And has the Sun his flaming chariot driven Two hundred times around the ring of heaven, Since Science first, with all her sacred train, Beneath yon roof began her heavenly reign? While thus I mused, methought, before mine eyes, 5 The Power of EDUCATION seemed to rise; Not she whose rigid precepts trained the boy Dead to the sense of every finer joy; Nor that vile wretch who bade the tender age Spurn Reason’s law and humour Passion’s rage; 10 But she who trains the generous British youth In the bright paths of fair majestic Truth: Emerging slow from Academus’ grove In heavenly majesty she seem’d to move. Stern was her forehead, but a smile serene 15 “Soften’d the terrors of her awful mien.”[339] Close at her side were all the powers, design’d To curb, exalt, reform the tender mind: With panting breast, now pale as winter snows, Now flushed as Hebe, Emulation rose; 20 Shame follow’d after with reverted eye, And hue far deeper than the Tyrian dye; Last Industry appear’d with steady pace, A smile sat beaming on her pensive face. I gazed upon the visionary train, 25 Threw back my eyes, return’d, and gazed again. When lo! the heavenly goddess thus began, Through all my frame the pleasing accents ran. When Superstition left the golden light And fled indignant to the shades of night; 30 When pure Religion rear’d the peaceful breast And lull’d the warring passions into rest, Drove far away the savage thoughts that roll In the dark mansions of the bigot’s soul, Enlivening Hope display’d her cheerful ray, 35 And beam’d on Britain’s sons a brighter day, So when on Ocean’s face the storm subsides, Hush’d are the winds and silent are the tides; The God of day, in all the pomp of light, Moves through the vault of heaven, and dissipates the night; 40 Wide o’er the main a trembling lustre plays, The glittering waves reflect the dazzling blaze; Science with joy saw Superstition fly Before the lustre of Religion’s eye; With rapture she beheld Britannia smile, 45 Clapp’d her strong wings, and sought the cheerful isle. The shades of night no more the soul involve, She sheds her beam, and, lo! the shades dissolve; No jarring monks, to gloomy cell confined, With mazy rules perplex the weary mind; 50 No shadowy forms entice the soul aside, Secure she walks, Philosophy her guide. Britain, who long her warriors had adored, And deemed all merit centred in the sword; Britain, who thought to stain the field was fame, 55 Now honour’d Edward’s less than Bacon’s name. Her sons no more in listed fields advance