Thy soul, till now, contracted, wither’d, shrunk,
Blighted by blasts of earth’s unwholesome air,
Will blossom here; spread all her faculties
To these bright ardours; every power unfold,
And rise into sublimities of thought.
Stars teach, as well as shine. At Nature’s birth,
Thus their commission ran—“Be kind to Man.”
Where art thou, poor benighted traveller?
The stars will light thee, though the moon should fail.
Where art thou, more benighted! more astray! 640