Unconscious of his strength, to play the coward,
And flee before a feeble thing like man;
That, knowing well the slackness of his arm,
Trusts only in the well-invented knife?

With study pale, and midnight vigils spent, The star-surveying sage close to his eye Applies the sight-invigorating tube;

And, trav'lling through the boundless length of

space,

Marks well the courses of the far-seen orbs,
That roll with regular confusion there,

In ecstasy of thought. But ah! proud man!
Great heights are hazardous to the weak head:
Soon, very soon, thy firmest footing fails,
And down thou dropp'st into that darksome place
Where nor device nor knowledge ever came.

Here the tongue-warrior lies! disabled now,
dishonour'd, like a wretch

Disarm'd,

gagg'd,

And cannot tell his ails to passers-by!

that's

Great man of language! whence this mighty

change,

This dumb despair, and drooping of the head?
Though strong Persuasion hung upon thy lip,

And sly Insinuation's softer arts

In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue,