University of Virginia Library

With error in ambition justly charged,
Find we Lorenzo wiser in his wealth?
What, if thy rental I reform, and draw
An inventory new to set thee right?
Where thy true treasure? Gold says, “Not in me;”
And, “Not in me,” the diamond. Gold is poor;
India's insolvent: seek it in thyself;
Seek in thy naked self, and find it there;
In being so descended, form'd, endow'd;
Sky-born, sky-guided, sky-returning race!
Erect, immortal, rational, Divine!
In senses, which inherit earth and heavens;
Enjoy the various riches Nature yields;
Far nobler! give the riches they enjoy;
Give taste to fruits, and harmony to groves,
Their radiant beams to gold, and gold's bright sire;
Take-in, at once, the landscape of the world,
At a small inlet, which a grain might close,
And half-create the wondrous world they see.
Our senses, as our reason, are Divine.
But for the magic organ's powerful charm,
Earth were a rude, uncolour'd chaos still.
Objects are but the' occasion: ours the' exploit;
Ours is the cloth, the pencil, and the paint,
Which Nature's admirable picture draws,
And beautifies Creation's ample dome.
Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the lake,
Man makes the matchless image man admires.
Say then, shall man, his thoughts all sent abroad,
(Superior wonders in himself forgot,)
His admiration waste on objects round,
When Heaven makes him the soul of all he sees?
Absurd, not rare! so great, so mean, is man!