Amidst the peaceful triumphs of his reign,
What wonder, if the kindly beams he shed
Revived the drooping arts again,
If science raised her head,
And soft humanity, that from rebellion fled.
Our isle, indeed, too fruitful was before;
But all uncultivated lay
Out of the solar walk, and heaven's high way;[56]
With rank Geneva weeds run o'er,
And cockle, at the best, amidst the corn it bore: