LINES, Written on reading THOMAS CAMPBELL’S “Pleasures of Hope.” __ HOW seldom ’tis the Poet’s happy lot, T’ inspire
his readers with the fire he wrote; To strike those chords that wake
the latent thrill, And wind the willing passion to
his will:-- Yes, Campbell sure that happy lot is thine, With fit expression rich from
Nature’s mine, Like old Timotheus, skilful plac’d on high, To rouse revenge, or
sooth to sympathy. Blest Bard! who
chose no paltry, local theme, Kind HOPE through wide creation
is the same; Yes, Affric’s sons shall one day burst their chains, Will read thy lines, and bless
thee for thy pains; Fame yet shall waft thy name
to India’s shore, Where next to Brahma thee they will adore; And Hist’ry’s page, exulting in thy praise, Will proudly hand thee down to
future days-- Detraction foil’d,
reluctant quits her grip, And carping envy silent bites her lip. |