Say! wilt Thou liften to his weaker strains,
Who pants to range round Fancy's rich domains;
To vindicate her empire, and disown
Proud Syftem, feated on her injur'd throne?"
Come! while thy Mufe, contented with applause,
Gives to her graceful fong a little pause,
Enjoying triumphs paft; at leifure laid.
In thy fweet Garden's variegated shade,
Or fondly hanging on fome favorite Oak
That Harp, whofe notes the fate of Mona spoke,
Strung by the facred Druid's focial band,
And wifely trusted to thy kindred hand!
Come! for thy liberal and ingenuous heart
Can aid a Brother in this magic art;
Let us, and Freedom be our guide, explore
The higheft province of poetic lore,
Free the young Bard from that oppressive awe,
Which feels Opinion's rule as Reason's law,
And from his spirit bid vain fears depart,
Of weaken'd Nature and exhaufted Art!
Phantoms that literary fpleen conceives!
Dullness adopts, and Indolence believes!
While with advent'rous ftep we wind along
Th' expanfive regions of Heroic fong,
From different fources let our fearch explain
Why few the Chieftains of this wide domain.
Haply, infpiriting poetic youth,
Our verfe may prove this animating truth,
That Poefy's fublime, neglected field.
May still new laurels to Ambition yield;
Her Epic trumpet, in a modern hand,
Still make the spirit glow, the heart expand;
Be fuch our doctrine! our enlivening aim
The Mufe's honor, and our Country's fame!
Thou firft and faireft of the focial Arts!
Sovereign of liberal fouls, and feeling hearts,,
If, in devotion to thy heavenly charms,,
I clafp'd thy altar with my infant arms,
For thee neglected the wide field of wealth,-
The toils of int'reft, and the fports of health,,
Enchanting Poefy! that zeal repay
With powers to fing thy univerfal sway!
To trace thy progrefs from thy diftant birth,
Heaven's pure defcendant! dear delight of Earth!
Charm of all regions! to no age confin'd!
The prime ennobler of th' aspiring mind!
Nor will thy dignity, fweet Power! difdain
What Fiction utters in her idle ftrain,
Thy sportive Friend! who, mocking folemn Truth,
Tells her fond tales of thy untutor'd youth.
As wrong'd Latona (so her tale begins)
To Delphos travell'd with her youthful twins;
Th' envenom'd Python, with terrific sway,
Crofs'd the fair Goddess in her deftin'd way:
The heavenly parent, in the wild alarm,
Her little Dian in her anxious arm,
High on a stone, which fhe in terror trod,
Cried to her filial guard, the Archer God,
Bidding with force, that spoke the Mother's heart,
Her young Apollo launch his ready dart ;
In meafur'd founds her rapid mandate flow'd,
The firft foundation of the future Ode!
Thus, at their banquets, fabling Greeks rehearse *
The fancied origin of sacred Verse :
And though cold Reason may with scorn affail,
Or turn contemptuous from their fimple tale,
Yet, Poefy! thy fifter Art may ftoop
From this weak sketch to paint th' impaffion'd group.
Though taste refin'd to modern Verse deny
The hacknied pageants of the Pagan sky,
Their finking radiance ftill the Canvass warms,
Painting still glories in their graceful forms;
Nor canft thou envy, if the world agree
To grant thy Sifter claims denied to thee;
For thee, the happier Art! the elder-born!
Superior rights and dearer charms adorn:
Confin'd fhe catches, with obfervance keen,
Her fingle moment of the changeful scene;,
But thou, endu'd with energy fublime,,
Unqueftion'd arbiter of space and time!
Canft join the diftant, the unknown create,
And, while Existence yields thee all her state,
On the astonish'd mind profufely pour
Myriads of forms, that Fancy must adore.
Yet of thy boundless power the dearest part
Is firm poffeffion of the feeling Heart :
No progeny of Chance, by Labor taught,
No flow-form'd creature of fcholaftic thought,
The child of Paffion thou! thy lyre fhe ftrung,
To her parental notes she tun'd thy tongue;
Gave thee her boldest fwell, her fofteft tone,
And made the compass of her voice thy own.
To Admiration, fource of joy refin'd!
Chafte, lovely mover of the fimple mind!
To her, though fceptics, in their pride, declaim,
With many an infult, on her injur'd name;
To her, fweet Poefy! we owe thy birth,
Thou firft encomiaft of the fruitful Earth!
By her infpir'd, the carlieft mortal found
The car-delighting charm of meafur'd found;
He hail'd the Maker of a world so fair,
And the first accent of his fong was prayer.
O, most attractive of thofe airy Powers,
Who moft illuminate Man's chequer'd hours!
Is there an Art, in all the group divine,
Whofe dawn of Being muft not yield to thine?
Religion's felf, whofe provident controul
Takes from fierce Man his anarchy of foul,
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