With tafte fuperior fcorn'd the venal tribe,
Whom fear can fway, or guilty greatness bribe;
At Fancy's call who rear the wanton fail,
Sport with the stream, and trifle in the gale:
Sublimer views thy daring Spirit bound
Thy mighty Voyage was Creation's round;
Intent new Worlds of Wisdom to explore,
And blefs Mankind with Virtue's facred ftore;
A nobler joy than Wit can give, impart :
And pour a moral transport o'er the heart.
Fantastic Wit fhoots momentary fires,
And, like a meteor, while we gaze, expires:
Wit kindled by the fulphurous breath of Vice,
Like the blue lightning, while it shines, destroys: 490
But Genius, fir'd by Truth's eternal ray,
Burns clear and constant, like the fource of day:
Like this its beam, prolific and refin'd,
Feeds, warms, infpirits, and exalts the mind;
Mildly difpels each wintery Paffion's gloom,
And opens all the Virtues into bloom.
This praise, immortal Pope, to thee be given.
Thy Genius was indeed a Gift from Heaven.
Hail, Bard unequal'd, in whofe deathlefs line
Reafon and wit with ftrength collected shine;
Where matchlefs Wit but wins the second praise,
Loft, nobly lost, in Truth's superior blaze.
Did Friendship e'er mislead thy wandering Muse?
That Friendship sure may plead the great excuse :
That facred Friendship which inspir'd thy Song,
Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.
Error like this ev'n Truth can fcarce reprove;
'Tis almoft Virtue when it flows from Love.
Ye deathless Names, ye Sons of endless praife,
By Virtue crown'd with never-fading bays!
Say, shall an artless Muse, if you inspire,
Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire?
Or if, O Warburton, infpir'd by You,
The daring Muse a nobler path pursue,
By You infpir'd, on trembling pinions foar,
The facred founts of social bliss explore,
In her bold numbers chain the Tyrant's rage,
And bid her Country's glory fire her page:
If fuch her fate, do thou, fair Truth, defcend,
And watchful guard her in an honest end:
Kindly fevere, inftruct her equal line
To court no Friend, nor own a Foe but thine.
But if her giddy eye fhould vainly quit
Thy facred paths, to run the maze of wit ;
If her apoftate heart should e'er incline
To offer incenfe at Corruption's shrine;
Urge, urge thy power, the black attempt confound,
And dash the smoaking Cenfer to the ground.
Thus aw'd to fear, inftructed Bards may
That guilt is doom'd to fink in Infamy.
|