Classic Poem

After a painful Life in Study spent,
The Learn'd themselves their Ignorance lament;
And Aged Men, whose Lives exceed the space,
Which seems the Bound prescrib'd to mortal Race,
With Hoary Heads, their short Experience grieve,
As doom'd to Die before they've learn'd to live.
So hard it is true Knowledge to attain,
So frail is Life, and fruitless Humane Pain!
Who e'er on this reflects, and then beholds,
With strict Attention, what this Book unfolds,
With Admiration struck, shall question Who
So very long could live, so much to know?
For so compleat the finish'd Piece appears,
That Learning seems combin'd with Length of Years;
And both improv'd by purest Wit, to reach
At all that Study, or that Time can teach.
But to what height must his Amazement rise!
When having read the Work, he turns his Eyes
Again to view the foremost op'ning Page,
And there the Beauty, Sex, and tender Age
Of Her beholds, in whose pure Mind arose
Th' Æthereal Source from whence this Current flows!
When Prodigies appear, our Reason fails,
And Superstition o'er Philosophy prevails.
Some Heav'nly Minister we straight conclude,
Some Angel-Mind with Female Form indu'd,
To make a short Abode on Earth, was sent,
(Where no Perfection can be permanent)
And having left her bright Example here,
Was quick recall'd and bid to disappear.
Whether around the Throne, Eternal Hymns
She Sings, amid the Choir of Seraphims;
Or some refulgent Star informs, and guides,
Where she, the blest Intelligence, presides;
Is not for us to know who here remain;
For 'twere as Impious to inquire, as Vain:
And all we ought, or can, in this dark State,
Is, what we have admir'd, to imitate.