Thus, then, at first was Beauty sent from Heaven, The lovely ministress of Truth and Good In this dark world: for Truth and Good are one; And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her, With like participation. Wherefore then, O sons of earth, would ye dissolve the tie? Oh! wherefore with a rash and greedy aim Seek ye to rove through every flattering scene Which Beauty seems to deck, nor once inquire 440 Where is the suffrage of eternal Truth, Or where the seal of undeceitful Good, To save your search from folly? Wanting these, Lo, Beauty withers in your void embrace; And with the glittering of an idiot's toy Did Fancy mock your vows. Nor yet let hope, That kindliest inmate of the youthful breast, Be hence appall'd, be turn'd to coward sloth Sitting in silence, with dejected eyes Incurious and with folded hands; far less 450 Let scorn of wild fantastic folly's dreams, Or hatred of the bigot's savage pride Persuade you e'er that Beauty, or the love Which waits on Beauty, may not brook to hear The sacred lore of undeceitful Good And Truth eternal. From the vulgar crowd Though Superstition, tyranness abhorr'd, The reverence due to this majestic pair With threats and execration still demands; Though the tame wretch, who asks of her the way 460 To their celestial dwelling, she constrains To quench or set at nought the lamp of God Within his frame; through many a cheerless wild Though forth she leads him credulous and dark And awed with dubious notion; though at length Haply she plunge him into cloister'd cells And mansions unrelenting as the grave, But void of quiet, there to watch the hours Of midnight; there, amid the screaming owl's Dire song, with spectres or with guilty shades 470 To talk of pangs and everlasting woe; Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star Presides o'er your adventure. From the bower Where Wisdom sat with her Athenian sons, Could but my happy hand entwine a wreath Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay, Then (for what need of cruel fear to you, To you whom godlike love can well command?), Then should my powerful voice at once dispel Those monkish horrors; should in words divine 480 Relate how favour'd minds like you inspired, And taught their inspiration to conduct By ruling Heaven's decree, through various walks And prospects various, but delightful all, Move onward; while now myrtle groves appear, Now arms and radiant trophies, now the rods Of empire with the curule throne, or now The domes of contemplation and the Muse.