240 THE POEMS OF ANNE �(Till fir'd with Breath Divine) a helpless Figure lay: �Could he be led thus far What were the Boast, �What the Reward of all the Toil it cost, What from that Land of ever-blooming Spring, �For our Instruction could he bring, Unless, that having Humane Nature found Unseparated from its Parent Ground, (Howe'er we vaunt our Elevated Birth) �The Epicure in soft Array, �The lothsome Beggar, that before 50 �His rude unhospitable Door, �Unpity'd but by Brutes, a broken Carcass lay, Were both alike deriv'd from the same common Earth? �But ere the Child can to these Heights attain, �Ere he can in the Learned Sphere arise; �A guiding Star, attracting to the Skies, A fever, seizing the o'er-labour'd Brain, �Sends him, perhaps, to Death's concealing Shade; Where, in the Marble Tomb now silent laid, �He better do's that useful Doctrine show, 60 �(Which all the sad Assistants ought to know, �Who round the Grave his short continuance mourn) That first from Dust we came, and must to Dust return. �Ill �A bolder Youth, grown capable of Arms, Bellona courts with her prevailing Charms ; �Bids th' inchanting Trumpet sound, �Loud as Triumph, soft as Love, �Striking now the Poles above, �Then descending from the Skies, �Soften every falling Note ; 70 �As the harmonious Lark that sings and flies, When near the Earth, contracts her narrow Throat, ��� �
