University of Virginia Library

---

To the Author of the First Part of the Lugubres Cantus.

Encomiums suit not these censorious Days,
When few bestow, and fewer merit Praise;
Our Bards condemn all Poems but their own,
And Criticks by their general Spite are known.
Envy and Satyr are the constant Fate
Of all new Authors, if they are not Great.
High Titles, Posts, Authority and Fame,
Make Poets shine, tho' worthless of a Name.
When Praise is yielded by the Tasteless Croud,
The Cry grows universal, as 'tis loud.
So partial, and so noisy People are,
That real Merit sculks obscure for Fear:
Scarce one peeps forth, e'er he is knocked down,
And groans beneath the Vengeance of the Town.
But most they are expos'd to publick Spite,
Who in a rude and sullen Country write.

---

Ungenerous Minds, with Prejudice possest,
Despise the Brave, and make their Works a Jest:
While others meanly reckon Nothing fine,
Can in a poor abandon'd Nation shine;
That foggy Air th' aspiring Genius checks,
And adverse Fate a noble Spirit breaks.
As if the Oak on Mountains could not rise,
And Palms oppress'd shoot faster to the Skies.

You, Generous Youth, by Heav'n itself inspir'd,
Betimes display'd the noble Heat that fir'd
Your Mind to Action, while ten Thousand lay
Lazy as Owls that shun the Face of Day.
Like Tapers burning in a Sepulcher
Many alas! too many Scots-men are;
Useless to all Mankind they live, and die,
Without one Pile to save their Memory;
Proud of their modest Indolence and Shame,
They seem to scorn what their own Merits claim.
As govern'd by some fatal Providence,
They baffle Nature's Gifts of Wit and Sense.
Learning in vain on many is bestow'd,
Who differ nothing from the wretched Crowd.

---

May Heaven avert the Judgment they deserve,
Who thus, ungrateful, from its Statutes swerve,
And frustrate all the Purposes of Wit,
Or hinder those that wou'd improve themselves, and it!