TO THE AUTHORS OF THE BRITISH APOLLO.
HAIL! glorious bards, who on Parnassus sit,
Sole arbitrators of substantial wit ;
Who from your unexhausted source impart,
In flowing streams, all Science, ev'ry Art;
Your labours pregnant by coelestial fire,
Each line confessing your illustrious sire:
Not all the praise the thankful age can show
Can e'er discharge the mighty debt they owe.
To you the anxious and desponding mind
Address, and balm for every sorrow find ;
You teach them how to wash away in tears
Each crime, relax their griefs, dispel their fears :
But with amazements you possess us, while
So wondrous clear our doubts you reconcile.
Even from antipathies an hurmory
You raise, and make the long contesting world agree.
Th’ inquisitive in every thing you teach,
Their compass of extensive human reach ;
To you, as comprehending all, they look,
Concealed in Nature's universal book,
A judgment in all Science to obtain,
To you they come, and ne'er return in vain.
Our smoother hours with tuneful strains you please,
More soft than the delicious western breeze,
Or dew distilling on the myrtle grove,
Or down which decks the pinions of the God of Love.
Your hum'rous lines were never rivald yet,
The quick results of sprightly, boundless wit :
Those tart, laconic strains aptly detect
Follies which serious sense can ne'er affect.
The snarling critics now with shame withdraw,
Struck with a just, a venerable awe,
They find their keen reflections, fond mistakes,
Distinguished for their pains, for fools, or rakes.
Go on, brave, gen'rous souls, inform mankind,
Whilst profit mixed with delight we find :
A glorious recompense may all your labours find.
From BRITISH A POLLO.
Feclass. 4:21-31. NDL for D.F.