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Written on reading Campbell's “Pleasures of Hope.”

1805.

 

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 passions 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 soothe to sympathy.
Blest Bard ! who chose no paltry, local theme,
Kind Hope through wide creation is the same.

 

Yes, Afric'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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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