Lo! Newton, priest of nature, shines afar,
Scans the wide world, and numbers every star!
Wilt thou, with him, mysterious rites apply,
And watch the shrine with wonder-beaming eye!
Yes, thou shalt mark, with magic art profound,
The speed of light, the circling march of sound;
With Franklin grasp the lightning’s fiery wing,
Or yield the lyre of Heaven another string.[6]
“The Swedish sage[7] admires, in yonder bowers,
His winged insects, and his rosy flowers;