Could Faustus live, by gloomy Grave resigned;
With power extensive, as sublime his mind,

Thy glorious life a volume should compose,
As Alps immortal, spotless as its snows.

The stars should be its types-its press the age;
The earth its binding-and the sky its page.

In language set, not Babel could o'erturn;

On leaves impressed, which Omar could not burn; The sacred work in Heaven's high dome should stand, Shine with its suns, and with its arch expand;

'Till Nature's-self the Vandal torch should raise, And the vast alcove of Creation blaze!

THE

RULING PASSION;

AN OCCASIONAL POEM,

WRITTEN BY THE APPOINTMENT OF THE SOCIETY

OF THE

PHI BETA KAPPA;

AND SPOKEN, ON THEIR ANNIVERSARY, IN THE

CHAPEL OF THE UNIVERSITY, CAMBRIDGE,

JULY 20, 1797.

THE

RULING PASSION.

RANGE

ANGE we through Nature's social walks, to scan

That little world, that greater wonder, man.

The Sage's study, which but few improve;
Religion's mystery, which none remove;
Reason's proud toy; in his machine unite

Powers, dense as earth; conceptions, rare as light;
Its wheels more complex, than the central sphere,
Which guides a comet, while it moulds a tear;
Its springs more subtle, than the secret soul,
Which bids a world cohere, an atom roll.

Less by himself, than others, understood; More led by sense, yet more with mind endued; His nature oftener sets our world at odds, Than Jove, in Ovid's "Green-Room" of the gods.

Since, then, the wisest are as dull, as we,
In one grave maxim let us all agree;

Nature ne'er meant her secrets should be found,
And man's a riddle, which man can't expound!