Come STUDY, like a torrent swell'd with rains,
Which, rushing down the mountains, o'er the plains
Spreads horror wide, and yet, in horror kind,
Leaves feeds of future fruitfulness behind,
Come STUDY — painful tho' thy course and slow,
Thy real worth by thy effects we know —
Parent of Knowledge, come — not Thee I call,
Who, grave and dull, in college or in hall,
Dost fit, all solemn sad, and moping weigh
Things, which when found, thy labours can't repay —
Nor, in one hand, fit emblem of thy trade,
A  in t'other, gaudily array'd
A  gilt and letter'd, call I Thee,
Who dost in form preside o'er A, B, C —
Nor, Siren tho' thou art, and thy strange charms,
As 'twere by magic, lure men to thy arms,
Do I call Thee, who thro' a winding maze,
A labyrinth of puzzling, pleasing ways,
Dost lead us at the last to those rich plains,
Where, in full glory, real SCIENCE reigns.