But virtue's native influence was in him,

A wintry sun-beam, not extinct, but dim.

Yet Harfagar with kind attention tried

To rouse the warmth her hidden beams supplied;

And, wheresoe'er his penetrating eye

One bud of distant promise could descry,

There all his toil was bent, to fix the root

Unmoved, and spread secure the growing shoot.

He watch'd the rising blossoms as they grew,

Preserv'd with constant care their lively hue,

Spread o'er each flow'ret a protecting veil

To shelter it from trial's rougher gale,

And clear'd, with strenuous and unceasing toil,

From each insidious weed th' improving soil.

His patient diligence had won at length

A partial triumph over nature's strength:

Tho' unsuppress'd th' internal weakness still

With frequent bias pois'd the wavering will,

Still losing ground, it seem'd to die away,

Like nightly storms before advancing day:

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