There every feed of every art began,
And all that eases life, and brightens man.
'Twas hence great Newton, mighty genius! foar'd, And all creation's wond'rous range explor❜d.
Far as th' Almighty stretch'd his utmost line
He pierc'd in thought, and view'd the vast design.
Too long had darker ages fought in vain
The secret scheme of nature to explain;
Too long had truth efcap'd each fage's eye,
Or faintly shone through vain philofophy.
Each shapely offspring of her feeble thought,
A darker veil o'er genuine fcience brought;
Still ftubborn facts o'erthrew their fruitless toil;
For truth and fiction who shall reconcile ?
But Britain's fons a furer guide pursue;
Tread fafe the maze, fince Newton gave the clue.
Where-e'er he turn'd true Science rear'd her head,
While far before her puzzled Ign'rance fled:
From each bleft truth thefe noble ends he draws,
Use to mankind, and to their God applause.
Taught by his rules fecure the merchant rides,
When threat'ning feas roll high their dreadful tides;
And either India speeds her precious ftores,
Midft various dangers fafe to Britain's fhores.
Long as thofe orbs he weigh'd shall shed their rays,
His truth shall guide us, and shall laft his praise.
Yet if so just the fame, the ufe fo great,
Systems to poife, and spheres to regulate;
To teach the fecret well-adapted force,
That fteers of countless orbs th' unvaried courfe:
Far brighter honors wait the nobler part,
To balance manners, and conduct the heart.
Order without us, what imports it feen,
If all is restless anarchy within?
Fir'd by this thought great Afhley, gen'rous fage,
Plan'd in fweet leisure his inftructive page.
Not orbs he weighs, but marks, with happier skill, The scope of actions and the poife of will:
In fair proportion here defcrib'd we trace
Each mental beauty, and each moral grace;
Each useful paffion taught, its tone defign'd
In the nice concord of a well-tun'd mind.
Does mean felf-love contract each focial aim?
Here public transports shall thy foul inflame.
Virtue and Deity fupremely fair,
Too oft delineated with looks fevere,
Resume their native fmiles and graces here:
See the Characteristics, particularly the enquiry concerning
Virtue and the Moralifts.
Sooth'd into love relenting foes admire,
And warmer raptures every friend inspire.
Such are the fruits which from retirement spring;
These bleffings ease and learned leisure bring.
Yet of the various tasks mankind employ,
'Tis fure the hardest, leisure to enjoy,
For one who knows to taste this godlike blifs,
What countless swarms of vain pretenders miss?
Though each dull plodding thing, to ape the wife,
Ridiculously grave, for leifure fighs,
(His boasted with from busy scenes to run)
Grant him that leifure, and the fool's undone.
The gods, to curfe poor Demea, heard his vow,
And bufinefs now no more contracts his brow:
Nor real cares, 'tis true, perplex his breast,
But thousand fancied ills his peace molest;
The slightest trifles folid forrows prove,
And the long ling'ring wheel of life fcarce feems to move.
Useless in business, yet unfit for ease,
Nor skill'd to mend mankind, nor form'd to please,
Such fpurious animals of worthless race
Live but the public burthen and disgrace:
Like mean attendants on life's stage are feen,
Drawn forth to fill, but not conduct the scene.
The mind not taught to think, no useful store
To fix reflection, dreads the vacant hour.
Turn'd on its felf its num'rous wants are seen,
And all the mighty void that lies within.
Yet cannot wisdom stamp our joys complete;
'Tis conscious virtue crowns the bleft retreat.
Who feels not that, the private path must shun,
And fly to public view t' escape his own;
In life's gay scenes uneafy thoughts fupprefs,
And lull each anxious care in dreams of peace.
'Midft foreign objects not employ'd to roam,
Thought, fadly active, ftill corrodes at home:
A ferious moment breaks the false repose,
And guilt in all its naked horror fhows.
He who would know retirement's joy refin'd,
The fair recefs muft feek with cheerful mind:
No Cynic's pride, no bigot's heated brain,
No fruftrate hope, nor love's fantastic pain,
With him must enter the fequefter'd cell,
Who means with pleasing folitude to dwell;
But equal paffions let his bofom rule,
A judgment candid, and a temper cool,
Enlarg'd with knowledge, and in confcience clear,
Above life's empty hopes, and death's vain fear.
Such he must be who greatly lives alone;
Such Portio is, in crowded scenes unknown.
For public life with every talent born,
Portio far off retires with decent fcorn;
Though without business, never unemploy'd,
And life, as more at leifure, more enjoy'd :
For who like him can various science taste,
His mind shall never want an endless feast,
In his bleft ev'ning walk may'st thou, may I,
Oft friendly join in sweet society;
Our lives like his in one fmooth current flow,
Nor fwell'd with tempeft, nor too calmly flow,
Whilst he, like some great fage of Rome or Greece,
Shall calm each rifing doubt, and speak us peace,
Correct each thought, each wayward wish controul,
And stamp with every virtue all the foul.
Ah! how unlike is Umbrio's gloomy fcene,
Eftrang'd from all the cheerful ways of men!
There fuperftition works her baneful pow'r,
And darkens all the melancholy hour.
Unnumber'd fears corrode and haunt his breast,
With all that whim or ign'rance can fuggeft.
In vain for him kind nature pours her sweets;
The vifionary faint no joy admits,
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