XLVII.
Nor blankly epicene, as scoffers say,
The necessary sequence of that day;
For not by vapid imitation low,
Or aping falser sex shall truer grow;
Nor modish mind may fathom Nature’s range,
Or fix the fleeting scope of human change;
Can singer blind the rainbow’s tints compare?—
The brain enslaved from birth the freeman’s powers declare?