O thou! who, with a happy genius born! Canst tuneful verse in flowing numbers turn; Crown'd on thy Lincoln-plains with early bays, Be early wise, nor trust to barren praise. Soon by thy hand shall Orpheus' lyre be strung, And Grecian hymns by English damsels sung. If Britain these translated songs wou'd hear, First take the gold — then charm the list'ning ear: So shall thy *Libyan father smile to see His genius meet its just reward in thee; And own his verse to thine in culture yields, As much as Afric's wilds to Europe's fields.
