Then let me (pleasing task!) however hard, Join, as of old, the prophet and the bard; If not, ah! shield me from the dire disgrace 190 That haunts the wild and visionary race; Let me not draw my lengthen'd lines along, And tire in untamed infamy of song; Lest, in some dismal Dunciad's future page, I stand the CIBBER of this tuneless age; Lest, if another POPE th' indulgent skies Should give, inspired by all their deities, My luckless name, in his immortal strain, Should, blasted, brand me as a second Cain; Doom'd in that song to live against my will, 200 Whom all must scorn, and yet whom none could kill. The youth, resisted by the maiden's art, Persists, and time subdues her kindling heart; To strong entreaty yields the widow's vow, As mighty walls to bold besiegers bow; Repeated prayers draw bounty from the sky, And heaven is won by importunity. Ours, a projecting tribe, pursue in vain, In tedious trials, an uncertain gain; Madly plunge on through every hope's defeat, 210 And with our ruin only, find the cheat. "And why then seek that luckless doom to share?" Who, I?--To shun it is my only care. I grant it true, that others better tell Of mighty WOLFE, who conquer'd as he fell[12]; Of heroes born their threaten'd realms to save, Whom Fame anoints, and Envy tends whose grave; Of crimson'd fields, where Fate, in dire array, Gives to the breathless the short-breathing clay; Ours, a young train, by humbler fountains dream, 220 Nor taste presumptuous the Pierian stream; When Rodney's triumph comes on eagle-wing, We hail the victor, whom we fear to sing; Nor tell we how each hostile chief goes on, The luckless Lee, or wary Washington; How Spanish bombast blusters--they were beat, And French politeness dulcifies--defeat. My modest Muse forbears to speak of kings, Lest fainting stanzas blast the name she sings; For who, the tenant of the beechen shade, 230 Dares the big thought in regal breasts pervade? Or search his soul, whom each too-favouring God Gives to delight in plunder, pomp, and blood? No; let me, free from Cupid's frolic round, Rejoice, or more rejoice by Cupid bound; Of laughing girls in smiling couplets tell, And paint the dark-brow'd grove, where wood-nymphs dwell, Who bid invading youths their vengeance feel, And pierce the votive hearts they mean to heal. Such were the themes I knew in school-day ease, 240 When first the moral magic learn'd to please; Ere Judgment told how transports warm'd the breast, Transported Fancy there her stores imprest; The soul in varied raptures learn'd to fly, Felt all their force, and never question'd why. No idle doubts could then her peace molest; She found delight, and left to heaven the rest. Soft joys in Evening's placid shades were born,