Io non sapea da tal vista levarme

Still on the warrior band I fix'd my view,
But now a different troop my notice drew:
The sage Palladian tribe, a nobler train,
Whose toils deserve a more exalted strain.
Plato majestic in the front appear'd,
Where wisdom's sacred hand her ensign rear'd.
Celestial blazonry! by heaven bestow'd,
Which, waving high, before the vaward glow'd:
Then came the Stagyrite, whose mental ray
Pierced through all nature like the shafts of day;
And he that, by the unambitious name,
Lover of wisdom, chose to bound his fame.
Then Socrates and Xenophon were seen;
With them a bard of more than earthly mien,
Whom every muse of Jove's immortal choir
Bless'd with a portion of celestial fire:
From ancient Argos to the Phrygian bound
His never-dying strains were borne around
On inspiration's wing, and hill and dale
Echoed the notes of Ilion's mournful tale.
The woes of Thetis, and Ulysses' toils,
His mighty mind recover'd from the spoils
Of envious time, and placed in lasting light
The trophies ransom'd from oblivion's night
The Mantuan bard, responsive to his song,
Co-rival of his glory, walk'd along.
The next with new surprise my notice drew,
Where'er he pass'd spontaneous flowerets grew,
Fit emblems of his style; and close behind
The great Athenian at his lot repined;
Which doom'd him, like a secondary star,
To yield precedence in the wordy war;
Though like the bolts of Jove that shake the spheres,
He lighten'd in their eyes, and thunder'd in their ears.
The assembly felt the shock, the immortal sound,
His Attic rival's fainter accents drown'd.
But now so many candidates for fame
In countless crowds and gay confusion came,
That Memory seem'd her province to resign,
Perplex'd and lost amid the lengthen'd line.
Yet Solon there I spied, for laws renown'd,
Salubrious plants in clean and cultured ground;
But noxious, if malignant hands infuse
In their transmuted stems a baneful juice
Amongst the Romans, Varro next I spied,
The light of linguists, and our country's pride;
Still nearer as he moved, the eye could trace
A new attraction and a nameless grace.
Livy I saw, with dark invidious frown
Listening with pain to Sallust's loud renown;
And Pliny there, profuse of life I found,
Whom love of knowledge to the burning bound
Led unawares; and there Plotinus' shade,
Who dark Platonic truths in fuller light display'd:
He, flying far to 'scape the coming pest,
Was, when he seem'd secure, by death oppressed;
That, fix'd by fate, before he saw the sun,
The careful sophist strove in vain to shun.
Hortensius, Crassus, Galba, next appear'd,
Calvus and Antony, by Rome revered,
The first with Pollio join'd, whose tongue profane
Assail'd the fame of Cicero in vain.
Thucydides, who mark'd distinct and clear
The tardy round of many a bloody year,
And, with a master's graphic skill, pourtray'd
The fields, "whose summer dust with blood was laid;"
And near Herodotus his ninefold roll display'd,
Father of history; and Euclid's vest
The heaven-taught symbols of that art express'd
That measures matter, form, and empty space,
And calculates the planets' heavenly race;
And Porphyry, whose proud obdurate heart
Was proof to mighty Truth's celestial dart;
With sophistry assail'd the cause of God,
And stood in arms against the heavenly code.
Hippocrates, for healing arts renown'd,
And half obscured within the dark profound;
The pair, whom ignorance in ancient days
Adorn'd like deities, with borrow'd rays.
Galen was near, of Pergamus the boast,
Whose skill retrieved the art so nearly lost.
Then Anaxarchus came, who conquer'd pain;
And he, whom pleasures strove to lure in vain
From duty's path. And first in mournful mood
The mighty soul of Archimedes stood;
And sage Democritus I there beheld,
Whose daring hand the light of vision quell'd,
To shun the soul-seducing forms, that play
On the rapt fancy in the beam of day:
The gifts of fortune, too, he flung aside,
By wisdom's wealth, a nobler store, supplied.
There Hippias, too, I saw, who dared to claim
For general science an unequall'd name.
And him, whose doubtful mind and roving eye
No certainty in truth itself could spy;
With him who in a deep mysterious guise
Her heavenly charms conceal'd from vulgar eyes.
The frontless cynic next in rank I saw,
Sworn foe to decency and nature's modest law.
With him the sage, that mark'd, with dark disdain,
His wealth consumed by rapine's lawless train;
And glad that nothing now remain'd behind,
To foster envy in a rival's mind,
That treasure bought, which nothing can destroy,
"The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy."
Then curious Dicaearchus met my view,
Who studied nature with sagacious view.
Quintilian next, and Seneca were seen,
And Chaeronea's sage, of placid mien;
All various in their taste and studious toils,
But each adorn'd with Learning's splendid spoils.
There, too, I saw, in universal jar,
The tribes that spend their time in wordy war;
And o'er the vast interminable deep
Of knowledge, like conflicting tempests, sweep.
For truth they never toil, but feed their pride
With fuel by eternal strife supplied:
No dragon of the wild with equal rage,
Nor lions in nocturnal war, engage
With hate so deadly, as the learn'd and wise,
Who scan their own desert with partial eyes.
Carneades, renown'd for logic skill,
Who right or wrong, and true and false, at will
Could turn and change, employ'd his fruitless pain
To reconcile the fierce, contending train:
But, ever as he toil'd, the raging pest
Of pride, as knowledge grew, with equal speed increased.
Then Epicurus, of sinister fame,
Rebellious to the lord of nature, came;
Who studied to deprive the soaring soul
Of her bright world of hope beyond the pole;
A mole-ey'd race their hapless guide pursued,
And blindly still the vain assault renew'd.
Dark Metrodorus next sustain'd the cause,
With Aristippus, true to Pleasure's laws.
Chrysippus next his subtle web disposed:
Zeno alternate spread his hand, and closed;
To show how eloquence expands the soul,
And logic boasts a close and nervous whole.
And there Cleanthes drew the mighty line
That led his pupils on, with heart divine,
Through time's fallacious joys, by Virtue's road,
To the bright palace of the sovereign good.—
But here the weary Muse forsakes the throng,
Too numerous for the bounds of mortal song.

Boyd.