 | The Poems of Ambrose Philips |  |
Nor is his Force of Genius less admir'd,
When most from Crowds or publick Cares retir'd.
The Learned Arts by turns Admittance find;
At once unbend and exercise his Mind.
The secret Springs of Nature, long conceal'd,
And to the Wise by slow Degrees reveal'd,
(Delightful Search!) his piercing Thought descries.
Oft through the Concave Azure of the Skies.
His Soul delights to range, a boundless Space,
Which Myriads of Celestial Glories grace;
Worlds behind Worlds, that deep in Aether lye,
And Suns, that twinkle to the distant Eye;
Or call them Stars, on which our Fates depend,
And every ruling Star is Brunswick's Friend.
When most from Crowds or publick Cares retir'd.
The Learned Arts by turns Admittance find;
At once unbend and exercise his Mind.
The secret Springs of Nature, long conceal'd,
And to the Wise by slow Degrees reveal'd,
(Delightful Search!) his piercing Thought descries.
Oft through the Concave Azure of the Skies.
His Soul delights to range, a boundless Space,
Which Myriads of Celestial Glories grace;
Worlds behind Worlds, that deep in Aether lye,
And Suns, that twinkle to the distant Eye;
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And every ruling Star is Brunswick's Friend.
| The Poems of Ambrose Philips | |