What curb shall, then, in their disorder’d race, } Check the wild passions? what the calm replace? } Virtue shall strive in vain; and has he help in grace? } While yet the wife with pure discretion ruled, The man was guided, and the mind was school’d; But then that mind unaided ran to waste: He had some learning, but he wanted taste; Placid, not pleased—contented, not employ’d— He neither time improved, nor life enjoy’d. That wife expired, and great the loss sustain’d, 110 Though much distress he neither felt nor feign’d: He loved not warmly; but the sudden stroke Deeply and strongly on his habits broke. He had no child to soothe him, and his farm, His sports, his speculations, lost their charm; Then would he read and travel, would frequent Life’s busy scenes; and forth Sir Owen went. The mind, that now was free, unfix’d, uncheck’d, Read and observed with wonderful effect; And still, the more he gain’d, the more he long’d 120 To pay that mind his negligence had wrong’d; He felt his pleasures rise as he improved; And, first enduring, then the labour loved. But, by the light let in, Sir Owen found Some of those passions had their chain unbound; As from a trance they rose to act their part, And seize, as due to them, a feeling heart. His very person now appear’d refined, And took some graces from th’ improving mind; He grew polite without a fix’d intent, 130 And to the world a willing pupil went. Restore him twenty years—restore him ten— And bright had been his earthly prospect then; But much refinement, when it late arrives, May be the grace, not comfort, of our lives. Now had Sir Owen feeling: things of late Indifferent he began to love or hate; What once could neither good nor ill impart Now pleased the senses, and now touch’d the heart; Prospects and pictures struck th’ awaken’d sight, 140 And each new object gave a new delight. He, like th’ imperfect creature who had shaped A shroud to hide him, had at length escaped; Changed from his grub-like state, to crawl no more, But a wing’d being, pleased and form’d to soar. Now, said his friends, while thus his views improve, And his mind softens, what if he should love? True; life with him has yet serene appear’d, And therefore love in wisdom should be fear’d; Forty and five his years, and then to sigh 150 For beauty’s favour!—Son of frailty, fly! Alas! he loved; it was our fear, but ours, His friends’, alone. He doubted not his pow’rs To win the prize, or to repel the charm, To gain the battle, or escape the harm; For he had never yet resistance proved, Nor fear’d that friends should say—“Alas! he loved.” Younger by twenty years, Camilla found Her face unrivall’d when she smiled or frown’d; Of all approved; in manner, form, and air, 160 Made to attract; gay, elegant, and fair.