Skill'd, with serene effulgence, to adorn The rayless cloud that wraps the museful mind; Removing from Life's path the ruder thorn, To fling Content's ambrosial flow'rs behind; Thee, by the Muse's magic touch refin'd, Gladly I own, in Youth's advent'rous morn; For much from wayward Fortune have I borne, My fancy shackled, and my flights confin'd: Yet, haply, rising from oblivious gloom, And stealing softly up the steep of Fame, On whose green summit wreaths immortal bloom, My daring spirit, fraught with purer flame, In future days, may, unrepuls'd, presume To snatch a laurel, worthy of the Name.
