VI. As he one morning, long before the dawn, With wood wild fringed, he mark'd a taper's ray, There, up to earn the needments of the day, VII. Amid the green-wood shade this boy was bred, The Knight of Arts and Industry by name. Earth was his bed, the boughs his roof did frame; Or the brown fruit with which the woodlands teem: The same to him glad summer, or the winter breme. VIII. So pass'd his youthly morning, void of care, Wild as the colts that through the commons run: For him no tender parents troubled were, He of the forest seem'd to be the son, But that Minerva pity of him took, With all the gods that love the rural wonne, Ne did the sacred Nine disdain a gentle look. IX. Of fertile genius him they nurtur'd well, By which mankind the thoughtless brutes excel, Ne were the godly exercises spared, That brace the nerves, or make the limbs alert, Was never knight on ground mote be with him compar'd. X. Sometimes, with early morn, he mounted gay The hunter steed, exulting o'er the dale, Yclad in steel, and bright with burnish'd mail, Or darting on the goal outstripp'd the gale, Or wheel'd the chariot in its mid career, Or strenuous wrestled hard with many a tough compeer. XI. At other times he pry'd through Nature's store, Whate'er she in th' ethereal round contains, The vegetable and the mineral reigns; Or else he scann'd the globe, those small domains, Its seas, its floods, its mountains, and its plains; XII. Nor would he scorn to stoop from high pursuits Of heavenly Truth, and practise what she taught. Vain is the tree of knowledge without fruits. Sometimes in hand the spade or plough he caught, Forth-calling all with which boon earth is fraught; Sometimes he ply'd the strong mechanic tool, Or rear'd the fabric from the finest draught; And oft he put himself to Neptune's school, Fighting with winds and waves on the vext ocean pool. XIII. To solace then these rougher toils, he try'd To touch the kindling canvas into life; With Nature his creating pencil vied, With Nature joyous at the mimic strife: Or, to such shapes as graced Pygmalion's wife, He hew'd the marble; or, with varied fire, He roused the trumpet and the martial fife, Or bade the lute sweet tenderness inspire, Or verses framed that well might wake Apollo's lyre. XIV. Accomplish'd thus he from the woods issu'd, To wit, a barbarous world to civilize. Earth was till then a boundless forest wild; Nought to be seen but savage woods, and skies; XV. A rugged wight, the worst of brutes, was man; And guile and ruffian force were all their trade. XVI. It would exceed the purport of my song, say Το how this best sun, from orient climes ray: Then Egypt, Greece, and Rome, their golden times, Successive, had; but now in ruins grey They lie, to slavish sloth and tyranny a prey. XVII. To crown his toils, Sir Industry then spread In the brown shades and green-wood forest lost, Yet not the Roman steel their naked breast dismay'd. XVIII. He liked the soil, he liked the clement skies, He liked the verdant hills and flowery plains: Be this my great, my chosen isle, (he cries) This, whilst my labours Liberty sustains, This queen of ocean all assault disdains. Nor liked he less the genius of the land, To freedom apt and persevering pains, Mild to obey, and generous to command, Temper'd by forming Heaven with kindest firmest hand. XIX. Here, by degrees, his master-work arose, Fair of arts! from heaven itself who came, XX. Then towns he quicken'd by mechanic arts, While o'er th' encircling deep Britannia's thunder roars. |