A Borough-Bailiff, who to law was train'd, A wife and sons in decent state maintain'd, He had his way in life's rough ocean steer'd And many a rock and coast of danger clear'd; He saw where others fail'd, and care had he, Others in him should not such feelings see: His sons in various busy states were placed, And all began the sweets of gain to taste, Save John, the younger, who, of sprightly parts, Felt not a love for money-making arts: In childhood feeble, he, for country air, Had long resided with a rustic pair; All round whose room were doleful ballads, songs, Of lovers' sufferings and of ladies' wrongs; Of peevish ghosts who came at dark midnight, For breach of promise, guilty men to fright; Love, marriage, murder, were the themes, with these, All that on idle, ardent spirits seize; Robbers at land and pirates on the main, Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain; Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers, Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice flowers, And all the hungry mind without a choice devours. From village-children kept apart by pride, With such enjoyments, and without a guide, Inspired by feelings all such works infused, John snatch'd a pen, and wrote as he perused: With the like fancy he could make his knight Slay half a host, and put the rest to flight; With the like knowledge he could make him ride From isle to isle at Parthenissa's side; And with a heart yet free, no busy brain Form'd wilder notions of delight and pain, The raptures smiles create, the anguish of disdain. Such were the fruits of John's poetic toil - Weeds, but still proofs of vigour in the soil: He nothing purposed but with vast delight, Let Fancy loose, and wonder'd at her flight: His notions of poetic worth were high, And of his own still-hoarded poetry; - These to his father's house he bore with pride, A miser's treasure, in his room to hide; Till spurr'd by glory, to a reading friend, He kindly show'd the sonnets he had penn'd: With erring judgment, though with heart sincere, That friend exclaim'd, "These beauties must appear.' In magazines they claim'd their share of fame, Though undistinguish'd by their author's name; And with delight the young enthusiast found The muse of Marcus with applauses crown'd. This heard the father, and with some alarm; "The boy," said he, "will neither trade nor farm, He for both law and physic is unfit, Wit he may have, but cannot live on wit: Let him his talents then to learning give, Where verse is honour'd, and where poets live." John kept his terms at college unreproved, Took his degree, and left the life he loved; Not yet ordain'd, his leisure he employ'd In the light labours he so much enjoy'd; His favourite notions and his daring views Were cherish'd still, and he adored the Muse. "A little time, and he should burst to light, And admiration of the world excite; And every friend, now cool and apt to blame His fond pursuit, would wonder at his fame."