Classic Poem

I .

This task of me why dost thou crave?
Thyself ingenious, learn'd, and brave,
And equal to th' immortal theme!
The scenes that you beheld display,
And draw the picture of the day
With which thy great ideas teem.

But if like me you are at fault,
Nor can your utmost thought exalt,
But needs must do the subject wrong;
Then let us both at once confess
Our meanness, and the man address
Who soars above our song.

II .

" O heart-allow'd, by conscience prais'd,
As the vast envy thou hast rais'd,
Such is the terror of thine arm:
The Muses and the Arts have join'd
The grudging silence of mankind,
And our weak hands thy deeds disarm.

Say, Leader of the glorious few,
What can impoverish'd fancy do
On paper, canvas, or on stone?
Thy work so great, thy name so bright,
That GOD himself with all his might
Must give th' applause alone. "