Seen, Greenwich, from thy lovely heights, declare How juft, how beauteous the refractive law.

The noiseless tide of time, all bearing down
To vaft eternity's unbounded fea,

Where the green islands of the happy shine,
He stemm'd alone: and to the fource (involv'd
Deep in primeval gloom) afcending, rais'd
His lights at equal distances, to guide
Hiftorian, wilder'd on his darkfome way.

But who can number up his labours? who
His high discoveries fing? when but a few
Of the deep-studying race can ftretch their minds
To what he knew; in fancy's lighter thought,
How shall the mufe then grafp the mighty theme?
What wonder thence that his devotion fwell'd
Refponfive to his knowledge! For could he,
Whofe piercing mental eye diffusive faw
The finish'd univerfity of things,

In all its order, magnitude, and parts,
Forbear inceffant to adore that Power
Who fills, fuftains, and actuates the whole?
Say, ye who beft can tell, ye happy few,
Who faw him in the fofteft lights of life,
All unwithheld, indulging to his friends
The vast unborrow'd treasures of his mind,
Oh speak the wondrous man! how mild, how calm,
How greatly humble, how divinely good;
How firm establish'd on eternal truth;
Fervent in doing well, with every nerve
Still preffing on, forgetful of the past,
And panting for perfection: far above
Those little cares, and vifionary joys,
That so perplex the fond impaffion'd heart
Of ever-cheated, ever-trufting man.

And you, ye hopeless gloomy-minded tribe,
You who, unconscious of those nobler flights
That reach impatient at immortal life,
Against the prime endearing privilege
Of Being dare contend, fay, can a foul
Of fuch extenfive, deep, tremendous powers,
Enlarging ftill, be but a finer breath

Of fpirits dancing thro' their tubes awhile,
And then for ever loft in vacant air?

But hark! methinks I hear a warning voice,
Solemn as when fome awful change is come,
Sound thro' the world-'Tis done!-The measure's full;
And I refign my charge.Ye mouldering ftones,
That build the towering pyramid, the proud
Triumphal arch, the monument effac'd
By ruthless ruin, and whate'er fupports
The worship name of hoar antiquity,

Down to the duft! what grandeur can ye boast
While NEWTON lifts his column to the skies,
Beyond the waste of time. Let no weak drop
Be fhed for him. The virgin in her bloom

Cut off, the joyous youth, and darling child,
Thefe are the tombs that claim the tender tear,

And elegiac fong. But NEWTON calls

For other notes of gratulation high,

That now he wanders thro' thofe endless worlds
He here fo well defcrib'd, and wondering talks
And hymns their Author with his glad compeers.
O BRITAIN'S boaft! whether with angels thou
Sitteft in dread difcourfe, or fellow-bleft,
Who joy to fee the honour of their kind;
Or whether, mounted on cherubic wing,
Thy fwift career is with the whirling orbs,
Comparing things with things, in rapture loft,

And grateful adoration, for that light

So plenteous ray'd into thy mind below,

From LIGHT bimfelf; Oh look with pity down
On human-kind, a frail erroneous race!
Exalt the spirit of a downward world!
O'er thy dejected country chief prefide,
And be her Genius call'd! her studies raise,
Correct her manners, and inspire her youth.

For, tho' deprav'd and funk, fhe brought thee forth,
And glories in thy name; fhe points thee out
To all her fons, and bids them eye thy ftar:
While in expectance of the fecond life,
When time shall be no more, thy facred duft
Sleeps with her kings, and dignifies the scene.

A

POE E M,

TO THE

MEMORY

O F

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE

LORD TALBOT,

LATE CHANCELLOR OF GREAT BRITAIN.