I mean no giddy heights to climb, And vainly toil to be sublime; While every line with labour wrought, Is swell'd with tropes for want of thought: Nor shall I call the Muse to shed...
Heaven speaks! Oh Nature listen and rejoice! Oh spread from pole to pole this gracious voice! "Say every breast of human frame, that proves "The boundless force with which a parent loves;...
While, bending at thy honour'd shrine, the Muse Pours, MONTAGU, to thee her votive strain, Thy heart will not her simple notes refuse, Or chill her timid soul with cold disdain....