Full many an Elegy has mourn’d its fate,
Beneath some pasty cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d;
Full many an Ode has soar’d in lofty state,
Fix’d to a kite, and quivering in the wind.
Here too perhaps, neglected now, may lie
The rude memorial of some ancient song,
Whose martial strains and rugged minstrelsy
Once waked to rapture every listening throng.
To trace fair Science through each wildering course,
With new ideas to enlarge the mind,