Melody IV. to Science

Sun of the mind, whose blessed beams exile Of sullen Ignorance the gloomy power, With every phantom wild That haunts his desert reign.

Thee, Teacher! on the fabled marge of Nile The sober Memory to Wisdom bore; There Fancy thee beguiled With many a mystic strain.

Where green Hymettus, clad with thyme, Spreads fragrance thro' the Attic air, Thy holy form appeared; And oft in Latium's happy clime, From many a shade and grotto fair, Thy solemn voice was heard: Thy ample shrine ere Britain reared; Where Bacon soon his votive honours brought, And sagest Locke explored the maze of thought.

The radiant circuit of the stars to trace, The secrets of the earth and hoary main, The steady laws of Fate, My vows solicit not.

'What is above, O ye of mortal race,' The Athenian said, 'incites your care in vain: 'Be this your hope elate, 'To mend your proper lot.

Soon as the heir of pain appears, What ghastly spectres wait around The hapless birth to seize! The Passions tend his blooming years, The Cares his perfect age confound, His toils till Death release: The silent grave his only ease! Where never more, alas, he wakes to weep, But closes his brief day in endless sleep.

These ills to heal, to bear, impart thy skill: Tho' every passion every storm prepare, Yet thou thy blest ally Can'st save, celestial Guide. And lead to scenes where Fancy sports at will (So great thy power!) far from the realm of Care; Where Beauty, Harmony, And pensive Ease reside.

Since scant the source of pleasure flows, Instruct the fleeting stream to guide, To guide, not to confine; With every little flower that blows Around the variable tide To deck life's sober shrine: For every purer joy is thine. By thee alone are all our cares redrest: True wisdom is the art of being blest.