A

POEM

O N

Sir ISAAC NEWTON.

T O Newton’s genius, and immortal fame

Th’ advent’rous mufe with trembling pinion foars.Thou, heav’nly truth, from thy leraphick throneLook favourable down, do thou ailiftMy lab’ring thought, do thou infpire my long.

Newton, who firft th’ almighty’s works dilplay’d,

And fmooth’d that mirror, in whole polilh’d faceThe great creator now conipicuous lhines}

Who open’d nature’s adamantine gates, 1

And to our minds her fecret powers expos’d ;

Newton demands the mule; his lacred handShall guide her infant Heps; his facred handShall raife her to the Heliconian height,

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

O Goddels, handmaid of th’ ethereal power,

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

The Stagy r ite, and Syracufian fage,

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