Then censure not severe the native song,
Though jarring sounds the measured verse prolong,
Though terms uncouth offend the softer ear,
Yet truth, and human anguish deign to hear:
No laurel wreaths these lays attempt to claim,
Nor sculptur’d brass to tell the poet’s name.
And lo! the power that wakes th’ eventful song,
Hastes hither from Lethean banks along;
She sweeps the gloom, and, rushing on the sight,
Spreads o’er the kindling scene propitious light;