When infant voices lisp thy honourd name
And ev'ry heart reverberates thy fame
Oh charge me not with Fiction in my Lays
For heavenly truth, stood by, and twin'd the bays
Then bid me bind it on my Heroes brow
And told me fame would ev'ry sprig allow,
With Joy the Sacred Mandate I obey'd
And on my soul rush'd the Inchanting Maid.
For not Apollo with his brightest Beam
Nor deeds which Maro sung, inspir'd by him
Could animate my song, like such a theme.
But ah She kept far distant from my view
That the bright wreath would be disclaim'd by you.
— I grant that fiction with her airy train
In ancient times held a despotic reign
When Virgils Heroes death and ruin hurl'd
And ev'ry fight depopulates a world
They trac'd their liniage from the blest abodes
Nor sprung from Men they own'd no sires but Gods
But I the paths of sober reason tread,
Have seen thy actions, in the balance weigh'd
The universal voice, will join with me,
And Echo what, thy Country owes to thee.
Oh that thy Genius would my lays refine
And kindle in my soul, a ray devine
Give me to gain the Summit of the hill,
And drinking Deep, of the pierian rill
Transmit thy virtues with the tide of time
And grave thy name, in characters sublime,
Some tuneful Homer shall in future days
Sing thy exploits, in celebrated lays,
While my ambition has no other aim,
Then as thy friend to set my humble name.