BOOK III.

What wonder therefore, since the endearing ties

Of passion link the universal kind

Of man so close, what wonder if to search

This common nature through the various change

Of sex, and age, and fortune, and the frame

Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind

With unresisted charms? The spacious west,

And all the teeming regions of the south,

Hold not a quarry, to the curious flight

Of Knowledge, half so tempting or so fair,

As man to man. Nor only where the smiles

Of Love invite; nor only where the applause

Of cordial Honour turns the attentive eye

On Virtue's graceful deeds. For, since the course

Of things external acts in different ways

On human apprehensions, as the hand

Of Nature temper'd to a different frame

Peculiar minds; so haply where the powers

Of Fancy neither lessen nor enlarge

The images of things, but paint in all

Their genuine hues, the features which they wore

In Nature; there Opinion will be true,

And Action right. For Action treads the path

In which Opinion says he follows good,

Or flies from evil; and Opinion gives

Report of good or evil, as the scene

Was drawn by Fancy, lovely or deform'd:

Thus her report can never there be true

Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye,

With glaring colours and distorted lines.

Is there a man, who, at the sound of death,

Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjured up,

And black before him; nought but death-bed groans

And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink

Of light and being, down the gloomy air,

An unknown depth? Alas! in such a mind,

If no bright forms of excellence attend

The image of his country; nor the pomp

Of sacred senates, nor the guardian voice

Of Justice on her throne, nor aught that wakes

The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame;

Will not Opinion tell him, that to die,

Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill

Than to betray his country? And in act

Will he not choose to be a wretch and live?

Here vice begins then. From the enchanting cup

Which Fancy holds to all, the unwary thirst

Of youth oft swallows a Circaean draught,

That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye

Of Reason, till no longer he discerns,

And only guides to err. Then revel forth

A furious band that spurn him from the throne,

And all is uproar. Thus Ambition grasps

The empire of the soul; thus pale Revenge

Unsheaths her murderous dagger; and the hands

Of Lust and Rapine, with unholy arts,

Watch to o'erturn the barrier of the laws

That keeps them from their prey; thus all the plagues

The wicked bear, or o'er the trembling scone

The tragic Muse discloses, under shapes

Of honour, safety, pleasure, ease, or pomp,

Stole first into the mind. Yet not by all

Those lying forms, which Fancy in the brain

Engenders, are the kindling passions driven

To guilty deeds; nor Reason bound in chains,

That Vice alone may lord it: oft adorn'd

With solemn pageants, Folly mounts the throne,

And plays her idiot antics, like a queen.

A thousand garbs she wears; a thousand ways

She wheels her giddy empire.— Lo! thus far

With bold adventure, to the Mantuan lyre

I sing of Nature's charms, and touch well pleased

A stricter note: now haply must my song

Unbend her serious measure, and reveal

In lighter strains, how Folly's awkward arts

Excite impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke;

The sportive province of the comic Muse.

See! in what crowds the uncouth forms advance:

Each would outstrip the other, each prevent

Our careful search, and offer to your gaze,

Unask'd, his motley features. Wait awhile,

My curious friends! and let us first arrange

In proper order your promiscuous throng.

Behold the foremost band; of slender thought,

And easy faith; whom flattering Fancy soothes

With lying spectres, in themselves to view

Illustrious forms of excellence and good,

That scorn the mansion. With exulting hearts

They spread their spurious treasures to the sun,

And bid the world admire! But chief the glance

Of wishful Envy draws their joy-bright eyes,

And lifts with self-applause each lordly brow.

In number boundless as the blooms of Spring,

Behold their glaring idols, empty shades

By Fancy gilded o'er, and then set up

For adoration. Some in Learning's garb,

With formal band, and sable-cinctured gown,

And rags of mouldy volumes. Some elate

With martial splendour, steely pikes and swords

Of costly frame, and gay Phoenician robes

Inwrought with flowery gold, assume the port

Of stately Valour: listening by his side

There stands a female form; to her, with looks

Of earnest import, pregnant with amaze,

He talks of deadly deeds, of breaches, storms,

And sulphurous mines, and ambush: then at once

Breaks off, and smiles to see her look so pale,

And asks some wondering question of her fears.

Others of graver mien; behold, adorn'd

With holy ensigns, how sublime they move,

And bending oft their sanctimonious eyes

Take homage of the simple-minded throng;

Ambassadors of Heaven! Nor much unlike

Is he, whose visage in the lazy mist

That mantles every feature, hides a brood

Of politic conceits, of whispers, nods,

And hints deep omen'd with unwieldy schemes,

And dark portents of state. Ten thousand more,

Prodigious habits and tumultuous tongues,

Pour dauntless in and swell the boastful band.

