A thousand varying joys to them belong-- The charms of Nature and her changeful scenes; Their's is the music of the vernal song, And their's the colours of the vernal plains. Their's is the purple-tinged evening ray, With all the radiance of the morning sky; Their's is the splendour of the risen day, Enshrined in glory by the sun's bright eye. For them the Zephyr fans the odorous gale, For them the warbling streamlet softly flows, For them the Dryads shade the verdant vale, To them sweet Philomel attunes her woes. To them no wakeful moonbeam shines in vain On the dark bosom of the trackless wood, Sheds its mild radiance o'er the desert plain, Or softly glides along the chrystal flood. Yet not alone delight the soft and fair, Alike the grander scenes of Nature move; Yet not alone her beauties claim their care, The great, sublime, and terrible, they love. The Sons of Nature, they alike delight In the rough precipice's broken steep, In the black terrors of the stormy night, And in the thunders of the threatening deep. When the red lightnings through the ether fly, And the white foaming billows lash the shores; When to the rattling thunders of the sky The angry Demon of the waters roars; And when, untouch'd by Nature's living fires, No native rapture fills the drowsy soul; Then former ages, with their tuneful lyres, Can bid the fury of the passions fall. By the blue taper's melancholy light, Whilst all around the midnight torrents pour, And awful glooms beset the face of Night, They wear the silent solitary hour. Ah, then, how sweet to pass the night away In silent converse with the Grecian page! Whilst Homer tunes his ever-living lay, Or reason listens to th' Athenian sage; To scan the laws of Nature, to explore The tranquil reign of mild Philosophy; Or on Newtonian wings sublime to soar Through the bright regions of the starry sky. Ah! who can paint what raptures fill the soul When Attic Freedom rises to the war, Bids the loud thunders of the battle roll, And drives the tyrant trembling from her shore! From these pursuits the Sons of Genius scan The end of their creation; hence they know The fair, sublime, immortal hopes of man, From whence alone undying pleasures glow. By Science calm'd, over the peaceful soul, Bright with eternal Wisdom's lucid ray, Peace, meek of eye, extends her soft controul, And drives the fury Passions far away. Virtue, the daughter of the skies supreme, Directs their life, informs their glowing lays-- A steady friend; her animating beam Sheds its soft lustre o'er their latter days.