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 bless Mankind with Virtue's facred store;
A nobler joy than Wit can give, impart;

And pour a moral transport o'er the heart.
Fantastic Wit shoots momentary fires,

481

And, like a Meteor, while we gaze, expires:
Wit kindled by the fulph'rous breath of Vice, 485
Like the blue lightning, while it fhines, deftroys:
But Genius, fir'd by Truth's eternal ray,

Burns clear and conftant, like the fource of day:
Like this, its beam prolifick and refin'd

Feeds, warms, infpirits, and exalts the mind; 490 Mildly dispels each wint'ry Paffion's gloom, all the Virtues into bloom.

And opens

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 ftrength collected fhine;
Where matchless Wit but wins the second praise,
Lost, nobly lost, in Truth's fuperior blaze.

Did FRIENDSHIP e'er mislead thy wand'ring Muse? That Friendship sure may plead the great excuse: That facred Friendship which inspir'd thy Song, Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.

Error like this ev'n Truth can fcarce reprové; '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 Mufe, if you inspire, Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire? Or if, O WARBURTON, infpir'd by You, The daring Mufe a nobler path pursue, By You infpir'd, on trembling pinion foar, The facred founts of focial bliss explore, In her bold numbers chain the Tyrant's rage, And bid her Country's Glory fire her

page:

510

If fuch her fate, do thou, fair Truth, defcend, 515

And watchful guard her in an honeft end:

Kindly fevere, inftruct her equal line

To court no Friend, nor own a Foe but thine,
But if her giddy eye should vainly quit

Thy facred paths, to run the maze of wit; 520

If her apoftate heart should e'er incline
To offer incenfe at Corruption's fhrine;
Urge, urge thy pow'r, the black attempt confound,
And dash the smoaking Censer to the ground.
Thus aw'd to fear, inftructed Bards may fee, 525
That Guilt is doom'd to fink in Infamy.

ΑΝ

ESSAY

ON

MAN:

то

H. ST JOHN L. BOLINGBROKE.