Ah! who can paint what raptures fill the soul
When Attic Freedom rises to the war,
Bids the loud thunders of the battle roll,
And drives the tyrant trembling from her shore!
From these pursuits the Sons of Genius scan
The end of their creation; hence they know
The fair, sublime, immortal hopes of man,
From whence alone undying pleasures glow.
By Science calm'd, over the peaceful soul,
Bright with eternal Wisdom's lucid ray,