SCIENCE.
INSCRIBED TO MRS.
"Who art thou, stranger, with the beard of snow,
Th' unwavering glance, and deeply furrow'd brow,.
Eye, which with strange, yet temper'd radiance shines,
Brow, where fix'd thought, with treasur'd lore combines?"
The sage replied, "Not all unknown to fame,
A student I, and Science is my name!
Yet start not thou;—Humility my guide,
I chide no meek inquirer from my side;
The erring, wandering, shade-pursuing crowd,
Have still my honours on a cheat bestow'd,
Whose solemn weed, and quaint, and crabbed phrase,
Beguile the foolish million of their praise;
But he is Pedantry, howe'er he claim
My attributes, my votaries, and my name!
I am the same who pointed Newton's eye
To pierce the myst'ries of the concave sky,
And, when recall'd to earth his daring view,
Breath'd in his ear the secret known to few,
That worlds explor'd, and clouds and oceans past,
All man can grasp, is emptiness at last!
This truth is mine, in painful study learn'd,
By deep research, and long inquiry earn'd.
The social bond knits Pedantry and Pride,
Humility is still my faithful guide,
Tho' Genius sometimes rashly bounds before,
And tempts where rocks arise and billows roar;
Now for awhile the wanderers are at rest,
I and my guide secure in Harriet's breast;
No hermit refuge, no secluded bourn,
Where selfish Discontent has fled to mourn;
A goodly band divide the bless'd retreat,
There, Piety has fix'd her firmest seat;
Not she, who stern explores each neighbour's eye,
Well pleas'd therein the blinding mote to spy,
Who never smil'd on virtue but her own,
And owes her safety to a heart of stone!
No! let her build her hut 'mid polar snows,
Not in the realm where heav'n's own day-beam glows!
Ah no! far different is the hallow'd guest
Who rears a spotless shrine in Harriet's breast!
Peace, Hope, and Charity, her offspring fair,
Seek the bless'd home, and love to commune there:
There stern Reflection views with brow unbent
Th' unblotted record of a life well spent:
There, unmolested, Genius twines his wreath,
For even Envy holds her poison'd breath,
Nor dare she bid the rankling vapour blow
To blight one leaf that shadows Harriet's brow!
Yet fear not mortals, to approach too near
The sacred shrine—for gentleness is there!
Oh! when at length the scatter'd virtues mourn,
That fate has reft them of their fav'rite bourn,
When that bright spirit sojourns in the skies,
And when the mortal form in silence lies;
Still Fame shall tell the world in honest pride,
That Harriet liv'd,—and weep that Harriet died!
Th' unwavering glance, and deeply furrow'd brow,.
Eye, which with strange, yet temper'd radiance shines,
Brow, where fix'd thought, with treasur'd lore combines?"
The sage replied, "Not all unknown to fame,
A student I, and Science is my name!
Yet start not thou;—Humility my guide,
I chide no meek inquirer from my side;
The erring, wandering, shade-pursuing crowd,
Have still my honours on a cheat bestow'd,
Whose solemn weed, and quaint, and crabbed phrase,
Beguile the foolish million of their praise;
But he is Pedantry, howe'er he claim
My attributes, my votaries, and my name!
I am the same who pointed Newton's eye
To pierce the myst'ries of the concave sky,
And, when recall'd to earth his daring view,
Breath'd in his ear the secret known to few,
That worlds explor'd, and clouds and oceans past,
All man can grasp, is emptiness at last!
This truth is mine, in painful study learn'd,
By deep research, and long inquiry earn'd.
The social bond knits Pedantry and Pride,
Humility is still my faithful guide,
Tho' Genius sometimes rashly bounds before,
And tempts where rocks arise and billows roar;
Now for awhile the wanderers are at rest,
I and my guide secure in Harriet's breast;
No hermit refuge, no secluded bourn,
Where selfish Discontent has fled to mourn;
A goodly band divide the bless'd retreat,
There, Piety has fix'd her firmest seat;
Not she, who stern explores each neighbour's eye,
Well pleas'd therein the blinding mote to spy,
Who never smil'd on virtue but her own,
And owes her safety to a heart of stone!
No! let her build her hut 'mid polar snows,
Not in the realm where heav'n's own day-beam glows!
Ah no! far different is the hallow'd guest
Who rears a spotless shrine in Harriet's breast!
Peace, Hope, and Charity, her offspring fair,
Seek the bless'd home, and love to commune there:
There stern Reflection views with brow unbent
Th' unblotted record of a life well spent:
There, unmolested, Genius twines his wreath,
For even Envy holds her poison'd breath,
Nor dare she bid the rankling vapour blow
To blight one leaf that shadows Harriet's brow!
Yet fear not mortals, to approach too near
The sacred shrine—for gentleness is there!
Oh! when at length the scatter'd virtues mourn,
That fate has reft them of their fav'rite bourn,
When that bright spirit sojourns in the skies,
And when the mortal form in silence lies;
Still Fame shall tell the world in honest pride,
That Harriet liv'd,—and weep that Harriet died!