To have look'd on these Greek splendours—what a gain!
And scarcely less that I have learn'd to prize
The imperial Roman spirit, strong and wise,
Nor wanting in a pure poetic vein—
As in the sympathetic Mantuan swain,
Whose Muse ‘walks highest,’ if she seldom ‘flies’;
Or him whose logic-web of closest grain
Is shot with fancy's rich embroideries—;
The pregnant phrase of Tacitus to know,
And Tully's amplitude and liberal flow;
All this I owe to thee; and, better still,
The pattern of a life for others spent.
Oh! had I earlier tamed my stubborn will,
And my proud heart to humble service bent.