9 Fired with ambition's torch, his daring scheme 10 In his dark cave he sits, and all alone, 11 Thus mused the prophet, in his lonely hour 12 The scene is changed, the warrior's fiery eye, He founds an empire to a line of kings. 13 Who dares in Mecca, in the temple stand 14 "Tis Mahomet of Hira's solitude Whose mighty cause smoothes down the thorny way, Whose sword is reeking with the Pagan blood, Before whom, all fall prostrate, and obey. 15 But years have fled; the prophet now reclined 16 Forth from a grotto, hung with evergreen 17 Behind her Prudence came with simple rule, And pointing to a globe, all boldly came Next cheerful Temperance, fresh from wisdom's School With hand on bridle to check riot's flame. 18 Then Justice came, with scales of beaming gold 19 All these encircle their fair lovely Queen, 20 Now he awakes; but conscience stern rebels 21 He's gone! life's taper now is out; The man POLYPHILUS. Saturday, February 24, 1844, No. 25. A Journey through the Temple of Science. (A Vision.) "I give and I devise (old Euclid said, And sighed) my lands and tenements to Ned. Pope's Characters of Men. One evening as I slept, methought I beheld a beautiful temple in a beautiful place; I stood and gazed on this wonderful work with admiration and astonishment, many of its high towers appeared to touch the sky, but one in particular met my observation; it seemed to rise above all the others and lose its summit in the deep blue sky, which it would have done but for a stream of vivid gold which displayed its wondrous termination. What does this mean? I enquired of an old man at the gate of the temple. He answered, son! this is the temple of science! Yon high tower, which you see projecting to the skies is the road to the golden country, which from its narrow stair-case is very difficult to ascend, come in my son, and I will shew you all those who are aiming at an habitation in the Golden Country. He led the way inside the temple and I followed him trembling. What a sight instantly caught mine eyes! There sat the poet, with a pale haggard countenance, his head leaning on his arm, and gazing upwards as if looking to heaven for an idea, to adorn his work and place him comfortably in the Golden Country; occasionally a smile would break over his sad countenance and his eyes would beam with the light of gladness, when a new idea had arisen in his already fertile mind. On the table he was writing lay the great works of the Great Poets, that had gone before and delighted the world with their brilliant imaginations, Shakspeare, Milton, Pope, Dryden, &c. who are now exercising authority in the temple of the Muses, and many others of modern times; I saw him glance frequently at those great authors, but I also noticed that each glance was accompanied with a heavy dismal sigh, as if he said within himself; "when shall I "when shall I appear like these, when shall I be caressed and revered by the world like these, I am afraid I never shall, I lack a poetic soul like theirs." After that I observed another smile gladden his visage, I turned my head from him for an instant to gaze |