The Harp of Erin | ||
ODE TO A MOUSE.
Say, gentle vermin, art thou smitWith curious love of classic wit?
Else, why so slily creep along,
Enamour'd, nibbling sacred song;
Else why in poet's trunk intrude,
Where nought remains but tuneful food:
If oh! perchance, in thy small size,
(Tremendous foe!) some critic lies;
John Dennis, once of voice supreme,
Now dwindled to a sweeter scream,
If so, forbear the charming prey,
Critic, or mouse, away! away!
The Harp of Erin | ||