As vigorous as the youthful eagle’s pinion.
With admiration and with joy I view
The master-touches of his powerful hand.
But, oh! I fear his muse too grand and weighty,
For this less manly, though more elegant age.[15]
P.
Then choose the milder song of gentle Fletcher.
C. M.
’Tis true, ’tis mild as notes of dying swans,[16]
But I’d have something of a loftier strain,