“O thou! whose bosom inspiration fires!
For whom the Muses string their favourite lyres!
Though with superior genius blest, yet deign
A kind reception to my humbler strain.
“When florid youth impell'd, and fortune smil'd,
The Vocal Art my languid hours beguil'd.
Severer studies now my life engage,
Researches dull, that quench poetic rage.
“From morn to evening destin'd to explore
The verbal critic, and the scholiast's lore,
Alas! what beam of heavenly ardor shines
In musty lexicons and school-divines!
“Yet to the darling object of my heart
A short but pleasing retrospect I dart;
Revolve the labours of the tuneful choir,
And what I cannot imitate admire.
“O could my thoughts with all thy spirit glow,
As thine melodious could my accents flow;
Then thou approving might'st my song attend,
Nor in a Blacklock blush to own a friend.”