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Page 13
The man, who hopes t' obtain the promis'd cup,
Must in one _posture_ stand, and _ne'er look up_,
Nor _stop_, but rattle over _every_ word,
No matter _what_, so it can _not_ be heard;
Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest,
Who speaks the _fastest_, 's sure to speak the _best_;
Who utters most within the shortest space,
May safely hope to win the _wordy race_.
The sons of _Science these_, who thus repaid,
Linger in ease, in Granta's sluggish shade;
Where on Cam's sedgy banks supine they lie,
Unknown, unhonour'd live, unwept for, die.
Dull as the pictures, which adorn their halls,
They think all learning fix'd within their walls:
In manners rude, in foolish forms precise,
All modern arts, affecting to despise.
Yet prizing _Bentley's[6] Brunck's[6]_ or _Porson's_[7] note,
More than the _verse, on which the critic wrote_;
With eager haste, they court the tool of power,
(Whether 'tis PITT or PETTY rules the hour:)
To _him_, with suppliant smiles they bend the head,
Whilst mitres, prebends, to their eyes are spread.
But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace,
They'd fly to seek the next, who fill'd his place;
_Such_ are the men who learning's treasures guard,
_Such_ is their _practice_, such is their _reward_;
This _much_ at least we may presume to say,
Th' _reward's_ scarce equal, to the _price_ they _pay_.
1806.
[Footnote 6: Celebrated Critics.]
[Footnote 7: The present Greek Professor at Cambridge.]
* * * * *
TO MARY, ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE.
1.
This faint resemblance of thy charms,
(Though strong as mortal art could give)
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
2.
Here I can trace the locks of gold,
Which round thy snowy forehead wave,
The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,
The lips which made me _Beauty's_ slave.
3.
Here I can trace--ah no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,
Must all the painter's art defy,
And bid him from the task retire.
4.
Here I behold, its beauteous hue,
But where's the beam of soft desire?
Which gave a lustre to its blue,
Love, only love, could e'er inspire.
5.
Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
Than all the living forms could be,
Save her, who plac'd thee next my heart.
6.
She plac'd it, sad with needless fear,
Lest time might shake my wavering soul,
Unconscious that her image there,
Held every sense in fast controul.
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