Song: Ope, Aged Atlas, Open Then Thy Lap

Ope, aged Atlas, open then thy lap,
And from thy beamy bosom strike a light,
That men may read in the mysterious map
All lines,
And signs
Of royal education, and the right.
See how they come and show,
That are but born to know.
Descend,
Descend!
Though pleasure lead,
Fear not to follow:
They who are bred
Within the hill
Of skill,
May safely tread
What path they will,
No ground of good is hollow.