It is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace,
That man, the master of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form indeed, th' associate of a mind
Vast in it's pow'rs, ethereal in it's kind,
That form, the labour of almighty skill,
Fram d for the service of a free-born will,
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control,
But borrows all it's grandeur from the soul.
Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne
An intellectual kingdom, all her own.
For her the Mem'ry fills her ample page
With truths pour'd down from ev'ry distant age;
For her amasses an unbounded store,
The wisdom of great nations, now no more;