Thus pleas'd we hail our W-lm-t's gifts refin'd,
So bright his numbers, and so pure his mind.
Gentle and good! if greater praise there[errata 1] be
Or more enduring, it belongs to thee,
Accomplish'd W-lm-t!—thy serener eye
Unmov'd beholds each tempting pleasure nigh.
Far from the fears that softer minds await,
With the sweet muse and sounding lyre elate.
Oh, eloquent of song! whose dawning ray
Now burns and brightens into purer day;
Not thine the lover's flower-encircled chain,
Long years consum'd at beauty's feet in vain,
Delusive hopes, and pleasure's laughing train:
Not thine the Teïan blooms, the Lesbian wreath
Bedew'd with wine, and rich with beauty's breath,
Charms not thine ear the sweet Provençal tale,
Nor Arno warbling down the Etrurian vale;
Young love in vain his myrtle wand supplies,
In vain her spells the soft enchantress tries,
Though the bright shaft is wing'd with light from B-g-t's eyes.
We read alternate, and alternate hear
Songs that might win attention's choicest ear;
Rich with the spoils of all Castalia's dew,
And truths that haughty Athens only knew.
Those tragic strains, worthy the Delphic shrine,
Of Thebes, and Pelops' race, and Troy divine;
And not unheard the surge's midnight roar
Breaking on the proud solitude, that bore
The warrior's wounded cries from Lemnos' rocky shore.
Errata
