Chorus
[exit.
STRO. 1.
ANTIS. 1.
STRO. 2.
Where'er we turn our curious eyes,
Wonders through all the works of nature rise;
335
But Man the chief. The foaming deep,
With all his winds though winter raves,
And round him swell the roaring waves,
Of danger reckless he dares sweep,
The sacred and eternal earth his toil
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From year to year unweared rends,
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The proud steed to his purpose bends,
And furrows with his rolling plough the soil.
His fine entangling arts ensnare
The feather'd tribes that lightly wing the air.
Each savage which the forest knows,
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And all the finny race that glide
Sportive beneath the azure tide,
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His line-enwoven nets enclose.
He knows to tame the herds that wander wild;
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The stiff-maned horse obeys his hand,
Bends his strong neck to his command,
And the reluctant mountain bull grows mild.
The modulated voice he taught,
And train'd the mind to harbour virtuous thought
He gave to life a polish'd form,
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When first he bade the city rise
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A shelter from night's freezing skies,
And the sharp arrows of the storm.
O'er all victorious mounts his active mind :
E'en for disease and racking pain
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Some healing balm his arts obtain,
But from the darts of death no refuge find.
Unbounded soars his active thought,
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With high device and quick invention fraught:
And now to ill it downward leads;
Generous in virtue now delights,
And prompt to guard its country's rights
Glory d'er all the empire spreads;
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To baseness when its wild design descends,
Destruction on the state it draws.