I read, admir'd, and envied as I read, And long'd to imitate thy graceful lay, With thee to heave the sigh, the tear to shed, And give to sympathy the live-long day.
And sure to heave the sigh, to shed the tear, To give to sympathy the live-long day, To read, to envy, envying to revere, And long to imitate thy graceful lay.
These may be mine: but oh! the hope be far, The daring hope to match thy tender strain; Thine, happy Bard! is ev'ry favouring star, And mine to strive and wish, and strive in vain.
Tho' equal passions agitate my breast, Tho' equal love relume my languid eye; Tho' equal cares my absent hours infest, And equal pleasures tune my soul to joy;
Ah! yet to me has niggard Fate denied The power to picture what I strongly feel; The blush of greatness, or the sneer of pride, How deep they wound me I may ne'er reveal!
To paint my love, my passions to express, Describe my pleasures, or unfold my cares, Tho' ev'ry power of song I oft caress, Vain my caresses, vain, alas! my prayers.
Yet even I may praise thy graceful lay, Or wish to praise what praise like mine may scorn; Yet even I may long to twine the bay, And with the choicest wreaths thy brow adorn.
* See Poems in 4to, printed for Jackson, Oxford, 1768.