Then comes the second order; all who seek

The debt of praise, where watchful Unbelief

Darts through the thin pretence her squinting eye

On some retired appearance which belies

The boasted virtue, or annuls the applause

That Justice else would pay. Here side by side

I see two leaders of the solemn train

Approaching: one a female old and gray,

With eyes demure, and wrinkle-furrow'd brow,

Pale as the cheeks of death; yet still she stuns

The sickening audience with a nauseous tale,

How many youths her myrtle chains have worn,

How many virgins at her triumphs pined!

Yet how resolved she guards her cautious heart;

Such is her terror at the risks of love,

And man's seducing tongue! The other seems

A bearded sage, ungentle in his mien,

And sordid all his habit; peevish Want

Grins at his heels, while down the gazing throng

He stalks, resounding in magnific praise

The vanity of riches, the contempt

Of pomp and power. Be prudent in your zeal,

Ye grave associates! let the silent grace

Of her who blushes at the fond regard

Her charms inspire, more eloquent unfold

The praise of spotless honour: let the man,

Whose eye regards not his illustrious pomp

And ample store, but as indulgent streams

To cheer the barren soil and spread the fruits

Of joy, let him by juster measures fix

The price of riches and the end of power.

Another tribe succeeds; deluded long

By Fancy's dazzling optics, these behold

The images of some peculiar things

With brighter hues resplendent, and portray'd

With features nobler far than e'er adorn'd

Their genuine objects. Hence the fever'd heart

Pants with delirious hope for tinsel charms;

Hence oft obtrusive on the eye of scorn,

Untimely zeal her witless pride betrays!

And serious manhood from the towering aim

Of wisdom, stoops to emulate the boast

Of childish toil. Behold yon mystic form

Bedeck'd with feathers, insects, weeds, and shells!

Not with intenser view the Samian sage

Bent his fix'd eye on heaven's intenser fires,

When first the order of that radiant scene

Swell'd his exulting thought, than this surveys

A muckworm's entrails, or a spider's fang.

Next him a youth, with flowers and myrtles crown'd,

Attends that virgin form, and blushing kneels,

With fondest gesture and a suppliant's tongue,

To win her coy regard: adieu, for him,

The dull engagements of the bustling world!

Adieu the sick impertinence of praise!

And hope, and action! for with her alone,

By streams and shades, to steal these sighing hours,

Is all he asks, and all that fate can give!

Thee too, facetious Momion, wandering here,

Thee, dreaded censor, oft have I beheld

Bewilder'd unawares: alas! too long

Flush'd with thy comic triumphs and the spoils

Of sly derision! till on every side

Hurling thy random bolts, offended Truth

Assign'd thee here thy station with the slaves

Of Folly. Thy once formidable name

Shall grace her humble records, and be heard

In scoffs and mockery bandied from the lips

Of all the vengeful brotherhood around,

So oft the patient victims of thy scorn.

But now, ye gay! to whom indulgent fate,

Of all the Muse's empire hath assign'd

The fields of folly, hither each advance

Your sickles; here the teeming soil affords

Its richest growth. A favourite brood appears,

In whom the demon, with a mother's joy,

Views all her charms reflected, all her cares

At full repaid. Ye most illustrious band!

Who, scorning Reason's tame, pedantic rules,

And Order's vulgar bondage, never meant

For souls sublime as yours, with generous zeal

Pay Vice the reverence Virtue long usurp'd,

And yield Deformity the fond applause

Which Beauty wont to claim, forgive my song,

That for the blushing diffidence of youth,

It shuns the unequal province of your praise.

Thus far triumphant in the pleasing guile

Of bland Imagination, Folly's train

Have dared our search: but now a dastard kind

Advance reluctant, and with faltering feet

Shrink from the gazer's eye: enfeebled hearts

Whom Fancy chills with visionary fears,

Or bends to servile tameness with conceits

Of shame, of evil, or of base defect,

Fantastic and delusive. Here the slave

Who droops abash'd when sullen Pomp surveys

His humbler habit; here the trembling wretch

Unnerved and struck with Terror's icy bolts,

Spent in weak wailings, drown'd in shameful tears,

At every dream of danger: here, subdued

By frontless laughter and the hardy scorn

Of old, unfeeling vice, the abject soul,

Who, blushing, half resigns the candid praise

Of Temperance and Honour; half disowns

A freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride;

And hears with sickly smiles the venal mouth

With foulest licence mock the patriot's name.

