Hangs on her flight, restrains her towering wing,
Twists its dark folds, and points its venomed sting.
Yet still,—if aught aright the Muse divine,—
Her rising pride shall mock the vain design;
On sounding pinions yet aloft shall soar,
And through the azure deep un traveled paths explore.
Where science smiles, the Muses join the train;
And gentlest arts and purest manners reign.
Ye generous youth who love this studious shade,
How rich a field is to your hopes displayed!
Knowledge to you unlocks the classic page,
And virtue blossoms for a better age.
O golden days! O bright unvalued hours!
What bliss—did ye but know that bliss—were yours!
With richest stores your glowing bosoms fraught,
Perception quick, and luxury of thought;
The high designs that heave the labouring soul,
Panting for fame, impatient of controul;
And fond enthusiastic thought, that feeds
On pictured tales of vast heroic deeds;
