If ever, smiling o'er a lucky line,
Ye thought the sudden sentiment divine,
Then paused and doubted, and then, tired of doubt,
With rage as sudden dash'd the stanza out—
If, after fearing much and pausing long,
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Ye ventured on the world your labour'd song,
And from the crusty critics of those days
Implored the feeble tribute of their praise:
Remember now the fears that moved you then,