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Where some distinguisht incident he views,
Some shining action that deserves a muse.
Thence by degrees the wond'ring reader brings
To trace the subject backward to its springs,
Lest at its ent'rance he should idly stay,
Shock'd at his toil, and dubious of his way;
For when set down so near the promis'd goat,
The flatt'ring prospect tempts and fires his soul;
Already past the treach'rous bounds appear,
Then most at distance, when they seem so near;
Far from his grasp the fleeting harbor flies,
Courts his pursuit, but mocks his dazled eyes;
The promis'd land which he with joy had spy'd,
Vast tracks of oceans from his reach divide;
Still must he backward steer his lengthen'd way,
And plough a wide interminable sea.
No skilful poet would his muse employ,
From Paris' vote to trace the fall of Troy,
Nor ev'ry deed of Hector to relate,
While his strong arm suspended Ilium's fate;
Work! for some annalist, some heavy fool,
Correctly dry, and regularly dull.

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