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Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state
Her character fuperiour to the flesh!
She wields her paffions like her limbs, and knows
This is the man whom ftorms could never make ro Meanly complain, nor can a flattʼring gale Make him talk proudly: he hath no defire To read his fecret fate; yet, unconcern'd And calm, could meet his unborn destiny In all its charming or its frightful shapes.
He that unshrinking and without a groan Bears the first wound may finish all the war With mere courageous filence, and come off Conq'ror; for the man that well conceals The heavy frokes of Fate he bears 'em well.
He tho' th' Atlantick and the midland feas
And drops his lower nature, born for death;
Are heirs of dying worlds) a piercing glance
To reach his birthplace, and without a figh
Thither when Fate has brought our willing fouls, No matter whether 't was a fharp disease
Or a fharp fword that help'd the travellers on
To which we ever steer, whether as kings
There let my native plank fhift me to land
Joyful and fearlefs, on th' immortal coast,
Since all I leave is mortal, and it must be loft.
To the much honoured Mr. Thomas Rozve, the director of my youthful fudies.
CUSTOM, that tyrannefs of fools,
That leads the learned round the schools
In magick chains of forms and rules!
My Genius florms her throne:
No more, ye slaves, with awe profound
Beat the dull track nor dance the round;
I hate these shackles of the mind
And led like Samfon blind and bound,
I love thy gentle influence Rowe;
Then bids our thoughts like rivers flow
Thoughts fhould be free as fire or wind;
But who can drag up to the poles
Dive to the centre thro' the folid ground,
To the Reverend Mr. Benoni Rorve.
The way of the multitude.
RowE! if we make the crowd our guide
Mean is the chafe, and wand'ring wide
Yet if my thoughts could be confin'd
I'd mark thy steps and tread the fame;
Not like a foul of mortal frame
Men live at random and by chance;
And with a decent fcorn
Aloof fhe climbs her steepy feat,
But hand in hand ourfelves we bind
Mortals, a favage herd and loud
In rapid order roll;
Example makes the mifchief good;
GREAT Man! permit the Mufe to climb
And feat her at thy feet,
Bid her attempt a thought fublime
And confecrate her wit.
Ithuriel is the name of an angel in Milton's Paradise Loft.