To power abused, in ignorance sit down, Nor dare assert the honour of my crown? When stern Rebellion, (if that odious name Justly belongs to those whose only aim, Is to preserve their country; who oppose, In honour leagued, none but their country's foes; Who only seek their own, and found their cause In due regard for violated laws) When stern Rebellion, who no longer feels Nor fears rebuke, a nation at her heels, 310 A nation up in arms, though strong not proud, Knocks at the palace gate, and, calling loud For due redress, presents, from Truth's fair pen, A list of wrongs, not to be borne by men: How must that king be humbled, how disgrace All that is royal in his name and place, Who, thus call'd forth to answer, can advance No other plea but that of ignorance! A vile defence, which, was his all at stake, The meanest subject well might blush to make; 320 A filthy source, from whence shame ever springs; A stain to all, but most a stain to kings. The soul with great and manly feelings warm'd, Panting for knowledge, rests not till inform'd; And shall not I, fired with the glorious zeal, Feel those brave passions which my subjects feel? Or can a just excuse from ignorance flow To me, whose first great duty is--to know? Hence, Ignorance!--thy settled, dull, blank eye Would hurt me, though I knew no reason why. 330 Hence, Ignorance!--thy slavish shackles bind The free-born soul, and lethargise the mind. Of thee, begot by Pride, who look'd with scorn On every meaner match, of thee was born That grave inflexibility of soul, Which Reason can't convince, nor Fear control; Which neither arguments nor prayers can reach, And nothing less than utter ruin teach. Hence, Ignorance!--hence to that depth of night Where thou wast born, where not one gleam of light 340 May wound thine eye--hence to some dreary cell Where monks with superstition love to dwell; Or in some college soothe thy lazy pride, And with the heads of colleges reside; Fit mate for Royalty thou canst not be, And if no mate for kings, no mate for me. Come, Study! like a torrent swell'd with rains, Which, rushing down the mountains, o'er the plains Spreads horror wide, and yet, in horror kind, Leaves seeds of future fruitfulness behind; 350 Come, Study!--painful though thy course, and slow, Thy real worth by thy effects we know-- Parent of Knowledge, come!--Not thee I call, Who, grave and dull, in college or in hall Dost sit, all solemn sad, and moping weigh Things which, when found, thy labours can't repay-- Nor, in one hand, fit emblem of thy trade, A rod; in t' other, gaudily array'd, A hornbook gilt and letter'd, call I thee, Who dost in form preside o'er A, B, C: 360 Nor (siren though thou art, and thy strange charms, As 'twere by magic, lure men to thine arms) Do I call thee, who, through a winding maze, A labyrinth of puzzling, pleasing ways,