Yet more: her honours where nor Beauty claims, Nor shows of good the thirsty sense allure, From passion's power alone [Endnote R] our nature holds Essential pleasure. Passion's fierce illapse Rouses the mind's whole fabric; with supplies Of daily impulse keeps the elastic powers 160 Intensely poised, and polishes anew By that collision all the fine machine: Else rust would rise, and foulness, by degrees Encumbering, choke at last what heaven design'd For ceaseless motion and a round of toil.-- But say, does every passion thus to man Administer delight? That name indeed Becomes the rosy breath of love; becomes The radiant smiles of joy, the applauding hand Of admiration: but the bitter shower 170 That sorrow sheds upon a brother's grave; But the dumb palsy of nocturnal fear, Or those consuming fires that gnaw the heart Of panting indignation, find we there To move delight?--Then listen while my tongue The unalter'd will of Heaven with faithful awe Reveals; what old Harmodius wont to teach My early age; Harmodius, who had weigh'd Within his learned mind whate'er the schools Of Wisdom, or thy lonely-whispering voice, 180 O faithful Nature! dictate of the laws Which govern and support this mighty frame Of universal being. Oft the hours From morn to eve have stolen unmark'd away, While mute attention hung upon his lips, As thus the sage his awful tale began:--