To the famed throng now paid the tribute due, [lv] Neglected Genius! let me turn to you. 800 Come forth, oh CAMPBELL! give thy talents scope; Who dares aspire if thou must cease to hope? And thou, melodious ROGERS! rise at last, Recall the pleasing memory of the past; [125] Arise! let blest remembrance still inspire, And strike to wonted tones thy hallowed lyre; Restore Apollo to his vacant throne, Assert thy country's honour and thine own. What! must deserted Poesy still weep Where her last hopes with pious COWPER sleep? 810 Unless, perchance, from his cold bier she turns, To deck the turf that wraps her minstrel, BURNS! No! though contempt hath marked the spurious brood, The race who rhyme from folly, or for food, Yet still some genuine sons 'tis hers to boast, Who, least affecting, still affect the most: [lvi] Feel as they write, and write but as they feel-- Bear witness GIFFORD, [126] SOTHEBY, [127] MACNEIL. [128] "Why slumbers GIFFORD?" once was asked in vain; Why slumbers GIFFORD? let us ask again. [129] 820 Are there no follies for his pen to purge? Are there no fools whose backs demand the scourge? Are there no sins for Satire's Bard to greet? Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street? Shall Peers or Princes tread pollution's path, And 'scape alike the Laws and Muse's wrath? Nor blaze with guilty glare through future time, Eternal beacons of consummate crime? Arouse thee, GIFFORD! be thy promise claimed, Make bad men better, or at least ashamed. 830 Unhappy WHITE! [130] while life was in its spring, And thy young Muse just waved her joyous wing, The Spoiler swept that soaring Lyre away, [lvii] [131] Which else had sounded an immortal lay. Oh! what a noble heart was here undone, When Science' self destroyed her favourite son! Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, She sowed the seeds, but Death has reaped the fruit. 'Twas thine own Genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low: 840 So the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart; Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel; While the same plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.