their vivid flame, "Had all been lost with such as have no name. "Who then had scorn'd his ease for others' good? "Who then had toil'd rapacious men to tame? "Who in the public breach devoted stood, "And for his country's cause been prodigal of blood?


"But should to fame your hearts unfeeling be, "If right I read, you pleasure all require: "Then hear how best may be obtain'd this fee, "How best enjoy'd this Nature's wide desire. "Toil, and be glad! let Industry inspire "Into your quicken'd limbs her buoyant breath! "Who does not act is dead; absorpt entire "In miry sloth, no pride, no joy he hath: "O leaden-hearted men, to be in love with death


"Ah! what avail the largest gifts of heaven,
"When drooping health and spirits go amiss?
"How tasteless then whatever can be given!
"Health is the vital principle of bliss,
"And exercise of health. In proof of this,
"Behold the wretch, who slugs his life away,
"Soon swallow'd in disease's sad abyss;

"While he whom toil has braced, or manly play, "Has light as air each limb, each thought as clear as day.


"O who can speak the vigorous joys of health!
"Unclogg'd the body, unobscur'd the mind:
"The morning rises gay, with pleasing stealth,
"The temperate evening falls serene and kind.
"In health the wiser brutes true gladness find.
"See! how the younglings frisk along the meads,
"As May comes on, and wakes the balmy wind;
Rampant with life, their joy all joy exceeds:


"Yet what but high-strung health this dancing plea

<< saunce breeds?


"But here, instead, is foster'd every ill, "Which or distemper'd minds or bodies know. "Come then, my kindred spirits! do not spill "Your talents here. This place is but a show, "Whose charms delude you to the den of woe: "Come, follow me, I will direct you right, "Where pleasure's roses, void of serpents, grow, "Sincere as sweet; come, follow this good knight, "And you will bless the day that brought him to your



"Some he will lead to courts, and some to camps; "To senates some, and public sage debates, "Where, by the solemn gleam of midnight lamps, "The world is poised, and manag'd mighty states; "To high discovery some, that new-creates “The face of earth; some to the thriving mart; "Some to the rural reign, and softer fates; "To the sweet Muses some, who raise the heart; "All glory shall be yours, all nature, and all art.


"There are I see, who listen to my lay, "Who wretched sigh for virtue, but despair. "All may be done, (methinks I hear them say) "Even death despis'd by generous actions fair; "All, but for those who to these bowers repair, "Their every power dissolv'd in luxury, "To quit of torpid sluggishness the lair, "And from the powerful arms of sloth get free. "'Tis rising from the dead-Alas! it cannot be!

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