| |
| THE MUSE, disgusted at an age and clime | |
| Barren of every glorious theme, | |
| In distant lands now waits a better time, | |
| Producing subjects worthy fame. | |
| |
| In happy climes, where from the genial sun | 5 |
| And virgin earth such scenes ensue, | |
| The force of art by nature seems outdone, | |
| And fancied beauties by the true: | |
| |
| In happy climes, the seat of innocence, | |
| Where nature guides and virtue rules, | 10 |
| Where men shall not impose for truth and sense | |
| The pedantry of courts and schools: | |
| |
| There shall be sung another golden age, | |
| The rise of empire and of arts, | |
| The good and great inspiring epic rage, | 15 |
| The wisest heads and noblest hearts. | |
| |
| Not such as Europe breeds in her decay: | |
| Such as she bred when fresh and young, | |
| When heavenly flame did animate her clay, | |
| By future poets shall be sung. | 20 |
| |
| Westward the course of empire takes its way; | |
| The first four acts already past, | |
| A fifth shall close the drama with the day; | |
| Time’s noblest offspring is the last. | |
| |
