And, more than Fancy pointing to the Skies,
Whisper a noble [Challenge] to the Tomb.—
Tho' far behind my Song, my Hope the same,
120
And not behind my Song; with Vulgar souls,
Both sentenc'd to Contempt—unletter'd pride—
Grins the pale Bard Disgrace alike to him
Who soars above or labours in the Clouds,
Who travels the sublime, or dives profound
In the Wild Chaos of a School-boy's Dream: