With tafte superior scorn'd the venal tribe,
Whom fear can sway, or guilty greatness bribe;
At Fancy's call who rear the wanton fail,
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 blefs 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 fhoots momentary fires,
And, like a meteor, while we gaze, expires:
Wit kindled by the fulphurous breath of Vice,
Like the blue lightning, while it shines, destroys:
But Genius, fir'd by Truth's eternal ray,
Burns clear and constant, like the fource of day:
Like this its beam, prolific and refin’d,
Feeds, warms, inspirits, and exalts the mind;
Mildly difpels each wintery Paffion's gloom,
And opens all the Virtues into bloom.
This praise, immortal Pope, to thee be given.
Thy Genius was indeed a Gift from Heaven.
Hail, Bard unequal'd, in whofe deathless line
Reason and wit with ftrength collected shine;
Where matchless Wit but wins the second praise,
Loft, nobly loft, in Truth's fuperior blaze.
Did Friendship e'er mislead thy wandering Muse?
That Friendship fure may plead the great excufe:
That facred Friendship which infpir'd thy Song,
Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.