While strains like these beguile a wand'rer's care,
And fancy's smile unfetters fortune's frown,
Oft will reflection doubt with anxious air
If e'er one sprig this wand'rer's head shall crown.

'And O! she cried, whate'er his breast may fire,
Whether of love or patriot zeal he sings,
Ne'er may ambition prompt the low desire
To feed on flatt'ry wheresoe'er it springs.

Yet should the voice of taste and sense refin'd
Applaud what some may love, and all may hear;
And bursting from an elegance of mind
Steal sweetly grateful on a poet's ear;

Welcome! the meed to fire the coming muse
And add fresh ardour to the patriot strain!
Nor virtue blush, nor modesty refuse
To gather flow'rs at truth's unspotted fane!'

Fame heard the prayer, and pointing to the days,
Deep in yon tablet grav'd no vulgar name;
'Behold!' she cried! 'the bard who yields his praise.'
The wand'rer doubting gaz'd, and found it