There, Science! veil thy daring eye; Nor dive too deep, nor soar too high, In that divine abyss ;
To faith content thy beams to lend, Her hopes to assure, her steps befriend And light her way to bliss.
Then downwards take thy flight again, Mix with the policies of men,
And social nature's ties;
The plan, the genius of each state,
Its interest and its powers relate,
Its fortunes and its rise.
Through private life pursue thy course,
Trace every action to its source,
And means and motives weigh:
Put tempers, passions, in the scale;
Mark what degrees in each prevail,
And fix the doubtful sway.
That last best effort of thy skill,
To form the life, and rule the will,
Propitious power! impart :
Teach me to cool my passion's tires,
Make me the judge of my desires,
The master of my heart.
Raise me above the vulgar's breath,
Pursuit of fortune, fear of death,
And all in life that's mean :
Still true to reason be my plan,
Still let my actions speak the man,
Through every various scene.
Hail! queen of manners, light of truth;
Hail! charm of age, and guide of youth;
Sweet refuge of distress :
In business, thou! exact, polite;
Thou giv'st retirement its delight,
Prosperity its grace.
Of wealth, power, freedom, thou the cause;
Foundress of order, cities, laws,
Of arts inventress thou!
Without thee, what were human-kind?
How vast their wants, their thoughts how blind!
Their joys how mean! how few!
Sun of the soul! thy beams unveil!
Let others spread the daring sail,
On fortune's faithless sea:
While, undeluded, happier I
From the vain tumult timely fly
And sit in peace with thee.
Too much my heart of beauty's power hath known,
Too long to love hath reason left her throne;
Too long my genius mourn'd his myrtle chain,
And three rich years of youth consum'd in vain.
My wishes, lull'd with soft inglorious dreams,
Forgot the patriot's and the sage's themes:
Through each Elysian vale and fairy grove,
Through all the' enchanted paradise of love,
Misled by sickly hope's deceitful flame,
Averse to action, and renouncing fame.
At last the visionary scenes decay,
My eyes, exulting, bless the new-born day,
Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road
In which my heedless feet securely trod,
And stript the phantoms of their lying charms
That lur'd my soul from wisdom's peaceful arms.
For silver streams and banks bespread with
For mossy couches and harmonious bowers, [flowers,
Lo! barren heaths appear, and pathless woods,
And rocks hung dreadful o'er unfathom'd floods:
For openness of heart, for tender smiles,
Looks fraught with love, and wrath disarming wiles,
Lo! sullen spite, and perjur'd lust of gain,
And cruel pride, and crueller disdain.
Lo! cordial faith to idiot airs refin'd,
Now coolly civil, now transporting kind.
For graceful ease, lo! affectation walks ;
And dull half-sense, for wit and wisdom talks.
New to each hour what low delight succeeds,
What precious furniture of hearts and heads!
By nought their prudence, but by getting, known,
And all their courage in deceiving shown.
See next what plagues attend the lover's state,
What frightful forms of terror, scorn, and hate!
See burning fury heaven and earth defy!
See dumb despair in icy fetters lie!
See black suspicion bend his gloomy brow,
The hideous image of himself to view!
And fond belief, with all a lover's flame,
Sinks in those arms that points his head with shame!
There wan dejection, faultering as he goes,
In shades and silence vainly seeks repose;
Musing through pathless wilds, consumes the day,
Then lost in darkness weeps the hours away.
Here the gay crowd of luxury advance,
Some touch the lyre, and others urge the dance;
On every head the rosy garland glows,
In every hand the golden goblet flows.
The Syren views them with exulting eyes,
And laughs at bashful virtue as she flies.
But see behind, where scorn and want appear,
The grave remonstrance and the witty sneer.
See fell remorse in action, prompt to dart
Her snaky poison through the conscious heart.
And sloth to cancel, with oblivious shame,
The fair memorial of recording fame.
Are these delights that one would wish to gain?
Is this the Elysium of a sober brain?
To wait for happiness in female smiles,
Bear all her scorn, be caught with all her wiles, With prayers, with bribes, with lies, her pity crave, Bless her hard bonds, and boast to be her slave; To feel, for trifles, a distracting train
Of hopes and terrors equally in vain ;
This hour to tremble, and the next to glow,
Can pride, can sense, can reason, stoop so low?
When virtue, at an easier price, displays
The sacred wreaths of honourable praise;
When wisdom utters her divine decree,
To laugh at pompous folly, and be free.
I bid adieu, then, to these woeful scenes;
I bid adieu to all the sex of queens;
Adieu to every suffering, simple soul,
That lets a woman's will his ease controul.
There laugh, ye witty; and rebuke, ye grave!
For me, I scorn to boast that I'm a slave.
I bid the whining brotherhood be gone;
Joy to my heart! my wishes are my own!
Farewell the female heaven, the female hell;
To the great God of love a glad farewell.
Is this the triumph of thy awful name ;
Are these the splendid hopes that urg'd thy aim,
When first my bosom own'd thy haughty sway?
When thus Minerva heard thee boasting, say,
"Go, martial maid, elsewhere thy arts employ,
Nor hope to shelter that devoted boy.
Go teach the solemn sons of care and age,
The pensive statesman, and the midnight sage;
The young with me must other lessons prove,
Youth calls for pleasure, pleasure calls for love.
Behold, his heart thy grave advice disdains;
Behold, I bind him in eternal chains."
Alas! great love, how idle was the boast!
Thy chains are broken, and thy lessons lost;
Thy wilful rage has tir'd my suffering heart,
And passion, reason, forc'd thee to depart.
But wherefore dost thou linger on thy way?
Why vainly search for some pretence to stay,
When crowds of vassals court thy pleasing yoke,
And countless victims bow them to the stroke?
Lo! round thy shrine a thousand youths advance,
Warm with the gentle ardours of romance;
Eachl ongs to' assert thy cause with feats of arms,
And make the world confess Dulcinea's charms.
Ten thousand girls with flowery chaplets crown'd,
To groves and streams thy tender triumph sound;
Each bids the stream in murmurs speak her flame,
Each calls the grove to sigh her shepherd's name.
But, if thy pride such easy honour scorn,
If nobler trophies must thy toil adorn,
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