TIROCINIUM. Ir is not from his form, in which we trace That form indeed, th' associate of a mind Vast in it's pow'rs, ethereal in it's kind, That form, the labour of almighty skill, Fram'd for the service of a freeborn will, But borrows all it's grandeur from the soul. 10 For her the Mem'ry fills her ample page With truths pour'd down from ev'ry distant age; For her amasses an unbounded store, The wisdom of great nations, now no more; Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil; When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd; The present muse of ev'ry pensive mind, For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife, 20 That Grace and Nature have to wage through life, Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill, 31 Appointed sage preceptor to the Will, Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice Guides the decision of a doubtful choice. To Why did the fiat of a God give birth yon fair Sun, and his attendant Earth? And, when descending he resigns the skies, Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise, Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, And crown'd it with the majesty of man. 40 50 Thus form'd, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught, Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought, The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws Finds in a sober moment time to pause, To press th' important question on his heart, "Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art?" If man be what he seems, this hour a slave, His crimes and follies with an aching eye; The force he spends against their fury vain; 60 And if, soon after having burnt, by turns, |