For contemplation he and valour formed; / For softness she and sweet attractive grace, / He for God only, she for God in him: / His fair large front and eye sublime declared / Absolute rule.

And these gems of Heav'n, her starry train.

So dear I love him, that with him, all deaths I could endure, without him, live no life.

He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.

For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them.

Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.