To all the soil of sooty passions blind,
Pure as embracing angels, and as kind;
Our Mira's name in future times shall shine,
And—though the harshest—Shepherds envy mine.
Then let me (pleasing task!) however hard,
Join, as of old, the prophet and the bard;
190
If not, ah! shield me from the dire disgrace
That haunts the wild and visionary race;
Let me not draw my lengthen'd lines along,