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TIROCINIUM,

grace

Ir is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with
That man, the mafter of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form indeed, th' affociate of a mind
Vaft in its pow'rs, ethereal in its kind,
That form, the labour of almighty skill,
Fram'd for the service of a free-born will,
Afferts precedence, and befpeaks controul,

But borrows all its grandeur from the foul.
Hers is the state, the fplendour, and the throne,

An intellectual kingdom, all her own.

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For her, the mem'ry fills her ample page.

With truths pour'd down from ev'ry diftant age;
For her amaffes an unbounded store,

The wisdom of great nations, now no more ;
Though laden, not incumber'd with her spoil,
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil,

When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd,
Still to be fed, and not to be furcharg'd.
For her, the fancy roving unconfin'd,
The prefent mufe of ev'ry penfive mind,
Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue
To nature's scenes, than nature ever knew;
At her command, winds rife and waters roar,
Again the lays them flumb'ring on the shore,
With flow'r and fruit the wilderness fupplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arife.

For her, the judgment, umpire in the strife

That grace and nature have to wage through life,
Quick-fighted arbiter of good and ill,

Appointed fage preceptor to the will,

I

Condemns,

Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice.

Why did the fiat of a God give birth To yon fair fun and his attendant earth; And, when descending he refigns the skies, Why takes the gentler moon her turn to rise, Whom ocean feels through all his countless waves, And owns her pow'r on ev'ry fhore he laves? Why do the feafons ftill enrich the year, Fruitful and young as in their first career? Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze; Summer in hafte the thriving charge receives Beneath the fhade of her expanded leaves, 'Till autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews Dye them at last in all their glowing hues'Twere wild profufion all, and bootless waste, Pow'r mifemploy'd, munificence misplac'd,

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Had not its Author dignified the plan,

And crown'd it with the majefty of man.

Thus form'd, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught,

Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought,

The wildeft fcorner of his Maker's laws

Finds in a fober moment time to pause,

To press th' important question on his heart,

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Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art ?"

If man be what he seems, this hour a slave,

The next, mere duft and ashes in the grave;
Endu'd with reafon only to defcry

His crimes and follies with an aching eye;
With paffions, juft that he may prove, with pain,
The force he fpends against their fury, vain ;
And if, foon after having burnt, by turns,

With ev'ry luft with which frail nature burns,
His being end where death diffolves the bond,
The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond;
Then he, of all that nature has brought forth,
Stands felf-impeach'd the creature of least worth,

And

And ufelefs while he lives; and when he dies,
Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies.

Truths that the learn'd pursue with eager thought,

Are not important always as dear-bought,

Proving at last, though told in

pompous ftrains,

A childish waste of philofophic pains;

But truths on which depends our main concern,

That 'tis our fhame and mis'ry not to learn,
Shine by the fide of ev'ry path we tread

With fuch a luftre, he that runs may read.

'Tis true, that if to trifle life away

Down to the fun-set of their latest day,

Then perish on futurity's wide shore

Like fleeting exhalations, found no more,

Were all that Heav'n requir'd of human kind,
And all the plan their destiny defign'd,

What none could rev'rence all might justly blame,

And man would breathe but for his Maker's fhame.

But

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