The humble offerings of my Muse destroy, And crush, oh! noble conquest! crush a Boy. What though some silly girls have lov'd the strain, And kindly bade me tune my Lyre again; What though some feeling, or some partial few, Nay, Men of Taste and Reputation too, Have deign'd to praise the firstlings of my Muse-- If _you_ your sanction to the theme refuse, If _you_ your great protection still withdraw, Whose Praise is Glory, and whose Voice is law! Soon must I fall an unresisting foe, A hapless victim yielding to the blow.-- Thus Pope by Curl and Dennis was destroyed, Thus Gray and Mason yield to furious Lloyd; [3] From Dryden, Milbourne [4] tears the palm away, And thus I fall, though meaner far than they. As in the field of combat, side by side, A Fabius and some noble Roman died. Dec. 1806. [Footnote 1: From an autograph MS. at Newstead, now for the first time printed.] [Footnote 2: John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647-1680). His 'Poems' were published in the year of his death.] [Footnote 3: Robert Lloyd (1733-1764). The following lines occur in the first of two odes to 'Obscurity and Oblivion'--parodies of the odes of Gray and Mason:-- "Heard ye the din of modern rhymers bray? It was cool M----n and warm G----y, Involv'd in tenfold smoke."] [Footnote 4: The Rev. Luke Milbourne (died 1720) published, in 1698, his 'Notes on Dryden's Virgil', containing a venomous attack on Dryden. They are alluded to in 'The Dunciad', and also by Dr. Johnson, who wrote ('Life of Dryden'), "His outrages seem to be the ebullitions of a mind agitated by stronger resentment than bad poetry can excite."] L'AMITIÉ, EST L'AMOUR SANS AILES. [1] 1. Why should my anxious breast repine, Because my youth is fled? Days of delight may still be mine; Affection is not dead. In tracing back the years of youth, One firm record, one lasting truth Celestial consolation brings; Bear it, ye breezes, to the seat, Where first my heart responsive beat,-- "Friendship is Love without his wings!" 2 Through few, but deeply chequer'd years, What moments have been mine! Now half obscured by clouds of tears, Now bright in rays divine; Howe'er my future doom be cast, My soul, enraptured with the past, To one idea fondly clings; Friendship! that thought is all thine own, Worth worlds of bliss, that thought alone-- "Friendship is Love without his wings!" 3 Where yonder yew-trees lightly wave Their branches on the gale, Unheeded heaves a simple grave, Which tells the common tale; Round this unconscious schoolboys stray, Till the dull knell of childish play From yonder studious mansion rings; But here, whene'er my footsteps move, My silent tears too plainly prove, "Friendship is Love without his wings!" 4