d, unbroke by pain,
He shares in that Omnipotence he trusts.
All-bearing, all-attempting, till he falls; 1150
And when he falls, writes VICI on his shield.
From magnanimity, all fear above;
From nobler recompence, above applause;
Which owes to man's short outlook all its charms.
Backward to credit what he never felt,
Lorenzo cries,--"Where shines this miracle?
From what root rises this immortal man?"
A root that grows not in Lorenzo's ground;
The root dissect, nor wonder at the flower.
He follows nature (not like thee) and shows us 1160
An uninverted system of a man.
His appetite wears Reason's golden chain,
And finds, in due restraint, its luxury.
His passion, like an eagle well reclaim'd,
Is taught to fly at nought, but infinite.
Patient his hope, unanxious is his care,
His caution fearless, and his grief (if grief
The gods ordain) a stranger to despair. 1168
And why?--because affection, more than meet,
His wisdom leaves not disengaged from heaven.
Those secondary goods that smile on earth,
He, loving in proportion, loves in peace.
They most the world enjoy, who least admire.
His understanding 'scapes the common cloud
Of fumes, arising from a boiling breast.
His head is clear, because his heart is cool,
By worldly competitions uninflamed.
The moderate movements of his soul admit
Distinct ideas, and matured debate,
An eye impartial, and an even scale; 1180
Whence judgment sound, and unrepenting choice.
Thus, in a double sense, the good are wise;
On its own dunghill, wiser than the world.
What, then, the world? It must be doubly weak;
Strange truth! as soon would they believe their creed.
Yet thus it is; nor otherwise can be;
So far from aught romantic, what I sing.
Bliss has no being, virtue has no strength,
But from the prospect of immortal life.
Who think earth all, or (what weighs just the same) 1190
Who care no farther, must prize what it yields;
Fond of its fancies, proud of its parades.
Who thinks earth nothing, can't its charms admire;
He can't a foe, though most malignant, hate,
Because that hate would prove his greater foe.
'Tis hard for them (yet who so loudly boast
Good-will to men?) to love their dearest friend;
For may not he invade their good supreme,
Where the least jealousy tur