A

POEM

O N

Sir ISAAC NEWTON.

t~‘ M' ' ^ o Newton’s genius, and immortal fame

M Th’ advent’rous mule with trembling pinion soars.M Thou, heav’nly truth, from thy feraphick throneLook favourable down, do thou assistMy lab’ring thought, do thou inspire my song.

Newton, who first th' almighty’s works dilplay’d,

And fmooth’d that mirror, in whole polish’d faceThe great creator now conspicuous Ihines;

Who open’d nature’s adamantine gates,

And to our minds her secret powers expos’d ;

Newton demands the mule; his sacred handShall guide her infant steps ; his sacred handShall raise her to the Heliconian height,

Where, on its lofty top inthron’d, her headShall mingle with the Stars. Hail nature, hail,

O Goddess, handmaid of th’ ethereal power,

Now lift thy head, and to th’ admiring worldShew thy long hidden beauty. Thee the wifeOf ancient fame, immortal Plato’s self,

The Stagyrite, and Syracusian lage,

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