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IV.

Then—then what boots the philosophic fire,

That lit the sacred mansion of his breast?Freedom from Passion's thrall and young Desire,—

And stern rebuke of Beauty's soft behest,Sighing and pining to be fond carest ?

Hath he enjoyed the loveliness of life,Alone by Reason's Prosper-wand confess'd 1

Alas! his feverish dreams and visions rifeHave mildewed judgment,—thought,—though far re-moved from strife.

V.

Land of the storied brave,—though now the tread

Of the dull slave unechoed walk the ground,Yet, glorious land, thine—thine the learned dead !

There his wise saws the Citian* sage aroundTo wondering crowds proclaimed; there—therewas found

The heaven-blest doctor of the Academe ;Thence the Aristotelian thunder's sound

Issued, and glow'd the philosophic beam;Yet light-sped it has pass'd, and all is but a dream!

* Zeno, the stoic.