O Thou, who in a weak disjointed age
Dar'st in the cause of science to engage,
May fame and honour crown thy bold design,
And olive wreaths thy victor-brows entwine.
High above envy may thy name be plac'd,
A roman spirit with true attic taste.
Born to achieve a glory of thy own,
To rise unaided, and to shine alone;
Thy genius takes its elevated stand
Above the level of thy native land,
Grasping at once beyond the world's controul,
The painter's fancy, and the poet's soul;
Reflection guided by thy mimic power,
Commands whole ages in one fleeting hour.
From Thrace to Britain marks the rising beam
Of slow progressive arts o'er time's still flowing stream.