"Yourself and your friends!' cried the God in high glee; H And pray, my frank visitor, who may you be? <Who be? cried the other; why really this tone The rod, that got rid of the Cruscas and Lauras, nih t At least in what Dryden has not done himself; And there's something, which even distaste must respect, In the self-taught example, that conquer'd neglect.n, sel But not to insist on the recommendations Of modesty, wit, and a small stock of patience,ˆ‚AZI My visit just now is to poets alone, And not to small critics, however well known.''; So saying he rang, to leave nothing in doubt, And the sour little gentleman bless'd himself out. on sdT talki¥¥ The diners and barmaids all crowded to know him, CA And thank him with smiles for that sweet pretty poem. However, he scarcely had got through the door, For his host was a God, what a very great thing! . With Well, Mr. Scott, you have manag'd the town; -Try if you can't also manage posterity. -All you add now only lessens your credit; And how could you think too of taking to edite? A great deal's endur'd, where there's measure and rhyme;' But prose such as your's is a pure waste of time, A singer of ballads unstrung by a cough, Be original, man; study more, scribble less; Nor mistake present favour for lasting success; tea baž Who shall prove what I say, or my art is no more. es 10ôi I need not ask after the plans you've in view; 'Twould be odd, I believe, if I had'nt them too: A fancy like your's, that can play it's own part, song When Moore, coming in, caught the Deity's eye, Or that earth should more prize from it's core to the poles, My friends should remember the world was a child, I never much valued your billings and cooings; དོན་སྒོ And since my poor Daphne turned tree in my face, wh There are very few poets, whose caps or whose curls So it gives me, dear Tom, a' delight beyond measure, Could bask in a richer abstraction of bowers, With sounds and with spirits, of charm to detain 13 He spoke with a warmth, but his accent was bland, \. And the poet bow'd down with a blush to his hand, A noise as of persons with singular airs; You'd have thought 'twas the Bishops or Judges a coming, By all the vain dreamers from bed-room and brook, He turn'd from the rest without even a look; dt Jurd ell For Coleridge had vex'd him long since, I suppose," 1 Were not by contempt to be so driven back, g di vill straw ol Shewing how he had found it, and what it was for, ed And how, when 'twas balanc'd, it stood like a spell! And how, when 'twas balanc'd no longer, it fell! kuh A wild thing of scorn he describ'd it to be, abies, tod But he said it was patient to heaven's decree teari Then he gaz'd upon nothing, and looking forlorn, Dropt a natural tear for that wild thing of scorn ! 190le !!] Apollo half laughed betwixt anger and mirth, |