Peace , sweet Enthusiast! to thy gentle shade,
Whose timid step immortal Fancy led,
Where the mix'd P ASSIONS throng'd the holy glade;
Or, where S PRING linger'd o'er F IDELE'S bed.

I.

Wild, as the lucid lightning's sudden blaze,
Thine awful genius struck the golden string,
The Muse, in Thee, her brightest store displays;
And from thy page the sparks of phrenzy spring!

II.

O'er thy lone tomb shall injured M ERIT weep,
And P OESY , the baneful harp, discard;
O! could not W ORTH thy peace unbroken, keep!
O! could not T ALENTS save Thee, hapless Bard!