TO THE Right H ONOURABLE L ORD L YTTLETON

The man, whom Phaebus and the tuneful throng
Inspire with all the magic charms of song;
Should he, by wayward fate, be doom'd to prove
The pains — the anguish, of disastrous love!
In pity to his keener sense of grief,
All-gracious Heav'n bestow'd the vast relief,
With skilful hand his skilful woes to paint;
And the sweet solace of a loud complant:
To spread his sorrow like contagion round,
And make all Nature with his griefs resound!

O Thou, whose steps I tread — whose praise rehearse,
By wit ennobled , and the pow'rs of verse!
In easy elegance whose numbers flow,
And melt and charm us with melodious woe!
Wilt thou permit the meanesTof the throng,
To swell the chorus of the plaintive song?
Thy smile alone shall vindicate my claim,
Thy hand shall smooth the rugged path to fame.
When love-lorn youths in each succeeding age,
With tears shall dwell on thy infectious page,
Shall I (O flattering thought!) the boon obtain
To stand recorded with the pensive train,
For hapless loves and well-sung sorrows fam'd?
Nor S — — forgot, when Lyttleton is nam'd!