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Poor Little! sweet, melodious bard!
That he, who sang before all;
As void of wit and moral (1),
And yet, while beauty’s praise is thine,
Repine not at thy lot; :
And critics are forgot.
Still, I must yield those worthies merit,
Bad rhymes, and those who write them;
I really will not fight them (2);
(1) These stanzas were written soon after the appeare ance of a severe critique in a Northern review, on a new publication of the British Anacreon.
(2) A Bard , ( Horresco referens, ) defied his reviewer to mortal combat. If this example becomes prevalent, our periodical censors must be dipt in the river Styx; for what else can secure them from the numerous host of their enwged assailants.
Perhaps, they would do quite as well,
Of such a young beginner ;
A very harden'd sinner.
Now-_I must return to you,
Accept then my concession;
My Muse admires digression.
I think, I said, 'twould be your fate
May regal smiles attend you;
If worth can recommend you.
14. Yet, since in danger courts abound, Where specious rivals glitter round,
From snares may saints preserve you; And grant, your love or friendsip ne'er From any claim a kindred care,
But those who best deserve you.
Not for a moment may you stray
May no delights decoy;
Your tears be tears of joy.
Oh! if you wish that happiness
And virtues crown your brow :
Be, still, as you are now.
And though some trifling share of praise, To cheer my last declining days,
To me were doubly dear; Whilst blessing your beloved name, . I'd wave at once a Poet's fame,
To prove a Prophet here.
Αργυρεαις λογχαισι μαχου και παντα Κρατησεις.
Be realiz’d at my desire;
To place it on St. Mary's spire.
Then would, unroof'd, old Granta's halls
Pedantic inınates full display; Fellows, who dream on lawn, or stalls,
The price of venal yotes to pay.
Then would I view each rival wight,
P—ily and P-m-smp survey;
Against the next elective day.
Lo! candidates and voters lie ,
All lull’d in sleep, a goodly number! A race renown'd for piety,
Whose conscience wont disturb their slumber.
(1) The Diable Boiteux of Lr. Sage, where Asmodeus, the Demon, places Don Cleofas on an elevated situation, and unroofs the houses for his inspection.
Lord H---, indeed, may not demur,
Fellows are sage, reflecting men; They know preferment can occur,
But very seldom, now and then.
They know the Chancellor has got
Some pretty livings in disposal; Each hopes that one may be his lot,
And, therefore, smiles on his proposal.
Now, from the soporific scene,
I'll turn mine eye, as night grows later, To view, unheeded, and unseen,
The studious sous of Alma Mater.
There, in apartments small and damp,
The candidate for college prizes, Sits poring by the midnight lamp,
Goes late to bed, yet early rises.
He, surely, well deserves to gain them,
With all the honours of his college, Who striving hardly to obtain thein,
Thus seeks unprofitable knowledge.