Bell's Edition

Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state
Juft to herself: how nobly fhe maintains

Her character fuperiour to the flesh!

She wields her paffions like her limbs, and knows
The brutal pow'rs were only born t' obey.

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
With adverfe furges meet and rife on high,
Sufpended 'twixt the winds, then rush amain
Mingled with flames upon his fingle head,
And clouds, and stars, and thunder, firm he stands, 25
Secure of his best life, unhurt, unmov'd,

And drops his lower nature, born for death;
Then from the lofty castle of his mind
Sublime looks down exulting, and furveys
The ruins of creation; (souls alone

Are heirs of dying worlds) a piercing glance
Shoots upwards from between his clofing lids

To reach his birthplace, and without a figh
le bids his batter'd flesh lie gently down
Amongst its native rubbish, while the fpirit
Breathes and flies upward, an undoubted guest
Of the third heav'n, th' unruinable sky.

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
And pufh'd us to our home, bear up my friend
Serenely, and break thro' the stormy brine
With fteady prow: know we fhall once arrive
At the fair haven of eternal blifs

To which we ever steer, whether as kings
Of wide command we 'ave spread the spacious sea
With a broad painted fleet, or row'd along
In a thin cockboat with a little oar.

There let my native plank fhift me to land
And I'll be happy: thus I'll leap ashore,

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;
Loose hands, and quit th' enchanted ground;
Knowledge invites us each alone.

II.

I hate these shackles of the mind
Forg'd by the haughty wife;
Souls were not born to be confin'd,

And led like Samfon blind and bound,
But when his native strength he found
He well aveng'd his eyes.

I love thy gentle influence Rowe;
Thy gentle influence, like the fun,
Only diffolves the frozen fnow,

Then bids our thoughts like rivers flow
And chufe the channels where they run.

III.

Thoughts fhould be free as fire or wind;
The pinions of a single mind
Will thro' all Nature fly;

But who can drag up to the poles
Long fetter'd ranks of laden fouls?
A genius which no chain controls
Roves with delight or deep or high;
Swift I furvey the globe around,

Dive to the centre thro' the folid ground,
Or travel o'er the sky.

To the Reverend Mr. Benoni Rorve.

The way of the multitude.

RowE! if we make the crowd our guide
Thro' life's uncertain road

Mean is the chafe, and wand'ring wide
We miss th' immortal good;

Yet if my thoughts could be confin'd
To follow any leader mind

I'd mark thy steps and tread the fame;
Drefs'd in thy notions I'd appear

Not like a foul of mortal frame
Nor with a vulgar air.

II.

Men live at random and by chance;
Bright Reafon never leads the dance:
Whilft in the broad and beaten way
O'er dales and hills from truth we flray
'To ruin we defcend, to ruin we advance.
Wisdom retires; the hates the crowd,

And with a decent fcorn

Aloof fhe climbs her steepy feat,
Where nor the grave nor giddy feet
Of the learn'd vulgar or the rude
Ilave e'er a paffage worn.