Marcellus, since the ardors of my strain
To thy young eyes and kindling fancy, gleam
With somewhat of the vivid hues, that stream
From Poesy's bright orb, each envious stain
Shed by dull Critics, venal, vex'd and vain,
Seems recompens'd at full;--and so wou'd seem
Did not _maturer_ Sons of Phœbus deem
My verse Aonian.--Thou, in time, shalt gain,
Like them, amid the letter'd World, _that_ sway
Which makes encomium _fame_;--so thou adorn,
Extend, refine and dignify thy lay,
And Indolence, and Syren Pleasure scorn;
Then, at high noon, thy Genius shall display
The splendors promis'd in its shining morn.