Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/135

Rh Yet true to glory, fanned the generous flame, Bade lovers, brothers, sons aspire to fame; In the young bosom cherished Virtue's seed, The secret springs of many a godlike deed. So the fair stream in some sequestered glade With lowly state glides silent through the shade; Yet by the smiling meads her urn is blest, With freshest flowers her rising banks are drest, And groves of laurel, by her sweetness fed, High o'er the forest lift their verdant head. Is there whom genius and whom taste adorn With rare but happy union ; in whose breast Calm, philosophic, thoughtful, largely fraught With stores of various knowledge, dwell the powers That trace out secret causes, and unveil Great Nature's awful face ? Is there whose hours