And all these wayward wanderings of my youth Fly Reason's power and shun the light of truth. With fiction, then, does real joy reside, And is our reason the delusive guide? Is it, then, right to dream the syrens sing, Or mount enraptured on the dragon's wing? No, 'tis the infant mind, to care unknown, That makes th' imagined paradise its own; Soon as reflections in the bosom rise, Light slumbers vanish from the clouded eyes; 590 The tear and smile, that once together rose, Are then divorced; the head and heart are foes: Enchantment bows to Wisdom's serious plan, And Pain and Prudence make and mar the man. While thus, of power and fancied empire vain, With various thoughts my mind I entertain; While books, my slaves, with tyrant hand I seize, Pleased with the pride that will not let them please; Sudden I find terrific thoughts arise, And sympathetic sorrow fills my eyes; 600 For, lo! while yet my heart admits the wound, I see the CRITIC army ranged around. Foes to our race! if ever ye have known A father's fears for offspring of your own.-- If ever, smiling o'er a lucky line, Ye thought the sudden sentiment divine, Then paused and doubted, and then, tired of doubt, With rage as sudden dash'd the stanza out-- If, after fearing much and pausing long, Ye ventured on the world your labour'd song, 610 And from the crusty critics of those days Implored the feeble tribute of their praise: Remember now the fears that moved you then, And, spite of truth, let mercy guide your pen! What vent'rous race are ours! what mighty foes Lie waiting all around them to oppose! What treacherous friends betray them to the fight! What dangers threaten them--yet still they write: A hapless tribe! to every evil born, Whom villains hate, and fools affect to scorn; 620 Strangers they come amid a world of wo, And taste the largest portion ere they go.