Enraptured by the hermit's strain, the youth Proceeds the path of Science to explore. And now, expanded to the beams of truth, New energies, and charms unknown before, His mind discloses: Fancy now no more Wantons on fickle pinion through the skies; But, fix'd in aim, and conscious of her power, Aloft from cause to cause exults to rise, Creation's blended stores arranging as she flies. 57 Nor love of novelty alone inspires, Their laws and nice dependencies to scan; For, mindful of the aids that life requires, And of the services man owes to man, He meditates new arts on Nature's plan; The cold desponding breast of sloth to warm, The flame of industry and genius fan, And emulation's noble rage alarm, And the long hours of toil and solitude to charm. 58 But she, who set on fire his infant heart, And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shared And bless'd, the Muse, and her celestial art, Still claim the enthusiast's fond and first regard. From Nature's beauties, variously compared And variously combined, he learns to frame Those forms of bright perfection, [6] which the bard, While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame, Enamour'd, consecrates to never-dying fame. 59 Of late, with cumbersome, though pompous show, Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface, Through ardour to adorn; but Nature now To his experienced eye a modest grace Presents, where ornament the second place Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design Subservient still. Simplicity apace Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine, And clears the ambiguous phrase, and lops the unwieldy line. 60 Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains) What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole, When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plains [7] His deep majestic melody 'gan roll: Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his soul, How the red current throbb'd his veins along, When, like Pelides, bold beyond control, Without art graceful, without effort strong, Homer raised high to heaven the loud, the impetuous song. 61 And how his lyre, though rude her first essays, Now skill'd to soothe, to triumph, to complain, Warbling at will through each harmonious maze, Was taught to modulate the artful strain, I fain would sing:--But ah! I strive in vain. Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound. With trembling step, to join yon weeping train, I haste, where gleams funereal glare around, And, mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound. 62