"But Wisdom loves the calm and serious hour, When heaven's pure emanation beams confess'd: Rage, ecstasy, alike disclaim her power, She woo's each gentler impulse of the breast. 58 Sincere the unalter'd bliss her charms impart, Sedate the enlivening ardours they inspire: She bids no transient rapture thrill the heart, She wakes no feverish gust of fierce desire. 59 Unwise, who, tossing on the watery way, All to the storm the unfetter'd sail devolve: Man more unwise resigns the mental sway, Borne headlong on by passion's keen resolve. 60 While storms remote but murmur on thine ear, Nor waves in ruinous uproar round thee roll, Yet, yet a moment check thy prone career, And curb the keen resolve that prompts thy soul. 61 Explore thy heart, that, roused by Glory's name, Pants all enraptured with the mighty charm-- And does Ambition quench each milder flame? And is it conquest that alone can warm? 62 To indulge fell Rapine's desolating lust, To drench the balmy lawn in streaming gore, To spurn the hero's cold and silent dust-- Are these thy joys? Nor throbs thy heart for more? 63 Pleased canst thou listen to the patriot's groan, And the wild wail of Innocence forlorn? And hear the abandon'd maid's last frantic moan, Her love for ever from her bosom torn? 64 Nor wilt thou shrink, when Virtue's fainting breath Pours the dread curse of vengeance on thy head? Nor when the pale ghost bursts the cave of death, To glare distraction on thy midnight bed? 65 Was it for this, though born to regal power, Kind Heaven to thee did nobler gifts consign, Bade Fancy's influence gild thy natal hour, And bade Philanthropy's applause be thine? 66 Theirs be the dreadful glory to destroy, And theirs the pride of pomp, and praise suborn'd, Whose eye ne'er lighten'd at the smile of Joy, Whose cheek the tear of Pity ne'er adorn'd: 67 Whose soul, each finer sense instinctive quell'd, The lyre's mellifluous ravishment defies: Nor marks where Beauty roves the flowery field, Or Grandeur's pinion sweeps the unbounded skies. 68 Hail to sweet Fancy's unexpressive charm! Hail to the pure delights of social love! Hail, pleasures mild, that fire not while ye warm, Nor rack the exulting frame, but gently move! 69 But Fancy soothes no more, if stern remorse With iron grasp the tortured bosom wring. Ah then! even Fancy speeds the venom's course, Even Fancy points with rage the maddening sting. 70 Her wrath a thousand gnashing fiends attend, And roll the snakes, and toss the brands of hell; The beam of Beauty blasts: dark heavens impend Tottering: and Music thrills with startling yell. 71