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At Fancy's call who rear the wanton fail, 475
Sport with the stream, and trifle in the gale:
Sublimer views thy daring Spirit bound;
Thy mighty Voyage was Creation's round;
Intent new Worlds of Wisdom to explore,
And bloss Mankind with Virtue's facred store;
A nobler joy than Wit can give, impart; 481
And pour a moral transport o'er the heart.
Fantastic Wit shoots momentary fires,
And, like a Meteor, while we gaze, expires :
Wit kindled by the sulph'rous breath of Vice, 485
Like the blue lightning, while it shines, destroys:
But Genius, fir’d by Truth's eternal

ray,
Burns clear and constant, like the source of day:
Like this, its beam prolifick and refin'd
Feeds, warms, infpirits, and exalts the mind; 490
Mildly dispels each wint'ry Passion’s gloom,

all the Virtues into bloom. This Praise, immortal Pope, to thee be giv'n: Thy Genius was indeed a Gift from Heav'n. Hail, Bard unequal'd, in whose deathless line 495 Reason and Wit with strength collected shine ; Where matchless Wit but wins the second praise, Lost, nobly lost, in Truth's superior blaze.

And opens

Did FRIENDSHIP e'er mislead thy wand'ring Muse?
That Friendship sure may plead the great excuse:
That sacred Friendship which inspir’d thy Song,
Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.
Error like this ev'n Truth can scarce reprove;
'Tis almost Virtue when it flows from Love.

Ye deathless Names, ye Sons of endless praise, By Virtue crown'd with never-fading bays !

506 Say, shall an artless Muse, if you inspire, Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire ? Or if, O WARBURTON, inspir’d by You, The daring Muse a nobler path pursue, 510 By You inspir’d, on trembling pinion soar, The sacred founts of social bliss explore, In her bold numbers chain the Tyrant's rage, And bid her Country's Glory fire her page : If such her fate, do thou, fair Truth, descend, 515 And watchful guard her in an honest end: Kindly severe, instruct her equal line To court no Friend, nor own a Foe but thine, But if her giddy eye should vainly quit Thy sacred paths, to run the maze of wit ;

526

If her apostate heart should e'er incline
To offer incense at Corruption's shrine;
Urge, urge thy pow's, the black attempt confound,
And dash the smoaking Censer to the ground.
Thus aw'd to fear, instructed Bards

may That Guilt is doom’d to sink in Infamy.

see, 525

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