With bended arm he on a book reclin'd
Fast lock'd with iron clasps from vulgar eyes;
Heaven's gracious gift to light the wandering mind,
To lift fall'n man, and guide him to the skies!
A man no more, a god he would be thought,
And 'mazed mortals blindly must obey:
With slight of hand he lying wonders wrought,
And near him loathsome heaps of reliques lay:
Strange legends would he read, and figments dire
Of Limbus' prison'd shades, and purgatory fire.