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The Comet thro' the long elliptic curve,
As round innumerous worlds he wound his way,
Till to the forehead of our evening sky
Return'd, the blazing wonder glares anew,
And o'er the trembling nations shakes dismay.
The heavens are all his own, from the wild rule
Of whirling vortices and circling spheres
To their first great fimplicity restor'd.

The Schools aftonish'd stood, but found it vain 85
To combat ftill with demonflration strong,
And, unawakened, dream beneath the blaze
Of Truth. At once their pleasing visions fled,
With the gay fhadows of the morning mix'd,
When Newton rofe, our philofophic Sun.

Th' aërial flow of Sound was known to him,
From whence it firft in wavy circles breaks,
Till the touch'd organ takes the message in.
Nor could the darting beam of Speed immense
Escape his fwift purfuit and measuring eye.
Even Light itself, which every thing displays,
Shone undiscover'd, till his brighter mind
Untwisted all the fhining robe of day;
And, from the whitening undiftinguish'd blaze
Collecting every ray into his kind,

To the charm'd eye educ'd the gorgeous train
Of parent-colours. Firft the flaming Red,
Sprung vivid forth; the tawny Orange next;
And next delicious Yellow; by whose fide

go

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Fell the kind beams of all-refreshing Green:
Then the pure Blue, that fwells autumnal skies,
Ethereal play'd; and then, of fadder hue,
Emerg'd the deepened Indico, as when
The heavy-skirted evening droops with froft;
While the last gleamings of refracted light
Dy'd in the fainting Violet away.
Thefe, when the clouds diftil the rofy shower,
Shine out diftin&t adown the watry bow,
While o'er our heads the dewy vision bends
Delightful, melting on the fields beneath.
Myriads of mingling dyes from these result,
And myriads ftill remain; infinite fource
Of beauty, ever-flushing, ever-new!
Did ever poet image aught fo fair,

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Dreaming in whifpering groves by the hoarse brook!
Or prophet, to whofe rapture Heaven defcends! 121
Even now the fetting fun and shifting clouds,
Seen, Greenwich, from thy lovely heights, declare
How juft, how beauteous the refractive law.

The noiseless tide of time, all bearing down 125 To vaft eternity's unbounded fea,

Where the green islands of the happy shine,
He stemm'd alone, and to the fource (involv'd
Deep in primeval gloom) afcending, rais'd
His lights at equal distances, to guide
Hiftorian, wilder'd on his dark some way.

But who can number up his labours? whe

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His high difcoveries fing? when but a few

Of the deep-ftudying race can ftretch their minds
To what he knew? in Fancy's lighter thought, 135
How fhall the Muse then grafp the mighty theme?
What wonder, then, that his devotion fwell'd
Refponfive to his knowledge! for could he,
Whose piercing mental eye diffusive saw
The finish'd university of things

In all its order, magnitude, and parts,
Forbear inceffant to adore that Power
Who fills, fuftains, and actuates the whole?
Say, ye who beft can tell, ye happy few!
Who faw him in the fofteft lights of life,
All unwith-held, indulging to his friends
The vast unborrow'd treasures of his mind,

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Oh, fpeak the wondrous Man! how mild, how calm, How greatly humble, how divinely good;

How firm eftablish'd on eternal truth;

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Fervent in doing well, with every nerve

Still preffing on, forgetful of the past,
And panting for perfection; far above
Those little cares and visionary joys

That fo perplex the fond impaffion'd heart
Of ever-cheated, ever-trufting man.

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And you, ye hopelefs, gloomy-minded Tribe! You who, unconfcious of thofe nobler flights That reach impatient at immortal life, Against the prime endearing privilege

Volume II.

T

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Of being dare contend, say, can a soul
Of fuch extenfive, deep, tremendous powers,
Enlarging ftill, be but a finer breath

Of spirits dancing thro' their tubes a while,
And then for ever loft in vacant air?

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But hark! methinks I hear a warning voice,
Solemn as when fome awful change is come, [full;
Sound thro' the world-"'Tis done-The measure's
"And I resign my charge."-Ye mouldering Stones!
That build the towering pyramid, the proud
Triumphal arch, the monument effac'd
By ruthless ruin, and whate'er fupports
The worshipp'd name of hoar Antiquity,
Down to the duft! what grandeur can ye boast,
While Newton lifts his column to the skies,
Beyond the waste of time. Let no weak drop
Be shed for him. The virgin in her bloom
Cut off, the joyous youth, and darling child,
These are the tombs that claim the tender tear

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And elegiac fong; but Newton calls

For other notes of gratulation high,

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That now he wanders thro' thofe endless worlds
He here fo well defcried, and wondering talks,
And hymns their Author with his glad compeers.
O Britain's boaft! whether with angels thou 185
Sitteft in dread difcourfe, or fellow-bleft,
Who joy to fee the honour of their kind;
Or whether mounted on cherubic wing,

Thy fwift career is with the whirling orbs, Comparing things with things, in rapture loft, 190 And grateful adoration, for that light

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So plenteous ray'd into thy mind below,
From Light himself; Oh! look with pity down
On human-kind, a frail, erroneous race!
Exalt the spirit of a downward world!
O'er thy dejected Country chief preside,
And be her Genius called! her studies raise,
Correct her manners, and inspire her youth:
For, thoughdeprav'd and funk, fhe brought thee forth,
And glories in thy name; the points thee out
To all her fons, and bids them eye thy star;
While in expectance of the fecond life,
When time shall be no more, thy facred duft
Sleeps with her kings, and dignifies the scene.

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