Whether thou sing'st with equal ease, and grief,

The fall of empires or a yellow leaf;
Whether thy muse most lamentably tells
What merry sounds proceed from Oxford
bells,

Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend
In every chime that jingled from Ostend;
Ah! how much juster were thy muse's hap,
If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap!
Delightful Bowles! still blessing and still
blest,

341

All love thy strain, but children like it best. "T is thine, with gentle Little's moral song, To soothe the mania of the amorous throng! With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears,

Ere miss as yet completes her infant years: But in her teens thy whining powers are vain;

She quits poor Bowles for Little's purer strain.

Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine

The lofty numbers of a harp like thine; 350 'Awake a louder and a lofter strain,' Such as none heard before, or will again! Where all Discoveries jumbled from the flood,

Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud,
By more or less, are sung in every book,
From Captain Noah down to Captain Cook.
Nor this alone; but, pausing on the road,
The bard sighs forth a gentle episode;
And gravely tells attend, each beauteous

miss!

When first Madeira trembled to a kiss. 360 Bowles in thy memory let this precept dwell,

Stick to thy sonnets, man!—at least they sell.

But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe, Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe;

If chance some bard, though once by dunces fear'd,

Now, prone in dust, can only be revered; If Pope, whose fame and genius from the first Have foil'd the best of critics, needs the worst,

370

Do thou essay: each fault, each failing scan;
The first of poets was, alas! but man.
Rake from each ancient dunghill ev'ry pearl,
Consult Lord Fanny, and confide in Curll;

490

But Caledonia's goddess hover'd o'er
The field, and saved him from the wrath of
Moore;

From either pistol snatch'd the vengeful lead,

And straight restored it to her favourite's head;

That head, with greater than magnetic pow'r,

Caught it, as Danaë caught the golden show'r,

And, though the thickening dross will scarce refine,

Augments its ore, and is itself a mine. 'My son,' she cried, 'ne'er thirst for gore again,

500

Resign the pistol and resume the pen;
O'er politics and poesy preside,
Boast of thy country and Britannia's guide!
For long as Albion's heedless sons submit,
Or Scottish taste decides on English wit,
So long shall last thine unmolested reign,
Nor any dare to take thy name in vain.
Behold, a chosen band shall aid thy plan,
And own thee chieftain of the critic clan.
First in the oat-fed phalanx shall be seen
The travell'd thane, Athenian Aberdeen.
Herbert shall wield Thor's hammer, and
sometimes,

510

In gratitude, thou 'lt praise his rugged rhymes.

Smug Sydney too thy bitter page shall seek, And classic Hallam, much renown'd for Greek;

Scott may perchance his name and influence lend,

548

See honest Hallam lay aside his fork, Resume his pen, review his Lordship's work, And, grateful for the dainties on his plate, Declare his landlord can at least translate! Dunedin! view thy children with delight, They write for food-and feed because they write.

And lest, when heated with the unusual grape, Some glowing thoughts should to the press escape, with red the female reader's cheek, My lady skims the cream of each critique; Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul, Reforms each error, and refines the whole.

And