But when the reasoning Soul extends her View,

And dares look round, and the vast Search pursue ;
By Learning then the ruder Ore refine,

Polish the whole, and make the Work divine;
Ingenuous Arts will mildly purge away

The droffy Subftance, and the base Allay.

Say, is not this the foft, the docil Age,

Whofe Actions will the future Man engage?

Now vig'rous Streams fpout from the lab'ring Heart,
And ready Wit and lively Sense impart.

Lofe not the time: the moist, the tender Brain
Is eafy form'd, and will each Hint retain.

The Soul's prepar'd for Wifdom's facred Lore:
Ranfack the Grecian and the Roman Store.

Let the Youth labour with inceffant Pains,

And hourly read, and search the Great Remains.

Nor

Nor Authors of a modern Date disdain,

Whofe worthy Labours antient Truths explain.
The Mufe will ftill admire the Latian Groves,
She the bleft Soil, and happy Climate loves.
The French in Language pure, in Senfe polite,
The willing Reader to the Task invite.

The lofty Spaniard is inftructivé found,

Though foaring in his Flights, and fond of pompous

Sound.

By a juft History the Mind's improv'd,

For Men are ever by Example mov'd.

It shows the World, and to Reflection brings
The Fall of Empires, and the Fate of Kings.
It brings back Time, and the past Age retrieves,
And here th' immortal Chief unenvy'd lives.

Actions thus told Heroic Worth inspire,

And kindle in the Soul an active Fire,

And ftir the Breaft with emulous Defire.

But those who wild Romantick Stories feign,

The Fustian Hero beyond Nature strain;

They form new Worlds, and tell of Kings

unknown,

Battles ne'er fought, and Victories ne'er won,
Of monstrous Giants, and unequal Fights,

And Dragons fell engag'd by doughty Knights;
The fairy Scene by pompous Show delights :
By Fancy rul'd, weak Judgments please themselves
With Chiefs enchanted, and with wand'ring Elves.
But let the Youth the empty Tale defpife,

Remove the vain Amusement from his Eyes;
For false Ideas, if indulg'd, at last

Deprave the Morals, and debauch the Tafte.

But

But ftill the Mufes claim a juft Efteem:

The Bard fees Visions, but Romancers dream.

The Moral Verse will alway be admir'd,

Poets may teach, for Poets are infpir'd.

Virtue thus dreft, is lovely in Disguise,

And Verfe will find him, who a Sermon flies.

And now the Voice to manly Accent breaks,

And the first Down o'erfpreads the blooming

Cheeks.

When thus encreafing Strength, and youthful Fire Forward to Action, vigorous Thoughts infpire,

And push him on to Love, and gay Defire.

Then restless Paffions with a fudden Flood,

Disturb the Man, and ftir the rifing Blood.

Now the Tides fwell, and foamy Billows raul,
And rapid Torrents hurry on the Soul.

Youth

Youth fondly mocks the Dictates of the Wife,
And scornful Smiles, when hoary Hairs advise;
The wanton Swain, when flush'd in blooming Years,
The least Restraint (ah too impatient) bears.
Yet a bright Ray may pierce the yielding Shade,
And fudden fhine around the darkfome Glade.
Wisdom will buoy the finking Soul, and fave
Amidft the Floods, and dare the coming Wave.
But ah! unwearied watch, with Caution fteer,
And careful look, when winding Gulphs appear;
Or foon in the fwift circling Current tost,
You'll whirl around, and be in Eddies loft.

But would you throughly purge the vicious Stain, Exert the Man, and let no Paffion reign;

Believe the Soul, when freed from preffing Clay, Will to fome unknown Region wing away.