For each to fill the circle of his dream.

Though high the hope which energy awakes,

And far the flight a free-wing'd spirit takes,

A thousand hearts o'er disappointment bleed,

The many venture, but the few succeed.

Hence of all crimes, the last to be forgiv'n,

Eternal barrier to some critic's heav'n,

Success is prov'd ;-that hour her star appears

In daring brightness to outdazzle years,

The fogs of hate, the clouds of dulness rise,

To quench her glory, and deface her skies.

Hence martial pens in pugilistic rage,

And venom oozing from each vulgar page,

Slander abroad on her exulting wings

To frighten fools, or flap the face of kings,

While faded authors, overcome with bile,

Turn into villains, and lampoon the isle *!

But, hark! to sounds so musically dear,

By flatt'ry melted into folly's ear;

Behold a LION that doth roar to-night

And doubt if homage be not man's delight!

Amid the sweet soft words that come and

go

From lord to lady, and from belle to beaux,

There in thyself a night-thron'd idol see,

'Tis all thou art, and all a fool should be † !—

* Il n'y a point au monde un si pénible métier que celui de se faire un grand nom. BRUYERE.

'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be! POPE.

Enamour'd thus, nonsensically dream

Thy mental worth a supernatural theme;
Yet, look around thee ere the night be o'er,
Thy heart is free, and thou a fool no more!
Thy mien, thy manners, and thy person tend
To make no charm Politeness could commend;
And, lest they should not quite sufficient see,

The faults of others are bestow'd on thee:

Thus on, till all that once was glory thought

From tongue to tongue is whisper'd into nought ; While each is conscious, as thy fame's o'erthrown,

To wound another's, is to heal his own.

Yet oft ambiguous Hate her truth beguiles,

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ལ་ཚཟོ་iརྗེ、སའི