 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
289
The WREATH.
Near the Castalian Fount the God of DayMet Shakespear warbling a melodious Lay,
More trilling sweet than all the labour'd notes,
Gallia can boast refin'd thro' artful throats;
Upon the Poet's Brow no Laurel shone,
Yet blithsome as the Lark he journey'd on;
The God stop'd short, amazement in his look,
And, eager, thus his favourite Bard bespoke:—
“What sacrilegious Wretch has stripp'd thy Brow?
“Quick on the Fiend my vengeance let me show.”
Smiling the Bard replies—“The Laurel Crown
“From my own Brow I took—nay never frown—
“And on my darling Garrick's Head have plac'd
“Those Honors, by the Actor not disgrac'd.”—
The God grew calm, and instant thus replies,
“Your Garrick well deserves the hallow'd Prize;
“And you, my other Self, wear this:”—So said,
With his own Wreath he crown'd the Poet's Head.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |