How rich a field is to your hopes diſplay'd!
Knowledge to you unlocks the claſſic page;
And virtue bloſſoms for a better age.
Oh golden days! oh bright unvalued hours!
What bliſs (did ye but know that bliſs) were yours?
With richeſt ſtores your glowing boſoms fraught,
Perception quick, and luxury of thought;
The high deſigns that heave the labouring ſoul,
Panting for fame, impatient of controul;
And fond enthuſiaſtic thought, that feeds
On pictur'd tales of vaſt heroic deeds;
And quick affections, kindling into flame
At virtue's, or their country's honour'd name;
And ſpirits light, to every joy in tune;
And friendſhip, ardent as a ſummer's noon;
And generous ſcorn of vice's venal tribe;
And proud diſdain of intereſt's ſordid bribe;
And conſcious honour's quick inſtinctive ſenſe;
