Of pedantry and cumbrous lore,
On thy elastic bosom weigh’d;
Instead, were thine, a mazy store
Of feelings delicately wrought,
And treasures gleaned by silent thought.
“Obscurity, and low-born care,
Labor, and want—all adverse things,
Combined to bow thee to despair;
And of her young untutor’d wings
To rob thy Genius.—’Twas in vain: