Classic Poem

‘P ASTORAL , and Elegy, and Ode!
Who hopes, by these, applause to gain,
Believe me, Friend, may hope in vain—
These classic things are not the mode,
Our taste polite, so much refin'd,
Demands a strain of different kind.

‘Go, court the Muse of Chevy Chace,
To tell in Sternhold's simple rhymes
Some tale of ancient English times;
Or try to win rude Satire's grace,
That Scold, who dirt around her throws,
And many a random stain bestows.

‘Or dull trite thoughts in songs combine,
And bid the tuneful accents fall,
To wake the echoes of Vauxhall;
Or tow'rd the Stage thy thoughts incline,
And furnish some half-pilfer'd play,
To shine the meteor of the day.’

O! no—though such the crowd amuse,
And peals of noisy praise procure;
Will they the critic-eye endure,
And pass the ordeal of Reviews?
And who is he for whom they'll gain
A niche in Fame's immortal fane?
The plan that Virgil's choice could claim,
The plan that Horace deign'd to choose,
Trust me, I wish not to refuse:—
To Akenside's or Shenstone's name
The praise that future days shall pay,
Methinks may well content my lay.