Oh could my mind, unfolded in my page,
Enlighten climes and mould a future age ;
There as it glowed, with noblest frenzy fraught,
Dispense the treasures of exalted thought ;
To Virtue wake the pulses of the heart,
And bid the tear of emulation start !
Oh could it still, thro' each succeeding year,
My life, my manners, and my name endear ;
And, when the poet sleeps in silent dust,
Still hold communion with the wise and just !
Yet should this Verse, my leisure's best resource,
When thro’ the world it steals its secret course,
Revive but once a generous wish supprest,
Chase but a sigh, or charm a care to rest ;
In one good deed a fleeting hour employ,
Or flush one faded cheek with honest joy ;
Blest were my lines, tho’ limited their sphere,
Tho’ short their date, as his who traced them here.