Last of the motley bands on whom the power

Of gay Derision bends her hostile aim,

Is that where shameful Ignorance presides.

Beneath her sordid banners, lo! they march

Like blind and lame. Whate'er their doubtful hands

Attempt, Confusion straight appears behind,

And troubles all the work. Through many a maze,

Perplex'd they struggle, changing every path,

O'erturning every purpose; then at last

Sit down dismay'd, and leave the entangled scene

For Scorn to sport with. Such then is the abode

Of Folly in the mind; and such the shapes

In which she governs her obsequious train.

Through every scene of ridicule in things

To lead the tenor of my devious lay;

Through every swift occasion, which the hand

Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting

Distends her sallying nerves and chokes her tongue;

What were it but to count each crystal drop

Which Morning's dewy fingers on the blooms

Of May distil? Suffice it to have said,

Where'er the power of Ridicule displays

Her quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous form,

Some stubborn dissonance of things combined,

Strikes on the quick observer: whether Pomp,

Or Praise, or Beauty, mix their partial claim

Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds,

Where foul Deformity are wont to dwell;

Or whether these with violation loathed,

Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien,

The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise.

Ask we for what fair end, the Almighty Sire

In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt,

These grateful stings of laughter, from disgust

Educing pleasure? Wherefore, but to aid

The tardy steps of Reason, and at once

By this prompt impulse urge us to depress

The giddy aims of Folly? Though the light

Of Truth slow dawning on the inquiring mind,

At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie,

How these uncouth disorders end at last

In public evil! yet benignant Heaven,

Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears

To thousands; conscious what a scanty pause

From labours and from care, the wider lot

Of humble life affords for studious thought

To scan the maze of Nature; therefore stamp'd

The glaring scenes with characters of scorn,

As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown,

As to the letter'd sage's curious eye.

Such are the various aspects of the mind —

Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughts

Attain that secret harmony which blends

The etherial spirit with its mould of clay,

Oh! teach me to reveal the grateful charm

That searchless Nature o'er the sense of man

Diffuses, to behold, in lifeless things,

The inexpressive semblance of himself,

Of thought and passion. Mark the sable woods

That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow:

With what religious awe the solemn scene

Commands your steps! as if the reverend form

Of Minos or of Numa should forsake

The Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade

Move to your pausing eye! Behold the expanse

Of yon gay landscape, where the silver clouds

Flit o'er the heavens before the sprightly breeze:

Now their gray cincture skirts the doubtful sun;

Now streams of splendour, through their opening veil

Effulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawn

The aërial shadows, on the curling brook,

And on the shady margin's quivering leaves

With quickest lustre glancing; while you view

The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast

Plays not the lively sense of winning mirth

With clouds and sunshine chequer'd, while the round

Of social converse, to the inspiring tongue

Of some gay nymph amid her subject train,

Moves all obsequious? Whence is this effect,

This kindred power of such discordant things?

Or flows their semblance from that mystic tone

To which the new-born mind's harmonious powers

At first were strung? Or rather from the links

Which artful custom twines around her frame?

For when the different images of things,

By chance combined, have struck the attentive soul

With deeper impulse, or, connected long,

Have drawn her frequent eye; howe'er distinct

The external scenes, yet oft the ideas gain

From that conjunction an eternal tie,

And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind

Recall one partner of the various league,

Immediate, lo! the firm confederates rise,

And each his former station straight resumes:

One movement governs the consenting throng,

And all at once with rosy pleasure shine,

Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care.

‘ Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold,

Two faithful needles, from the informing touch

Of the same parent stone, together drew

Its mystic virtue, and at first conspired

With fatal impulse quivering to the pole:

Then, though disjoin'd by kingdoms, though the main

Roll'd its broad surge betwixt, and different stars

Beheld their wakeful motions, yet preserved

The former friendship, and remember'd still

The alliance of their birth: whate'er the line

Which one possess'd, nor pause, nor quiet knew

The sure associate, ere with trembling speed

He found its path and fix'd unerring there.

Such is the secret union, when we feel

A song, a flower, a name, at once restore

Those long-connected scenes where first they moved

The attention, backward through her mazy walks

Guiding the wanton fancy to her scope,

To temples, courts, or fields, with all the band

Of painted forms, of passions and designs

Attendant; whence, if pleasing in itself,

The prospect from that sweet accession gains

Redoubled influence o'er the listening mind.

