Where grief detain'd me prisoner, mounting high, Threw wide the gates of everlasting day, And call'd mankind to glory, shook off pain, Mortality shook off, in ether pure, 240 And struck the stars; now feel my spirits fail; They drop me from the zenith; down I rush, Like him whom fable fledged[18] with waxen wings, In sorrow drown'd--but not in sorrow lost. How wretched is the man who never mourn'd! I dive for precious pearl in sorrow's stream: Not so the thoughtless man that only grieves; Takes all the torment, and rejects the gain; (Inestimable gain!) and gives Heaven leave To make him but more wretched, not more wise. 250 If wisdom is our lesson (and what else Ennobles man? what else have angels learn'd?), Grief! more proficients in thy school are made, Than genius, or proud learning, e'er could boast. Voracious learning, often over-fed, Digests not into sense her motley meal. This book-case, which dark booty almost burst, 257 This forager on others' wisdom, leaves Her native farm, her reason, quite untill'd. With mix'd manure she surfeits the rank soil, Dung'd, but not dress'd; and rich to beggary. A pomp untameable of weeds prevails. Her servant's wealth, encumber'd wisdom mourns. 263 And what says Genius? "Let the dull be wise." Genius, too hard for right, can prove it wrong; And loves to boast, where blush men less inspired. It pleads exemption from the laws of sense; Considers reason as a leveller; And scorns to share a blessing with the crowd. That wise it could be, thinks an ample claim 270 To glory, and to pleasure gives the rest. Crassus but sleeps, Ardelio is undone. Wisdom less shudders at a fool, than wit. But Wisdom smiles, when humbled mortals weep. When sorrow wounds the breast, as ploughs the glebe,[19] And hearts obdurate feel her softening shower; Her seed celestial, then, glad wisdom sows; Her golden harvest triumphs in the soil. If so, Narcissa[20], welcome my Relapse; I'll raise a tax on my calamity, 280 And reap rich compensation from my pain. I'll range the plenteous intellectual field; And gather every thought of sovereign power To chase the moral maladies of man; Thoughts, which may bear transplanting to the skies, Though natives of this coarse penurious soil; Nor wholly wither there, where seraphs sing, Refined, exalted, not annull'd, in heaven. Reason, the sun that gives them birth, the same In either clime, though more illustrious there. 290 These choicely cull'd, and elegantly ranged, 291 Shall form a garland for Narcissa's tomb; And, peradventure, of no fading flowers. Say on what themes shall puzzled choice descend? "Th' importance of contemplating the tomb; Why men decline it; suicide's foul birth;