The applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes.

Where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.

Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

When love could teach a monarch to be wise, And gospel-light first dawn'd from Bullen's eyes.

Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?

Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play! No sense have they of ills to come nor care beyond today.

The different steps and degrees of education may be compared to the artificer's operations upon marble; it is one thing to dig it out of the quarry, and another to square it, to give it gloss and lustre, call forth every beautiful spot and vein, shape it into a column, or animate it into a statue.