The Powers of the Pen A poem addressed to John Curre ... By E. Lloyd ... The second edition, with large additions |
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 | The Powers of the Pen |  |
But why so grave, dear Curre?—impart—
I know the Friendship of your Heart—
You tremble to behold your Friend
Dare, like young Phaeton, ascend
The airy Chariot of the Brain,
Unskill'd the winged Steeds to rein;
And, while the rapid Axle glows,
Drive it across the Critics' Nose,
Careless, tho' they with Vengeance foam,
As if in slipper'd Ease at Home.
Thanks—but your Fears are vain my Friend—
Tho' I like Phaeton shou'd end,
And from the whirling Chariot fall,
Still with the Critics I may crawl.
I know the Friendship of your Heart—
You tremble to behold your Friend
Dare, like young Phaeton, ascend
The airy Chariot of the Brain,
Unskill'd the winged Steeds to rein;
And, while the rapid Axle glows,
Drive it across the Critics' Nose,
Careless, tho' they with Vengeance foam,
As if in slipper'd Ease at Home.
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Tho' I like Phaeton shou'd end,
And from the whirling Chariot fall,
Still with the Critics I may crawl.
| The Powers of the Pen | |