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Poems

By Mr. Polwhele. In three volumes

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In such an age, the precepts of the schools
Would vainly to its loftier summit bring
Thy senatorial eloquence. Tho' there
Rules in exactest symmetry, deduc'd

106

From nature, may direct thy infant art;
'Tis not in formal lessons to mature
Its growing strength. The diction critic rules
Prescribe, deserves thine imitative aim:
Yet, tho' in just analysis thou see
The principles of language, and the means
To gain that finish'd elegance of phrase
Adapted to the genius of thy sphere;
Still is that manner wanting which defies
All definition, and is only caught
Thro' actual observation. Thine harangue
Perhaps displeases, by its frigid air,
Precision nicely studied, by a want
Of useful repetition that might seem
Obtrusive matter to the bookworm sage.