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Our dictates you disclaim, You fcorn the Mufes' idle crew, You're bid them all a last adieu,

And hate a borrow'd name.

V.

Yet when in yon fequefter'd fcene,
With Contemplation's thoughtful mien,
That hallow'd ground you trod,

Where cloister'd monks with zeal inspir'd
Far from the bufy world retir'd,

To folitude and God.

VI.

I heard your friends the lays demand,
I faw you take the pen in hand

Impatient to comply:

I faw you rack your lab'ring brains,
To form the dull defcriptive ftrains,
Whilft I flood laughing by,

VII;

Fain would I fing (perplext you faid)

The lovely landfcape here difplay'd,

Which charms each ravish'd fenfe

The ruin'd Abbey's rooflefs iles,
And all the venerable fpoils
Of funk magnificence

VIII.

The verdant lawns, the wood-crown'd hills,
The limpid lakes, the bubbling rills,
The lulling water-falls;

The flow'rs which blended odours fhed,
The robes of mantling ivy spread
Around the mould'ring walls.

IX.

Sweet fcenes! by Nature's pencil plann'd,
Retouch'd by Tafte's judicious hand,
Without the glare of Art;

Tho' rafhly I've abjur'd the Muse,
Can fhe, when fuch the theme, refufe
*Her influence to impart

X.

Defponding thus did you lament,
But could you hope I would relent

And

And favour your approaches?
Nay, cease, unjustly (I replied)..
To tax me with contempt and pride,
And load me with reproaches.

XI.

Whene'er I bow'd before your shrine,
You know that ev'ry pray'r of mine
In empty air was loft:

I never fought poetic fame,
Truth eyer was my leading aim,
Sincerity my boast.

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But could I hope to gain from you

Those pow'rs, which mark the chofen few

On whom you deigu to smile; Could I fuppofe you would infpire My bofom with a Churchill's fire, And elevate my ftile?

XIII.

I'd fervently your aid implore;
I'd fcribble doggrel rhimes no more;
But emulous of fame,

Would grateful join a nation's praise,
And decorate th' immortal-lays

With Camden's honour'd name.

:.

ON

Which charms each ravish'd fenfe
The ruin'd Abbey's rooflefs iles,
And all the venerable fpoils !
Of funk magnificence

VIII

The verdant lawns, the wood-crown'd hills,
The limpid lakes, the bubbling rills,
The lulling water-falls

The flow'rs which blended odours fhed,
The robes of mantling ivy spread
Around the mould'ring walls.

IX.

Sweet fcenes! by Nature's pencil plann'd,
Retouch'd by Taste's judicious hand,
Without the glare of Art;

Tho' rafhly I've abjur'd the Muse,
Can fhe, when fuch the theme, refufe
*Her influence to impart ?

X.

Defponding thus did you lament,
But could you hope I would relent

And

And favour your approaches?
Nay, ceafe, unjustly (I replied),
To tax me with, contempt and pride,
And load me with reproaches.

XI.

Whene'er I bow'd before your shrine,
You know that ev'ry pray'r of mine
In empty air was lost:

I never fought poetic fame,
Truth eyer was my leading aim,
Sincerity my boast.

XII.

But could I hope to gain from you
Those pow'rs, which mark the chofen few,
On whom you deigu to smile;

Could I fuppofe you would inspire

My bofom with a-Churchill's fire,

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I'd fervently your aid implore;

I'd fcribble doggrel rhimes no more ;
But emulous of fame,

Would grateful join a nation's praise,
And decorate th' immortal-lays

With Camden's honour'd name.

ON

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