Yet in our ancient legend should you trace
Truth’s genuine features, tho’ of humbler grace,
Condemn not rashly. O’er the forest glade,
Tho’ the oak spread no patriarchal shade,
Yet may a shrub of no unlovely green
With vivid foliage deck the sylvan scene;
Some tuneful notes the vocal woodlands fill,
And sooth the ear, tho’ Philomel be still.
Then each extraneous matter laid aside,
By its own merit be our drama tried.