By these mysterious ties, the busy power

Of Memory her ideal train preserves

Entire; or when they would elude her watch,

Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste

Of dark oblivion; thus collecting all

The various forms of being to present,

Before the curious aim of mimic art,

Their largest choice; like Spring's unfolded blooms

Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee

May taste at will, from their selected spoils

To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse

Of living lakes in Summer's noontide calm,

Reflects the bordering shade, and sun-bright heavens,

With fairer semblance; not the sculptured gold

More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace,

Than he whose birth the sister powers of Art

Propitious view'd, and from his genial star

Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind,

Than his attemper'd bosom must preserve

The seal of Nature. There alone unchanged,

Her form remains. The balmy walks of May

There breathe perennial sweets; the trembling chord

Resounds for ever in the abstracted ear,

Melodious; and the virgin's radiant eye,

Superior to disease, to grief, and time,

Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at length

Endow'd with all that nature can bestow,

The child of Fancy oft in silence bends

O'er these mix'd treasures of his pregnant breast

With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves

To frame he knows not what excelling things,

And win he knows not what sublime reward

Of praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind

Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powers

Labour for action: blind emotions heave

His bosom; and with loveliest frenzy caught,

From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye,

From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes,

Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call,

Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth,

From ocean's bed they come: the eternal heavens

Disclose their splendours, and the dark abyss

Pours out her births unknown. With fixed gaze

He marks the rising phantoms. Now compares

Their different forms; now blends them, now divides,

Enlarges and extenuates by turns;

Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands,

And infinitely varies. Hither now,

Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim,

With endless choice perplex'd. At length his plan

Begins to open. Lucid order dawns;

And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds

Of Nature at the voice divine repair'd

Each to its place, till rosy earth unveil'd

Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun

Sprung up the blue serene; by swift degrees

Thus disentangled, his entire design

Emerges. Colours mingle, features join,

And lines converge: the fainter parts retire;

The fairer eminent in light advance;

And every image on its neighbour smiles.

Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy

Contemplates. Then with Promethéan art,

Into its proper vehicle he breathes

The fair conception; which, embodied thus,

And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears

An object ascertain'd: while thus inform'd,

The various organs of his mimic skill,

The consonance of sounds, the featured rock,

The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse,

Beyond their proper powers attract the soul

By that expressive semblance, while in sight

Of Nature's great original we scan

The lively child of Art; while line by line,

And feature after feature we refer

To that sublime exemplar whence it stole

Those animating charms. Thus Beauty's palm

Betwixt them wavering hangs: applauding Love

Doubts where to choose; and mortal man aspires

To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud

Of gathering hail, with limpid crusts of ice

Enclosed and obvious to the beaming sun,

Collects his large effulgence; straight the heavens

With equal flames present on either hand

The radiant visage; Persia stands at gaze,

Appall'd; and on the brink of Ganges doubts

The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name,

To which the fragrance of the south shall burn,

To which his warbled orisons ascend.

Such various bliss the well-tuned heart enjoys,

Favour'd of Heaven! while, plunged in sordid cares,

The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine;

And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke

Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away

Abash'd and chill of heart, with sager frowns

Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain,

Perhaps even now, some cold, fastidious judge

Casts a disdainful eye; and calls my toil,

And calls the love and beauty which I sing,

The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor! say,

Is Beauty then a dream, because the glooms

Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense,

To let her shine upon thee? So the man

Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heaven,

Might smile with scorn while raptured vision tells

Of the gay-colour'd radiance flushing bright

O'er all creation. From the wise be far

Such gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my song

Descend so low; but rather now unfold,

If human thought could reach, or words unfold,

By what mysterious fabric of the mind,

The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound

Result from airy motion; and from shape

The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair.

By what fine ties hath God connected things

When present in the mind, which in themselves

Have no connexion? Sure the rising sun

O'er the cerulean convex of the sea,

With equal brightness and with equal warmth

Might roll his fiery orb, nor yet the soul

Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers

Exulting in the splendour she beholds,

Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp

Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve,

Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breath

Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain

Attemper, could not man's discerning ear

Through all its tones the sympathy pursue,

Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy

Steal through his veins and fan the awaken'd heart,

Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song?

But were not Nature still endow'd at large

With all that life requires, though unadorn'd

With such enchantment? Wherefore then her form

So exquisitely fair? her breath perfumed

With such ethereal sweetness? whence her voice

Inform'd at will to raise or to depress

The impassion'd soul? and whence the robes of light

Which thus invest her with more lovely pomp

Than Fancy can describe? Whence but from Thee,

O source divine of ever-flowing love!

And Thy unmeasured goodness? Not content

With every food of life to nourish man,

By kind illusions of the wondering sense

Thou mak'st all Nature beauty to his eye,

Or music to his ear; well pleased he scans

The goodly prospect, and with inward smiles

Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain,

Beholds the azure canopy of heaven,

And living lamps that over-arch his head

With more than regal splendour; bends his ears

To the full choir of water, air, and earth;

Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought,

Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch,

Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds,

Than space, or motion, or eternal time;

So sweet he feels their influence to attract

The fixed soul, to brighten the dull glooms

Of care, and make the destined road of life

Delightful to his feet. So fables tell,

The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits,

Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spells

Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils,

A visionary paradise disclosed

Amid the dubious wild; with streams, and shades,

And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles,

Cheers his long labours and renews his frame.

What then is taste, but these internal powers

Active, and strong, and feelingly alive

To each fine impulse,— a discerning sense

Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust

From things deform'd, or disarranged, or gross

In species? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold,

Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow;

But God alone, when first His active hand

Imprints the secret bias of the soul.

He, mighty Parent! wise and just in all,

Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven,

Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swain

Who journeys homeward from a summer day's

Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils

And due repose, he loiters to behold

The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds,

O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween,

His rude expression and untutor'd airs,

Beyond the power of language, will unfold

The form of beauty, smiling at his heart,

How lovely! how commanding! But though Heaven

In every breast hath sown these early seeds

Of love and admiration, yet in vain,

Without fair culture's kind parental aid,

Without enlivening suns, and genial showers,

And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope

The tender plant should rear its blooming head,

Or yield the harvest promised in its spring.

Nor yet will every soul with equal stores

Repay the tiller's labour, or attend

His will, obsequious, whether to produce

The olive or the laurel. Different minds

Incline to different objects; one pursues

The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild;

Another sighs for harmony, and grace,

And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning fires

The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground,

When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,

And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,

Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky;

Amid the mighty uproar, while below

The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad

Prom some high cliff, superior, and enjoys

The elemental war. But Waller longs,

All on the margin of some flowery stream

To spread his careless limbs amid the cool

Of plantane shades, and to the listening deer

The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain

Resound soft-warbling all the livelong day;

Consenting Zephyr sighs; the weeping rill

Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves;

And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.

Such and so various are the tastes of men.

Oh! bless'd of Heaven, whom not the languid songs

Of Luxury, the siren! not the bribes

Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils

Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave

Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store

Of Nature fair Imagination culls

To charm the enliven'd soul! What though not all

Of mortal offspring can attain the heights

Of envied life; though only few possess

Patrician treasures or imperial state;

Yet Nature's care, to all her children just,

With richer treasures and an ampler state,

Endows at large whatever happy man

Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp,

The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns

The princely dome, the column, and the arch,

The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold,

Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim,

His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the Spring

Distils her dews, and from the silken gem

Its lucid leaves unfolds; for him, the hand

Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch

With blooming gold and blushes like the morn.

Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wings;

And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,

And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze

Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes

The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain

From all the tenants of the warbling shade

Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake

Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partakes

Fresh pleasure only; for the attentive mind,

By this harmonious action on her powers

Becomes herself harmonious; wont so oft

In outward things to meditate the charm

Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home

To find a kindred order, to exert

Within herself this elegance of love,

This fair-inspired delight; her temper'd powers

Refine at length, and every passion wears

A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.

But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze

On Nature's form, where, negligent of all

These lesser graces, she assumes the port

Of that Eternal Majesty that weigh'd

The world's foundations, if to these the mind

Exalts her daring eye, then mightier far

Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms

Of servile custom cramp her generous powers?

Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth

Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down

To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear?

Lo! she appeals to Nature, to the winds

And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course,

The elements and seasons; all declare

For what the Eternal Maker has ordain'd

The powers of man; we feel within ourselves

His energy divine; he tells the heart,

He meant, he made us to behold and love

What he beholds and loves, the general orb

Of life and being; to be great like him,

Beneficent and active. Thus the men

Whom Nature's works can charm, with God himself

Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day,

With his conceptions, act upon his plan;

And form to his, the relish of their souls.